Love Reborn (A Dead Beautiful Novel) Read Online Free PDF

The draft is getting to me.”
    Grandson? I looked to Anya, hoping she might know what he was talking about, but she looked as dazed as I felt. I watched the old man feel his way inside. His grandson was probably the same age I was, though I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who resembled him. I gazed down at the storefronts that lined the street. They were all closed, the dusk settling over them. We had nowhere else to go. Anya must have been thinking the same thing, because she shrugged, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked toward the porch. I followed her.
    Two mugs of mulled cider and a set table were waiting for us inside. A fireplace crackled in the corner of the room, giving the tavern a country glow.
    “Do you girls want stew or bisque?” the man said from behind the bar.
    I frowned. What was the difference?
    “Bisque,” Anya said, as if she had strong feelings on the matter. She turned to me.
    “I’ll have the same.”
    “Excellent,” the old man muttered.
    I watched as he struggled to reach the top shelf, stacked with an assortment of plates, glasses, and bowls. His arms trembled as he patted around, tenuously close to knocking everything over. “Should we help him?” I whispered to Anya.
    “He’s fine,” a voice said over my shoulder.
    I spun around. A boy stood behind us, so close it seemed impossible that neither Anya nor I had heard him coming.
    He looked like a well-bred boy who had spent too many years lurking in corners, his brown hair lush yet unkempt, his eyes mischievous as they darted between us. He could only have been a few years older than I was. A grin spread across his face—impish, as if he were in on some practical joke.
    “See?” he said, nodding to his grandfather, who was now gracefully picking out two bowls and two water glasses from the mix of plates and snifters and wineglasses, as if he could see them. “He taps the shelf so he can tell what the shape of each dish is. He can tell by the way the sound reverberates off of them.”
    I watched the way the boy spoke, looking for something familiar about him that would explain why Dante had told me to come here.
    “I’m Theo,” he said. “Or Theodore, to my grandfather. Or Theodore Arthur Healy to my aunt, when she’s angry with me, which is most of the time. Or That Healy Kid to the cops. Or Case Number 5418 to the Monitors, but I guess you don’t really need to know about that.” He paused, studying us as if to see if we were familiar with any of the things he’d just said. But they all sounded foreign to me. Case Number 5418? Monitors? Was he a Monitor?
    “And you are—wait, let me guess.” He glanced between the two of us, pretending to think hard. “Renée and Anya.”
    “How did you know that?” I demanded. “And how did you know we were coming here tonight?”
    “I was actually expecting you earlier this morning,” he said, and pulled up a chair, straddling the back.
    “How—?” I let my voice trail off. Beside me, Anya said nothing. She studied Theo, squinting as if she could see through him.
    “He received a note from Monsieur too,” she said thoughtfully.
    He raised an eyebrow. “I did,” he conceded. “Though that isn’t how I knew your names. And I have to say, my note is a little better than yours.” Before either of us could ask how he knew what Anya’s note said, he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and began to read. “Dear Ms. Pinsky—”
    Confused, Anya patted her pocket, looking for her note, but it wasn’t there.
    Theo grinned, pleased with himself, and emptied the contents of his pockets, which included both of our wallets, one of Anya’s bracelets, and the silverware from my place setting. “Sticky fingers,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry.”
    That was how he knew our names, I realized. I took back my wallet, the clasp loose over my license. I wasn’t sure if I should be angry or awed. Then I remembered the chest. I glanced down at the floor, hoping he hadn’t