The Reaper's Embrace

by Abigail Baker

  And this time, I wasn’t afraid. I craved revenge.

  I would have it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is watching.”

  —C.S. Lewis

  The doors were easy to wrench open. I remembered their weight, how they required great effort to move. My strength was different now than it had been when I had confronted Marin. I had been determined to save Brent. That sentiment made me dangerous but not entirely fearless. I had much to lose back then. This time around, I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  I was dizzy and full of confidence, drunk from bloodlust.

  I marched into the room, slamming the doors shut behind me before taking stock of everything inside. What I didn’t realize until I felt the whoosh of air from them closing tight was that I had not done it with my hands.

  I moved them with my mind just as Marin had moved items with his. Those powers of his were powers of mine. They were any Master Scrivener’s, if they willed it to be. I gave a smile at learning this. If I needed this skill again, however, would it work for me? Or was this a one-time gift?

  I was inside a familiar round room, lined with Doric columns, a ceiling trimmed with skull carvings and white marble floor. This was where I had faced Marin and lived through my trial. This place was far more familiar to me than I would have liked. A mix of anger and grief filled my body. This was the place where I had said goodbye to Mama. This was where I had lost part of my soul to Brent. This was where my agonizing journey of the past two years had begun.

  It was not as grand as I remembered. Cobwebs festooned the columns. Some of the marble floor tiles had crumbled. Dust covered everything except for two bodies in the middle of the room. A light from the ceiling spiraled down over them, illuminating the dust floating in the thick, dense air.

  “Delia! Nic!” I my voice broke. I wanted to rush to their sides, but I had to assess the threat. Glancing over my shoulder for an ambush, I padded hurriedly toward them. Were they dead? Were they just unconscious? Both were bound at the wrists and ankles, their mouths gagged. I checked their heartbeats, which were strong but slow. Yes, they were okay for now. With what little heat I had restored since melting Gizmo and those Trivials, I disintegrated their bonds, starting first with Delia. Their limbs remained limp. They would not wake up even now, even with all the ruckus outside of those double doors.

  I needed more time to let my power fully restore. I glanced around, scanning for Trivials or another threat. The room was eerily still with the chaos on the other side of the doors. Why was it so quiet in here? Why were my friends lying like bait in the center of the room?

  “Delia,” I said, tapping her cheek. I turned to Nicodemus and did the same, trying to draw them out of their sleep. “Come on, wake up, please.”

  I slapped both of their cheeks a little harder on the off chance that would knock them out of their slumber. The effort left red marks on their faces but did nothing more.

  Over the din of the battle outside, I heard a soft chuckle from one side of the room. My eyes turned upward from Delia and Nicodemus to find James, the bastard who had killed Papa. My prey was within reach.

  I took stock of my heat. It was not to full strength. I rose to my feet, shoulders squared and ready for action, and faced the Trivial. He eased out from the shadows like a snake gliding into water. He looked like a normal human.

  “I spent some time down here after you left in such a rush last time,” James said. His black hair dangled over his soulless eyes. “I did some research. Found out you went to find Xiangu. So I caught up to her before you. Told her you were going to kill her, told her about Brent’s part in Marin’s round-up of Trivials. Figured I could get her to kill you both—or at least Hume—in return for warning her.”

  I remained silent as I sized up my enemy.

  But was I the worst he had encountered?

  “I know Marin gave you a Deathmark.” James pointed to my now bare right arm. “I know he was a Scrivener.”

  “Master Scrivener.” For some reason, I felt the need to correct him, like I owed it to Marin and my kin to at least set the record straight.

  “You’re a Master. Do you want to rule Styx like Marin?” He continued to point at me as he crossed one foot in front of the other, slowly moving out of the shadow and toward me.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Fuck no. I just want to be left alone.”

  “No one with power like yours wants to be left alone.”

  “Marin might have wanted ultimate power. But not me.”

  “Marin killed Trivials to maintain his power,” James said, scowling.

  “He killed Scriveners, too.”

  “And you killed him. Now you’ll take over,” he snarled.

  “I’m not sure you heard me the first time when I said I don’t want to rule Styx.”

  He stopped walking toward me once Delia and Nicodemus’s bodies were between us.

  “Why haven’t you killed them?” I asked.

  “I wanted you to watch me rip them apart. More fun that way, isn’t it?”

  I gritted my teeth.

  We stood on either side of the beam of light from the ceiling. It was the last barrier to something I was emotionally ready for but still too weak to do—fight. My strength hadn’t yet come back after going nuclear with Gizmo. I would need to stall a little longer.

  I pivoted on my toes and began to walk the perimeter of the circle of light. The Trivial waited until I came close enough to touch him before he began to walk, too, circling the light and keeping just out of reach.

  I was tired of being the mouse. For once, I felt like the cat who was preparing to make her final pounce. The thing about cats is that they don’t appear to fear injury or death during the hunt. They have one job—food. Death was not even a consideration. And right now, dying was the furthest from my mind. Killing was all I could taste and breathe and feel.

  I wondered, as the two of us slowly walked around the light, if this was what Marin felt like before he destroyed his victims. Was he this proud? Confident? Did he ever care about what his victims felt? As for me, I knew this Trivial felt nothing at all seeing as he had no soul, therefore no emotions. I clearly didn’t instill fear in him. I wanted him to feel terror move through his veins. I had to taste that dominance right now. It consumed me like a potent drug.

  “Marin would not have had your kind executed had you not tormented innocent Stygians,” I said.

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “Don’t know. Why don’t you tell me the truth?” I stopped and faced him. My hands dangled at my sides. The very tips of my fingers glowed red, a subtlety he did not overlook from the downward shift of his eyes toward my hands.

  “I came down here to make peace with the Trivials, to unite us,” I added. “I wouldn’t have hurt anyone if you hadn’t killed Papa first.”

  “That wouldn’t have been very fun, would it?” James said it in his best, menacing tone.

  “No, I guess not. Too bad. I am pretty good at killing Stygians like you.”

  One corner of his lopsided mouth pulled into a sneer. “Your papa had it coming.”

  My rage amplified, causing my heart to feel like it would explode out of my chest and destroy the bastard. All I had wanted from life was to do my job and protect those whom I loved. Was it too much to want to live quietly and under the radar? But because of my heritage and the wrongdoings of many others, I was pulled into this fucking mess. I’d become one massive voice of the rebellion. As much as I cared about seeing to it that Styx was healed from all the past inequities, all I craved now was to shove goodness aside for revenge.

  I gave myself a once over. I probably stank to high hell from all the blood and guts of my enemies on my clothes. My body was thinner than ever before. Mama would have words with me if she was still alive. I’m sure that my face reflected the exhaustion that I felt inside. I was done being the hero.

  The Trivial tried t
o dodge my lunge, but he simply wasn’t fast enough. My hands gripped his neck. They weren’t hot—my power was still just recharging. But the conviction I forced into my grip was enough to momentarily offset his struggle.

  He stumbled backward, his feet struggling to maintain balance, as I pushed my slight weight into him. James’s eyes bulged. Only this one would be a slow, measured death. I would make every second of it excruciating.

  He flung his arms around me. His fingernails dug into my jacket, but the leather was too thick for him to do much damage. It was when he latched onto my dreadlocks that I loosened my grip on his neck.

  With one wrench of my hair, he sent me whirling. I was forced to let go of him. His boot toe met my stomach. I felt the urge to vomit. Even so, I stumbled, remaining upright as I tried to go at him from another angle.

  This time, like I had when I was small and played living-room wrestling match with Papa, I went for his waist. I gained as much speed as I could in the brief distance between us. My right shoulder smashed into his abdomen. I kept running even though I hit my target. I ground my own boot toes into the white marble, driving him back and back until a massive Doric column forced him to stop.

  Papa had always taught me to make use of every body part when fighting. I used his advice now. As I rammed my enemy, I used my teeth to bite into his side. I drove through his flesh until my teeth met. Copper liquid pooled around my lips and in my mouth.

  If he was fighting against my attack, I certainly didn’t feel it. I felt nothing. My flesh was numb to pain. And everything inside—fears, sadness, goodness—was gone, too. There was nothing for him to attack. I was a shell, a murderous shell on a rampage.

  Once the wall stopped him entirely, I pulled back and threw as many punches into his gut as I could. All the while, I screamed words that had no meaning, simply gibberish to anyone listening.

  He gurgled blood. I glanced up to see red freckling his chin and lips.

  “You…just as…evil.” His face twisted in a devilish smile.

  “There’s a narrow line between good and evil.”

  “But you’re not…you’re…you’re capable…of good, like Marin.”

  I rose onto my toes until our noses barely touched. His nostrils flared as he gasped for air. The sound of the sizzling meat on his neck was nearly deafening in this closeness. My hands were so hot, they burned his skin, melting right through to his veins and tendons below.

  “You’re choosing…evil.”

  With that, without much more than me imagining him flying across the room, the Trivial lifted off the floor and soared twenty feet. He crashed into another column and slid down onto his buttocks, as confused as I was about what had just happened. I had not touched him at all. I wanted him to be thrown across the room and that was what happened.

  So this was what it was like to move large objects with my mind? This was a gift that Marin and Errol, both Master Scriveners, possessed. Now I was certain I had it, too. It would be fun to mentally throw this Trivial about the room like a ragdoll before I destroyed him for good.

  I slowly stalked toward him as he struggled to stand, using the column for balance. He couldn’t breathe easily now that I had melted part of his neck. Still, in all of that, he smiled.

  He would die smiling.

  “Styx will suffer at your hands,” he said, putting his hand out as if to thwart my approach.

  “I’m not worried about Styx right now, just killing you.”

  “Torturing me.”

  “You killed Papa.”

  “Your lover killed…killed hundreds of my kin.”

  “He had to because he was ordered,” I argued.

  “So did I. And…I’d kill you, your lover, all of you if I have my chance.” He narrowed his gaze a moment before he threw himself at me. I had no time to duck. When his body collided with mine, the air from my lungs expelled in a loud grunt. My feet came off the floor and didn’t return until I was flat on my back with the Trivial above me, peering down with his wicked smile. Blood stained his face. His neck was partially gone. Much like I had been impervious to pain, so was he.

  One of his hands clutched my dreads and forced my head to one side. My neck exposed, he drove his teeth into my flesh. I let out a howl that could have been heard by humans up above. I put my fiery hands on his body, burning him where I could find flesh.

  My blood poured from my neck as he held on tightly. It seemed he was trying to make a point by biting me, using my own tactic against me.

  I scuffed my feet on the floor, trying to find traction to launch him away from my body. I even imagined him flying off me as I had imagined him soaring across the room. This time, it didn’t work.

  Just as I was sure he hit my jugular vein, he reared back, a weapon in his hand. The switchblade glinted in the light. Blood stained it. I knew whose blood that was. Papa’s. He would use the same blade to cut off my head.

  I threw one hand on his wrist to stop him from driving the blade into my chest. Even as blood gushed from my neck, causing me to grow dizzier with exertion, I fought him. When my other hand found his chest, I sent as much heat and radiation into him as I could muster. Instantly, his arm weakened, and the knife fell from his limp fingers. I would melt him. Now. Not later. Not after toying with him any longer. Now.

  He would die. For Papa.

  His body grew limp above me. I pushed him aside. He toppled to the floor and onto his back. Somehow, he still had energy to attempt to impede my deathblow. It was a pitiful show. His face was twisted. His eyes turned to glass. I just needed another few seconds, and he’d be nothing but sludge.

  “Ollie,” a familiar voice called out. “Ollie, no!”

  I heard him. I knew it was Brent.

  “Stop it!” His voice was louder and closer.

  I didn’t turn away from my kill. Just a few more seconds.

  “Stop!” A pair of hands sent me flying exactly as the Trivial had only a few short minutes ago. I landed against the marble floor, air knocked from my lungs, and slid to a stop. Brent stood over the Trivial, who was fighting to breathe.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted. “Let me finish him!” I started to climb to my feet when Brent’s usual charming persona turned into the black specter I knew well. The Eidolon in him, the beastly nightmare, was just as horrifying as the first time I had witnessed it two years ago. I waited to see him tear the Trivial apart and to end this part of the battle.

  He didn’t.

  Brent came at me, and fear consumed me just as it had when I bore Marin’s Deathmark. His ghostly darkness skidded to stop in front of me. Red eyes peered down at me.

  “This is not who you are. You are not a murderer. You are not evil.”

  “No. It’s revenge,” I argued, my hands shielding my face from his presence. For the first time since entering the room, I was crippled from terror.

  “You are above it!” Brent roared and the floor beneath me cracked from the power of his bass. “No more killing. No more death in the name of evil! You will not become him. You will not, Ollie!”

  I scuttled backward until my back hit a wall or a column. I was too frightened and ashamed to notice which. With my knees against my chest, I quivered. Brent moved closer and closer just as I had done to my victim. I didn’t bother to see if the Trivial had found his strength again or if he was too scared to move like I was.

  “You will not become him,” Brent said, his angry tone now mellower.

  “I’m not. I just wanted to avenge Papa,” I cried.

  “Killing in self-defense is one thing. You will not kill in the name of revenge.”

  “He killed Papa!”

  “It doesn’t matter, Ollie!” he barked, and my insides jolted in terror. I never believed I’d face down Brent, the one who had gone into the darkness for me, who had suffered physically while protecting part of my soul.

  Was I that far into the darkness that he needed to exert his own, indomitable power to make his point? Had I lost a part of myself?r />
  Despite all the wicked things Brent had to do for Styx, after all that he’d been through, he’d never come so close to utter darkness as me. He had hunted me because that was the natural order of things. But even when my time came one day, I knew he’d make sure I went without pain, in the arms of my beloved.

  My fear of him ebbed when I realized he had never gone as dark as me, that he was good, truly good. I was a fool to have let fear get in the way of fully reconnecting with Brent. He was the only thing that wrenched me back from the ledge. It was his love—tough as it was—that did it.

  “You’ve betrayed everything you’ve been taught,” he growled, continuing with the painful words, driving them deeper into my heart so I would learn from my mistake. “You are a good, beautiful soul. How quickly you abandoned that for a moment of retribution?”

  “I didn’t abandon it,” I whimpered. “I just needed to…”

  “Revenge is never the answer, even if it’s for the people we love.”

  “Oh, Brent, I want this all to end. I’m tired of losing everyone I love.”

  “Ollie, I don’t want to lose anyone else either, especially you. I don’t know that I’d ever recover if I lost you. I’d die for you, but I can’t follow you if you head into darkness.” His fingers curled around my chin as I wept. Those formerly red eyes were crystal blue, clouded in tears. The demon form was gone. “I love you. Please don’t go where I can’t follow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Even the noblest soul can turn wicked.”

  —Master Scrivener Xiangu

  Smoke billowed from the Heart into the room once the double-doors flung open. I couldn’t see what stood behind it. My own guilt from what I had done was too great. I dared not look too closely at who came into the room. I had disappointed Brent, which was as awful as disappointing my parents. By attacking the Trivial, by seeking revenge, I had not intended to lessen my virtue. I thought, in some way, it would help it, that I’d somehow save Papa’s soul if I destroyed the one who took it.