by Debra Kristi
“Not particularly, no. Not my first choice.”
“Then you can be content with not knowing more about the salves used to treat you.” She smiled, tilted her head, and turned with a bob.
Sebastian grimaced, a poor attempt at a frown. He didn’t feel the two situations stood on the same ground.
She took one step, paused, and looked back at Sebastian, an uncertain look on her face. The air in the room swirled, a mini cyclone appearing in the space before her. Her muscles tensed. Sebastian pushed himself to a sitting position. Every muscle, joint, tendon, bone, things he didn’t even know existed, howled. Holy Grim’s Death.
The swirl of air pulled in dust and dirt from every surface in the room. Darkening and calculating, a shape took form deep within the churning chaos. Alice’s chest heaved, her breaths uneven and labored. The Grim Reaper, Death himself, stepped from the whirling mass, and Alice squawked, then slumped backwards.
Sebastian caught her and moved her gently to the bed. Dead weight. Her life force was gone. Sebastian glared at his father. “What did you do that for?”
Sebastian’s father stood perfectly straight and proper. Suit, tie, and hat as usual. Shoes a scuff-free gloss black. “She held you captive. I’m here to liberate you. I show no mercy to your captors.”
Sebastian held Alice’s hand and stared into her eyes. “You got it all wrong. She was kind. She was healing me.” He turned her hand back and forth in his own, then reached up and moved her head. “Where is she? Why isn’t her soul coming to me?” His hand wrapped around the silver locket she wore, felt the warmth of her life force still trapped within.
“I already sent her away.”
Sebastian bolted upright. The locket snapped from her neck and remained clasped in his grip. The room swayed and his hand shot out to steady himself. It found the wall, slick with heavy gray paint, cold to the touch. Don’t let him see your pain, Sebastian reminded himself. “Where were you when I actually did need you? I was beaten and held captive by ugly chaos monsters—behemoths.” His gaze shifted from his father to Alice’s body laid out on the dirty mattress. “Alice’s people saved me.”
His father looked around the stark room with an air of arrogance. “I didn’t know. I only just received word.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on his father. “Only just? Did Mr. Johnson take a slow stroll on his way to find you? Why didn’t he do something rather than jot little notes and leave?”
“Johnson does things by the book. I told him to watch; he watched. Now come, let’s go. I must get you somewhere safe.” He swung his arm out, motioning Sebastian to come along.
Sebastian didn’t move. He stared at his father, a storm of heated emotions clashing within him. Fury, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, and shock, to name a few. “But Johnson, he—”
Sebastian’s father jerked his head. It was a signal he wanted to go, not talk. “Yes, yes. Stopped you from foolishness with the dragon. That was the directive. Like I said, he’s a by-the-book Reaper. Good man.” Sebastian scoffed. “Now come along.”
Sebastian still made no motion to leave. “What of Alice?” Sebastian adjusted the woman’s arms, making them rest comfortably upon her quiet body. Carefully, he knelt and retrieved the bottle of ointment. Her locket still dangled in his palm. Unsure why he did it, Sebastian shoved the locket in his pocket. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe he would search out her family later, as he had yet to finish for Sophie.
“She is gone. There is nothing more to do.” Mortifier grabbed Sebastian and pulled him away from Alice.
“You want me safe?” Sebastian laughed. “What do you care?”
“I care plenty. Someone or something is killing supernaturals. I don’t want you to be next.”
Sebastian froze, all of his muscles tightening. He pulled back on his father’s grip. “What do you mean? Who has died?”
The Grim’s eyes fluttered to a lazy close. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me!”
“So far, nothing more than a few dragons. But dragons are not easily conquered. The killer likely has the taste for it now. I’ve seen it happen many times through the years. More often with the humans, but it happens within the lines of a supernatural species, as well. He will move on, looking for more challenges. Some that will provide cunning and strong opponents. Do you see now? See why I must get you out of this place?” He took hold of Sebastian’s arm and pulled him toward the vortex.
Sebastian struggled, but every bit of fight sent him another burning notch up the agony scale. “I really don’t see it, Dad.” Sebastian spit the title out with venom. “I just killed an entire room full of demons, and I didn’t even mean to. Why would anyone, or thing, want to take on a Reaper?”
His father’s eyes lit up. “You did? Congratulations, my boy.” His hand came down in a solid pat on the back. Sebastian bolted his mouth shut, locking his jaw.
“Alice.” The call rang out from the other room, the sound of footsteps approaching.
Sebastian’s head snapped to the right and watched a dark-skinned man walk around the corner into the room. The official tag on his breast pocket read B. Crane. He hesitated at the sight of Sebastian and his father.
“Necessary?” Mortifier asked.
Sebastian clutched the bottle of medicine to his chest and returned the stare of the man in the doorway. “What?”
“As I thought,” said the Reaper and flicked his finger. The man stumbled back into the hallway and crumbled to the floor. Sebastian didn’t have to ask. The guy was dead.
“What is wrong with you?” Sebastian groaned. He wanted to yell, but lacked the necessary strength.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. This is a Reaper’s way. Embrace it, Sebastian.”
“A Reaper’s way,” Sebastian mocked. “Not this Reaper’s way!” He hunched his shoulders. “At least, not the way I want to be,” he mumbled.
“Stop us, then,” his father said, and pulled Sebastian by the arm into the vortex. With a swish, he removed them from the rebel’s hideout. As Sebastian observed the white and gray swirls of dust and air spin around him, he watched the dank room where he’d been start to fade. More rebels rushed into the room, gathered around their fallen comrade.
One soldier looked up and pointed to Sebastian and Mortifier as they began to fade in the dissipating swirl of Grim transportation. That was it. That was the moment. All heads turned toward them, a couple pointing. He was now a suspect. It was clear they thought he killed the guy in the doorway. Probably Alice, too. Intimidating men rushed at the vortex. It was a moment of truth. Sebastian could stay and face the consequences, or leave with his father. He remained steadfast, and everything swirled into a churning mess of last-stop destination. Imminent collision with Alice’s co-conspirators quickly passing.
Sebastian’s gut twisted, a strongman’s weight plummeting into his stomach. He threw off his father’s hold and crashed straight through the churning chaos and whirling mist wall, directly out of the conveyor-cyclone into the darkening mass beyond.
Alice had packed something white and gooey against Sebastian’s wound, used a gauze bandage for binding. The salve wasn’t working fast enough for his convenience. He wished for a quick heal or quick death. Either should erase the exploding pain in his side. At this point, he wasn’t sure he cared which came for him.
Lights blurred in and out, and the rancid smell of piss and beer assaulted him. What time is it? he wondered. Maybe early dawn or the break of night? He leaned forward, reached out, hoping to find a firm hold, something to steady himself. He wasn’t disappointed. Cold brick met his palm. He was standing at the corner of an alleyway.
The path from where he stood to where he wanted to go felt daunting, almost undoable. He wasn’t sure why he’d come here. Maybe it was his need to tie up loose ends. Damn his nobility. He thought he had been concentrating on Alice. Sophie must have been lingering in his subconscious. When he’d broken free from his dad, jumped into the abyss, he could have gone a
nywhere. Should have gone to Kyra, but he hadn’t.
He was standing beside the now-familiar apartment building filled with broken souls, and stuffed somewhere within were Sophie’s parents. The building’s side entrance blew open. Four people stammered out, two guys and two girls. One of the guys tossed a bottle to the side, the sound of breaking glass following. He laughed and wrapped his arm around the nearest girl, leaving the shattered bottle at the base of the door.
“Classy tenants,” Sebastian mumbled, then frowned, memories of the green Impala and the alleyway beating racing across his mind.
Before the door closed and clasped shut, Sebastian staggered forward and caught the edge, stopping it with fingers sandwiched between door and jamb. Heavy as it was—metal, thick, and wide—it swung easily on its hinges, allowing Sebastian into the space of the building beyond.
He didn’t harbor any expectation of what lay inside the door. If he had bothered to visualize the interior, what he found was a pretty good fit. Pattern-heavy carpet, old and worn, running up the wall three or four inches. Dingy and scraped beige walls, and several feet in from the entrance, down a not-too-wide hallway, one small elevator.
Sebastian rested his weight against the wall near the elevator and waited. Waited to push the button. Waited for his head to clear. Waited for an ounce of strength to return. Needing his faculties working well enough for him to get the job done.
Sadness, anger, desire, frustration—a whole flurry of emotion washed over him, and none of it was his. Each one came hand-in-hand with thoughts and memories from the tenants in the building. He was drowning in feelings, and he didn’t understand if this severity of the curse was Reaper or Mara in nature. How could either species deal with this constant onslaught? His mind had been so quiet. Why had it all come back with such brutality?
He doubled over and vomited on the carpet.
“Oh man. The night’s too young for you to be that wasted.” A teenage boy bent down and looked Sebastian in the eye, his hair dropping across his face, obscuring one of his eyes. “What time you start the party?”
Sebastian shifted to better see him, noticed the dark bottle he held.
“Here, let me help you.” The boy placed his hand on Sebastian’s arm.
“I’m fine,” Sebastian said under his breath, and turned to fully meet his would-be helper. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared past the teen to the doors of the elevator beyond. The machine groaned as it lumbered up several stories. The sound separated into an army of colorful bangs, clangs, and shrilling echoes. Sebastian wanted to throw his hands over his ears and scream at the world to stop, just stop!
The boy tugged on Sebastian’s arm.
“I said I was fine!” Sebastian snapped and swung his arm, pushing the boy away.
The boy banged into the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His bottle dropped, its contents spilling onto the carpet. He glowered at Sebastian before taking off down the hall at a run. He crashed through the entrance, letting the door swing to a close with a hard bang.
Sebastian dropped to the floor and pulled his knees into his chest. He stared at the bottle left behind and thought of Talia’s mind helper—Spiritual Peace. Before he realized what he was doing, he was reaching across the hall, grabbing the bottle, and sucking down the last few drops.
He closed his eyes and waited. Only liquor, not a magical elixir. A sigh the weight of his soul swept through him, and he pulled all the anger and frustration he felt inward, until it was the size of a pinprick. He had never been so out of control of his emotions. Not since before he’d run away to the carnival. Before he’d left his father.
He laughed, but there was no heart in the action. It was irony. He had let his father back into his life, and with him came the same landslide of shit. Sitting there for a breath or two, as he did, Sebastian wondered how he could kill a Grim.
Heat settled around him, wavered in the air beside him like a gentle companion, and Sebastian realized he now heard nothing. The usual creak of a door or the squawk of a voice carrying down the hall still held fast, but the feelings and memories lingered no longer. “How?” he said to the vacant hall, tilting the empty bottle in his hand and giving it a scrutinizing glare. Surely it wasn’t—
Then his back straightened and eyes widened. Anger. Anger was his key. Possibly even anger at his father, specifically. He wasn’t sure, not yet. But he would find out.
The elevator door opened with a long scratch and an old lady stepped out, small dog yanked by a leash at her back. She wrinkled her nose at Sebastian, hugged the far side of the hallway, and walked by quickly. The doors to the elevator started to rattle shut.
No. Sebastian pulled himself up and pushed away from the wall. I need to be on that. He threw his ragged body into the cold, tight space moments before the doors closed. Folding himself into the front corner, Sebastian crouched and listened to the silence. There was nothing—no rattle, no hum, no movement of any kind—but a pulse, slow and steady, up on the third floor. He reached over and hit the button for number three. The elevator jolted and began its ascent.
Thump, cha-boom. The elevator halted in a bang, the doors opening with a slow pause-and-go. Sebastian was on the third floor, what he sought—Sophie’s family line—to the right. A sluggish beacon summoned him. Shoulder dragging along the wall, left foot schlepping in a tow-and-drop, he moved like a dead man walking. The wall as his crutch.
Outside the apartment, he paused, caught his breath, and took stock of himself. His torn and blood-covered shirt. His dirty, skinned knuckles. With hands shaking and moving deliberately slow, Sebastian zipped the front of his jacket closed, then pulled the sleeves down to hide as much of his hands as possible.
He fought callously to keep his gift stifled, but holding on to anger was harder to do than he had imagined. The emotions and memories kept trying to slither back in to his psyche. Never before had he felt so overwhelmed, so tangled in the struggle for control. Maybe this was his father’s intention all along. Kept from the carnival and the aid Talia provided long enough, Sebastian was forced to deal.
Sebastian fumed, the heat rising up his neck into his face. Mortifier didn’t know what it was like. He couldn’t. The Grim was all Reaper. He didn’t have to deal with the Mara’s gift—or curse, as Sebastian saw it. Sebastian wondered how the two supernatural gifts really affected him. He suspected he got something close to a double dose of overwhelming emotions and memories. Either that, or the Reapers were highly effective in handling the onslaught. Sebastian had a long, cracked road ahead of him before he would learn to master the assault. It seemed impossible. Anger for his father boiled over. All the pain and heartache flashed before his eyes in big, ugly blotches.
And then there was silence. He’d managed it again. Pure resentment of his father had sucked in all the unwanted emotions and memories. The hallway was quiet. Sebastian took a deep breath and stepped up to the door.
He knocked. Waited.
No answer came. But he heard sounds on the other side.
It sounded—Sebastian leaned into the doorframe—it sounded like a mad scurry. A rush of some sort. The noise moved toward him, and Sebastian stepped back, keeping a hand on the frame for balance. The door swung open, exposing a middle-aged woman with blonde, frizzy hair, pulled back tight, accentuating the lines at the corners of her eyes.
“Oh,” she said, and set down a recklessly folded box on the table beside the door. “I was expecting someone else. Can I help you?” She brushed at her clothing and tiny bits of paper fluttered to the floor. It looked as if she had been shredding documents. A lot of them, to create that kind of paper fluff. “Did Jon send you?” She turned and walked back into the apartment.
Sebastian shifted his weight, made no move to follow the woman into the space of her apartment. He didn’t like the way she so carelessly turned her back on a stranger. Maybe if Sophie had witnessed better behaviors at home, from her family, she might not have ended up dead with Lance-the-loser.<
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“You’re not a vampire, are you?” she called back to him. “Waiting for some kind of invite to come in?”
“I don’t feel right.” Sebastian leaned against the door. Is she serious? Sebastian found himself dialing back his anger, wanting to let his ability free so he could feel her emotions, understand what she did and didn’t know.
“It’s fine, honey. If Jon sent you, there’s no worry.” She fussed a few feet away with boxes, stuffing things in, closing them up.
“Jon didn’t send me.”
She stopped and turned to look at him. “Oh, my. How rude of me. I just assumed—”
Sebastian took one step through the door. “I’m here about your daughter. I do have the right place, don’t I?” He glanced around the apartment. Items that gave a home a personal touch were conveniently absent. “You do have a daughter, right?”
“Oh, my,” she said again. “Yes, I’m sorry.” She stood, took two steps toward him. “Of course, it was she who sent you—”
Sebastian braved another step, closing the gap even more. “Sophie wanted, or rather, she requested—”
“Sophie?” A puzzled look replaced the focus the woman had worn as a formfitting mask. Her body froze and shoulders slumped. “What of—?”
Sebastian’s hand dropped over the curve of her left shoulder before she could say another word. “She has an important message for you.” Before the last of his words even touched the air, a stream of impressions, feelings, and desires leaped from his fingertips and rushed through the woman’s bloodstream, straight to her head, heart, and soul. Sophie’s message of peace, love, and forgiveness swept through her mother’s entire being like an unexpected flood. No corner of her conscience was left untouched. Her knees gave way to the weight of revelation and she collapsed, Sebastian catching her in his arms. The flood continued, only now it was a cyclone of emotion coming from Sophie’s mom—anguish and anger, understanding. She sighed and cried into his arms, accepting a truth she could not change. But there was something else—
