The Reaper's Embrace

by Abigail Baker

  “Papa!” I screamed, throwing a hand in the air, vainly trying to get his attention. “Papa! Papa!”

  “I don’t see them,” Brent said of Nic and Delia.

  I jumped higher to try and get a glimpse of the Stygians closest to the fountain. Where was Delia in her red jumpsuit? Where was the wise old Nicodemus?

  “Head Reaper Marin never wanted to hear our complaints. He concealed himself from us for centuries. Today, he is gone, and Styx is ready to elect a new, rightful Reaper to replace him. We will not let this moment be taken from us by anyone—Reapers, Eidolons, Scriveners, or Trivials. We will unite as one, no longer divided!”

  “Show us Olivia!” someone shouted and a collective roar fervently agreed.

  “Show us! Show us!”

  “You’ll get a better view on my shoulders,” Brent said with a smile and then pried his fingers from mine and hefted me onto his shoulders long before I had the sense to speak.

  I found my balance just when a cascade of eyes rolled my way. Never had I witnessed so many Stygians looking at me at once. My stomach churned harder. It was not easy to cast aside apprehension at facing an ocean of Grim Reapers as I perched on Brent. They expected something from me. Guidance. Restoration. And if I didn’t give it to them, what then?

  “Papa!” I shouted at my foster father. “Where’s Nic and Delia?”

  Papa gave me a grim nod that told me many things, and they were not good. Nicodemus and Delia were not here. They were not safe. And Papa was here not to just to bring justice to Styx but to save them. I knew that much from reading the expression on his face, but I needed to know more before we descended into Lethe.

  Around the perimeters of our demonstration stood several humans watching with interest. Even though none of them knew who we were or what we were protesting, some joined in with our rally without ever understanding the reason.

  But humans and Stygians weren’t the faces I hoped to see in the crowd.

  I scanned for anyone who didn’t have that gold, deathly stare. I thought to meet eyes with more courageous Scriveners, ones willing to step out of hiding and reveal himself or herself to a world that would, if fortune was with us, be better than today.

  But I saw no one like me. No Scriveners.

  “HermesHarbinger said it so well, weeks ago, and now, tonight, we have our chance to save Styx!” Papa drew everyone’s attention to his megaphone again. “Follow us to Le Château Frontenac and Styx’s salvation!”

  Fists rocketed into the air. The crowd howled. I didn’t listen to Papa’s speech as he continued. I yearned to look into those blue eyes of Brent’s and to tell him how thankful I was for what he had seen in me when no one else had. But what if we were too late? Failure had not come to mind until now. Confidence had been a chemical high I had ridden long enough. It was unavoidable that I would think of the worst.

  Papa and his megaphone rotated in the direction of Le Château’s mint green roof peeking over the city’s fortified wall at us. Every Stygian rebel joined him. The orange brick facade of the hotel trembled from our unified stare. It knew we were coming, and it unquestionably relayed the message to Lethe that it would no longer be the unknown city of Death—that it would never be forgotten after today.

  I tapped Brent’s head with my elbow. “Okay. Put me down.”

  He started toward Rue Saint-Louis with everyone else.

  “Brent, put me down!” I kicked with just enough force to send me sliding down his shoulder and arm. My feet hit with forward momentum. I was again stuck inside the cordon of Stygians fixed to take over Le Château. Hundreds of Grim Reapers would soon stampede the luxury hotel to challenge the Trivials who were the last bastion to stand in our way toward peace and freedom.

  I snaked my way through the crowd to catch up with whoever was leading the protesters. I spied a band of Watchmen in black suits and gold scythe pins. They all gave me a sidelong glance but nothing more. Their job as Styx’s police force was done. They were no longer bound to Marin’s rule. They, like us, wanted a new Styx. They just hadn’t taken off their uniforms to help create it.

  Brent and I soon found ourselves at Papa’s side. It was easy to find Papa, thanks to his height and size, but once we caught up to him, I was out of breath. Our reunion with him was subtle since there was no space for us to properly hug and explain how we found ourselves at this point in the massive parade. Papa pulled me against his hip and placed a kiss on the top of my head.

  “Where are Nic and Delia?” I shouted.

  “In Lethe. They kidnapped them yesterday.” He said this with so little emotion, it concerned me.

  “What do you mean?” I grabbed onto his sleeve to keep him close as we marched.

  “What I said. They kidnapped them. At least I think so. Woke up and they weren’t there, but it looked like a struggle. Didn’t you get my phone calls and messages?”

  I didn’t. He didn’t get mine, either.

  “The Trivials must’ve done something to the phone signals,” I said. “Nic and Delia aren’t…”

  “Not dead. In Lethe. Left me a note telling me to come get them.” Papa reached around me to shake Brent’s hand, but then, as if Mama had channeled him, smacked my lover upside the head. “You keep stealing her away. ’Bout time you cut that shit out. Y’all could’ve left a damn note.”

  “It was her idea!” Brent rubbed the back of his head.

  Along with the Watchmen, we were the first to walk under the brick fortress surrounding Old Québec. Footfalls roared like the beats of war drums. Our steps quickened from a stride to a march. We traveled between narrow buildings with white and red shutters. Multicolored flags hanging from windows and wood signs for restaurants and boutiques rocked in the breeze as we passed by. The turrets of the Château scraped the twilight sky and soon fell into shadow when we made a right turn into the hotel’s small courtyard.

  The bellhops and hotel guests stared in confusion as Stygians flooded the hotel’s courtyard. The thousands of us would not fit in the space, not that we would linger here for long. The entrance to Lethe used to change whenever it was discovered, an order made by Marin. The door had been left wide open when I fled Lethe a month ago, and it had not yet been sealed.

  We marched through the courtyard and around the hotel to the set of service doors. Those doors were closed, but they were not locked. If any humans had ventured through those doors, they would not have found Lethe but a basement full of discarded, moldy furniture. For us, however, the bridge between life and death, we saw something else entirely.

  At least I hoped so. What if the wall had been paved over?

  Or what if it was left open for one very gruesome reason?

  The Watchmen paused in front of the doors before daring to open them. Papa, Brent, and I stopped behind them. There were five Watchmen, each one giving the other uncertain looks.

  “Some of us need to stand guard. Humans might follow us,” one said.

  “Agreed. We’ll stay back,” said another.

  Their expressions began to make sense as they peeled apart and stood on either side of the entrance into Lethe. They were scared. Their eyes should’ve been bright gold as Reaper’s eyes got in moments of confrontation. Theirs struggled between gold and their natural colors, failing to mask their true feelings.

  I wanted to ask why they were so scared and had they seen something that told them to run the other way, but I didn’t. Trivials were frightening, sure, but they weren’t any more frightening than Marin and his loyalists. I had seen the worst.

  One by one, with the Watchmen holding the metal doors open like the bellhops would for guests of the beautiful, historic Château, rebel Stygians fed through and into the one place they never thought they’d get to visit while alive. Once an overflowing handful pushed through the entrance, Papa, Brent, and I followed. This time, unlike all the others, we would not lead Styx. We would follow. This wasn’t our reclamation. It was everyone’s.

  Just as I remembered, the long, concre
te hallway descended about a hundred feet into the bowels of the hotel. There was another set of doors at the end of the hallway where we were headed. A large “Exit” sign hung above. As we marched, I felt things, both squishy and hard, underfoot. They threw off my balance. Stygians around me seemed to encounter the same things, though, like me, they couldn’t look down to inspect the floor given how close we all walked. My ankles rolled. I found myself bumping into Brent and Papa, both of whom struggled to manage their own balance.

  “What the fuck?” Papa said.

  “Can’t see,” I replied. As short as I was, I couldn’t look down to spot what exactly we were treading over.

  “Smell that?” Brent asked, nose scrunched.

  “No time to make fart jokes, son,” Papa grumbled.

  “No. I smell it, too.” The stench grew stronger as we forged deeper toward Lethe.

  Other Stygians near us agreed. What was the smell? What was underfoot?

  The final set of doors into Lethe swung open ahead of us. When the first rebels burst through it, the stink of decaying flesh, sweet but instantly nauseating, overwhelmed everyone. Stygians slowed to stop, doubling over, covering their noses and faces with their shirts and jackets. The stink had been mild before the doors were open, but now was pungent enough to send some of the ones ahead of us stepping backward, uncertain if they should move forward and if their stomachs would let them.

  Like everyone else, the three of us covered our faces. Our eyes watered.

  “Has no one been in here for a month?” Papa said to us. “Is that what the smell is from?”

  I had a hunch. Brent did, too. Even so, I had assumed that some of Marin’s loyalists had stayed due to Marin’s pre-taped videos. But perhaps those videos were all prearranged and automatically set to run? Perhaps Lethe had been abandoned after Marin’s demise?

  But the smell. When Stygians died, they turned into dust unless they were torn apart by…

  “Oh shit,” I whimpered when I knelt down to touch whatever was underfoot. When I picked it up and held it up in front of my face, the only thing I could do—because everyone around me did—was scream.

  I had never imagined the horror of clutching a tuft of hair from a formerly living Stygian, a face that had no skull, no eyes, no teeth. The ghoulish thing looked more like a rubber Halloween mask than a former head of someone unrecognizable. Blood dripped from the empty eye sockets and neck where it had been severed.

  Brent grabbed the sagging face of death from my hand and threw it against a wall. What this reaction was supposed to accomplish, neither of us was sure. The flesh smacked against the concrete wall and slid garishly down to the floor, leaving blood smeared in its wake. As everyone rushed to one side of the tunnel, they revealed numerous body parts scattered across the floor—the very things we were tripping over.

  More Stygians around us screamed. Some vomited. Others looked around in abject terror. None of them, however, knew exactly what they were about to face.

  “Motherfucking Trivials,” Brent growled, his body growing icy. “Those motherfucking—”

  “Brent, not here.” I grabbed onto his arm as I felt his power intensifying.

  “I’m sick of this shit! Isn’t it enough that we’re leaderless? Isn’t it enough that we’ve been through hell for decades?” Brent roared, causing the horrified Stygians to gradually inch away from us. Some, perhaps none of them around us, had never seen an Eidolon in full wraith form. I hadn’t until I had met Brent. And back then, it had terrified me to the core to see what he could do. Now was not the time to introduce Stygians to the full nightmare of a raging Eidolon.

  “Brent!” I barked as he continued to rant.

  “They’re going to tear you apart!” he shouted at the Stygians nearby. “They’re going to leave you like this poor shithead.” He bent to pick up the skull-less head and waved it around. “This is not Death! This is a fucking nightmare! We aren’t like this. We’re better than this. Death isn’t supposed to be horrifying, it’s a damn transition. It’s our job to make it painless and smooth. Look at this!”

  The face swung around as he howled. Brent’s eyes were bright red, and the ghostly darkness began to surround him. I had never seen him like this, full of so much anger for what had been done. Brent used his Eidolon skills with precision, turning it off and on only when it was most needed. This Eidolon was unfamiliar, ungrounded, and willing to frighten off everyone to stop more bloody death from raining down on Styx.

  But what I could see that no one else could was that deep down Brent was exhausted. He had remained the calm, focused leader for long enough. There were times when a meltdown was inevitable. Only, why did it have to be here and now?

  “Papa,” I said, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling his face closer to mine. “We have to do something with him!”

  “Nah. Let him get it out.” The tone in Papa’s voice was almost humorous.

  “Help me calm him down before everyone runs away!”

  As Papa and I debated, Brent’s sweet Kentucky brogue roared over voices and whimpering and crying. It carried over the screams of Stygians discovering the body parts under their feet. And it carried over the retching coming from sick Stygians.

  Papa and I had to stop him. We had to calm him down.

  “Do something!” I shouted at my foster father who was the only one big enough to bring the six-foot-tall Eidolon down.

  “Why can’t we get a fucking break, huh? When is Marin’s hand going to lose sway over us? When? When?” Brent kicked what seemed to be a severed leg. He filled his lungs to begin again with meaningless, unhelpful words, when Papa tapped him on the shoulder. Brent whirled around, eyes blazing red, ready to attack. Instead, a fist met his cheek, knocking Brent to the floor and out cold.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You are so brave and quiet. I forget you are suffering.”

  —Ernest Hemingway

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I said to Papa, who was kneeling with me at Brent’s side. The Stygians around us hadn’t run headlong out of Lethe yet because there were too many blocking their path. I was sure, however, that if there were fewer of us around, they would have.

  “It had to be done,” was Papa’s diplomatic response, but I read the underlying message just fine. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I met the son of a bitch,” was what Papa was really thinking.

  “Brent.” I tapped his face, avoiding the knot on his cheek. “Wake up.”

  “Is he dead?” squeaked a female Reaper. She was young, likely not old enough to begin her career as a Reaper, which might have explained her limited knowledge on how things worked in Styx.

  “No,” I replied. “It’s not that easy to kill an Eidolon.”

  “Wha-what’s that?” she said.

  “It’s a Grim Reaper for all of us, dingus,” said a boy who, from their similar looks and the tone is his voice, had to be her brother.

  I wanted to tell the boy that I was in my mid-twenties before I learned what an Eidolon was through firsthand experience and that he shouldn’t be so mean to his sister. Additionally, I wanted to whack him on the head as Mama would’ve done. Instead, I looked at his sister and said, “Everyone dies. Eidolons are here to make sure we Stygians go safely and smoothly. They are our guards.”

  Brent moved under my hands. I turned to see his blue eyes fluttering open. He put a hand to his cheek and winced. And as quickly as he went down from Papa’s hit, he climbed to his feet and gave everyone around him a discomfited glance. This wasn’t how Eidolons were supposed to behave, most of all Styx’s top Eidolon. But even they had breaking points.

  Some Stygians clapped when Brent stood to his full height. The rest of them began pushing their way out of the tunnel to Lethe and back into the human world. I expected this. Not everyone would be cut out to face the Trivials. We were stronger in higher numbers, but only if we were fighters. The children weren’t. The ones pushing and screaming to leave weren’t either.

  My hop
e remained that those who could fight would stay, and they’d be just enough to help us neutralize the Trivials. As those Stygians retreated, climbing over body parts and around more stubborn rebels, I watched our numbers quickly diminish. What troubled me the most was hearing the departing ones tell Stygians further down the line to turn back.

  Those of us close to the core of this nightmare knew what we were in for. The rest did not, and I could not fault them for not knowing. I could only wish that they’d stand by our sides. I didn’t want to go into Lethe to fight Trivials with just a handful of allies.

  But as more and more retreated, the band of Kentuckian Reapers wove their way to us. In addition, so did Clover, Azim, and their group of rebels. And bringing up the rear of our small infantry were the Watchmen who had held the doors open for us. There were a few stragglers, ones who weren’t familiar to me but seemed ready to put their lives on the line for our cause. The group of punk teenagers I spotted near the fountain were there.

  But it was the final group of Stygians to arrive that made me feel like we might have a fighting chance. I spotted her red eyes. Neema was here and I knew that Delia must have worked her diplomacy as I had asked her to. Neema, small but hardly fragile, shoved her way through our fellow Stygians to meet me face-to-face. Her dreadlocks were pulled into a ponytail, and she smelled of lavender like she had recently showered and primped for this big day. Those red eyes narrowed on me before she pulled me into a hug, one I never expected from the Eidolon.

  “Delia is a master at persuasion,” she whispered in my ear. “I will stand with you, Dormier.”

  While I didn’t return her hug at first, now I put my arms around her, feeling her small body pressed to mine. Inside of her, however, I sensed that there was a power that rivaled Brent’s.

  “Thank you,” I said back.

  She unfolded from our embrace and looked around at the allies that remained, ready to enter fully into Lethe and face the Trivials. I did the same, taking stock of everyone. Several more Stygians marched down the ramp, carefully avoiding the bloodied limbs and heads of the dead. We were nearly fifty strong.