IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE PLEASE READ AND BEAR WITH ME!

So, I'm breaking my own rules here, but I'm excited for this story, at the same time I'm wary. I've thus decided to post the prologue and the first chapter before I've finished the story, in order to gauge whether you like it or not, and whether you like Evie or not. If overall I get a good response, I'll continue writing, but updates will not be as regular as they would've been if I'd finished it first. Woe is me.

Warnings: These will probably apply to most if not all the chapters. Be prepared for cursing, adult references (more like jokes, but the occasional implications of sexual situations), violence, lots of angst, an obscene amount of fluff, pop culture references from the 50s, my appalling grammar, ect...

Spoilers: (duh) If you haven't read the manga, don't read unless you want to spoil it for yourself. I have not read the books, so if anyone has some information in them that might make for interesting plot development later on, please feel free to let me know.

Disclaimer: blah blah blah is this even necessary? bluh bluh don't own bluh bluh

Quick note: This occurs approximately a year and eight months after the beginning of the series. Nothing that I can remember at the moment has changed in the series, except for Evie's existence. She was not involved before this story. Okay I'm done.

Prologue

Her feet were truly horrific. Which was saying something, as she'd participated in more than a few hunts over the years and had seen the dredges of the afterlife. She'd have to sell her peep-toes if she wished to avoid terrifying the masses.

"Freaking pointe," she mumbled to herself, attempting to glare her deformed toes into a more natural state. She sighed. It wasn't working. Hm. Strange what her mind distracted itself with when she was bored.

"They'll be with you in a minute," the elderly maid informed kindly, ducking her head into the foyer and offering a smile before skipping on her merry way. She just barely refrained from huffing like a spoiled brat. One would think the people she considered family would be in more of a hurry to see her, especially given that she hadn't been able to contact them in almost two years.

Evie glanced around the cavernous room with only mild interest. After all, she was practically raised in this house; she knew every painting, every chip in the wall, every vase that had ended up inexplicably floating at some point.

"Evie, dear," a sweet, achingly familiar voice called, and she looked up. Her irritation vanished as quickly as it came, replaced first by joy. Luella, her aunt for all intents and purposes, stood in the archway, smiling.

As she drew closer, though, something cold crawled along her skin, and concern chased away the happiness. Her smile seemed wan, unnatural, the same flat grin worn by Noll in every picture they'd managed to capture. Strange because her smile was always half-contained, half-bursting forth like Gene's. Her pale blue eyes were empty. She'd always been a curvy woman, wide hips that never bore children, her face ever plump and rosy. But her body seemed drained of life, pale and sallow, cheeks tight and drawn. The walls in her mind pulsed with indecision. Feel what she feels, or let her tell.

"Aunt Lu," she greeted without a hint of worry, rising to her aching feet and rushing to the tall woman, letting her arms wrap around her thinned frame. Either Evie had grown (unlikely) or she'd lost about fifteen pounds. Her emotions pulsed along Evie's skin, unable to breach the walls but trying valiantly.

"How have you been?" she asked as she released the girl from a slightly prolonged embrace. Her voice, on second thought, was equally drained. The soft lilting accent, so different from her own unfading Welsh brogue, was unusually clipped. Like she was tired.

"I've been well, aside from my feet, of course. Three shows a night, five times a week for the past two years, does a number on the toes," she griped with a fluttering laugh, hoping it didn't sound too fake, "Where's Uncle Martin?"

"Here," the much deeper, smokier voice of Martin Davis declared, "Forgive me, I was entranced by the vision in white occupying my foyer."

His tone was the same cheeky, cheerful music she'd grown up hearing, fighting for space on one of the couches in the library as he read a ghostly myth. Probably not the most normal childhood, but the stories of death and pain were as whimsical as a fairytale to her, when read by that voice.

She tugged at the hem of dress and blushed childishly, as if she weren't used to compliments or men or any combination of the two. "Oh, don't even."

He chuckled warmly and drew her in for a quick but tight hug. "Never ask an old man to stop appreciating beauty."

"It's a good thing you're not yet an old man," she quipped, smiling. This was familiar, the banter and challenge of wits. She could deal with this. Not the haunted look on Luella's face as she watched her from the side.

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but rather he smiled, and put a hand on her shoulder. His gaze too turned soft and contemplative as he absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers. Evie frowned. Something pulsed from him too, as strong as Luella's, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know, if her curiosity was that callous yet.

"Are you reading me?" he asked, not accusingly, but she felt reprimanded nonetheless.

"Should I?" she challenged automatically, then hated herself for it.

He didn't answer. His eyes skipped behind her to his wife, brow furrowing momentarily, before relaxing into a jovial grin.

"Have you heard from your parents yet?"

Deliberate change in subject. Noll's favored tactic, when the topic threatened to be….unpleasant. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No, they're still on their 'philanthropic retreat' in Sri Lanka. I haven't had much more than a few grainy, five minute conversations via satellite phone in over a year."

He pinched her nose playfully. "Well, have you spoken with Noll or Lin?"

"Lin has called me over Skype a few times, and I haven't spoken to Noll since the twins' birthday."

She didn't see Luella flinch behind her. Martin's eyes flickered from face to face uncertainly.

"Speaking of them, are they around?" She looked around the room as if they were hiding somewhere, ready to pop out and frighten her like they did as children. Well, Gene did. Noll only scraped his nose off the page long enough to point him out. "Surely Gene must be back from Japan by now."

A whimper sounded behind her, and Evie turned on her heels. Cold leaked in a steady stream from the quivering woman. It crawled up her arm, caressed her neck, slipped over her head like a scarf. Then a sharp finger of emotion stabbed at her mental walls, so suddenly she stumbled back with the force of it, trying to soothe the psychosomatic pain from her temple even as she reached for Luella. Why was she projecting?

"Oh Lord, she doesn't know," Martin said to himself, or maybe to Luella, but in any case he refused to look at her. The mask crumbled—she knew it was a mask now. Martin was a more talented liar than even the twins—and she saw how truly haggard he was. His eyes were very far away before he shut them, something glistening in the corner. He's crying. She'd never seen him cry.

There was too much uncertainty. She had to know. So she let a crack form, only to slam it shut again. Or she tried. Loss grief sadness pain pain pain. He's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone. Blue and grey and white and yellow, yellow, yellow danced in her vision, a sadistic swirl, a kaleidoscope of heartbreak. Only a glimpse, but it forced itself to the forefront. She fell to her knees.

"Is it Noll?" she asked first, because he was the reckless one. Not impulsive, but reckless. Her heart constricted in her chest. Such dangerous possibility.

Martin looked at her, the tear tracks shiny on his bearded cheeks, and he shook his head. "No."

She gagged. Her stomach was roiling painfully. Please stop, she begged, unsure of who, who was dispersing their pain like a grenade. Her fingers shook. Push them, her mind begged of her, push them to stop. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She'd endure this.

"W-when?" She didn't ask how. It didn't matter. Luella whimpered behind her, fingers in her ear, demented singing to drown out the answer. Please stop.

"Last year, in March. Noll found his b—found him about three months ago."

So long. I didn't know. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" Was it her own grief? Was it theirs? Had it even registered?

Gene's dead. Gene's dead. Noll found him. He's—.

"Oh God, did Noll—."

"Yes. He felt it," Martin interrupted solemnly, soothing his palm over his face and clutching his chin. A nervous gesture born of anguish. "I thought he told you. Or at least your parents would."

Bile rose in her throat, unheeded, too much, and she lunged for the nearest plant. A bitter flood, but not so horrible as the energy clawing at her skin. She heard scrambling behind her, the brush of fabric along smooth marble. Someone sliding towards her.

"Darling," the voice preceded the touch of skin to her hand where it clenched the edge of the pot.

There was a shattering in her mind.

"Don't!" she gasped, wrenching herself away, but it was too late. Gene hasn't called. Where is he? Mother, he'd dead. I felt it. I'll find him. I'll bring him home. Confirmed. I'm sorry, Mrs. Davis. A yellow sheet, the mineral scent of water, decay. My baby. My sweet little boy. I can't stop crying. Just end it. Noll's empty eyes, shut down, hasn't cried. Bring him back God, bring him back. I don't believe in you anymore but BRING HIM BACK. My son. My son. It hurts. Murder. MURDER. MURDER.

"Don't touch her!" Martin shouted somewhere in her reality but she wasn't there anymore. She didn't exist anymore. She was little more than Luella's agony.

The foyer was filled with a hollow, moaning cry, like the heaving of a dying lung, echoing in the tall ceiling, reverberating along her skin until she didn't recognize it. The sound coming from her own throat.

Martin pulled his wife from the room. Distance was the only cure until she could rebuild her ruined walls, brick by brick, layer by layer. Gene had taught her how, Gene who was dead. Gene whom she'd never talk to again. Gene whom she'd never tease again. Gene who never said goodbye. She let the fact sink in, let her own grief mingle with the vestiges of his parent's. Hours later, when the twitching in her limbs had settled, when the layers of steel, bricks, and drusy quartz were back in place, when she scrounged enough energy to wipe the crusted vomit from the corners of her lips, she made a decision.

She packed her bags, kissed Luella on the cheek, shared a grave smile with Martin, and slipped a picture into her pocket. Within an hour, she was on a plane for Tokyo.

Poor Evie, my baby. The things I put her through. Anywho...

I'm also posting the first chapter, so refrain from making any hasty judgements on my child until you've read that. (Though if you don't like her now, you'll probably hate her then...)

If anyone catches any weird spelling errors or missing words and such, please, don't hesitate to let me know. I'm lacking a beta as of yet.