by J. L. Powers
“Uh . . . thanks?” I say.
“No sir. Thank you. Please follow me.”
I grab Zachary’s wheelchair but Liliana steps forward and yanks it from me.
“Sorry,” I say to her retreating back.
“Give her some time,” Rachel says.
Our guide uses his badge to usher us through several doors, the last one leading right out onto the tarmac and up to a small jet. A service truck screeches to a halt in front of us and the whole back drops level with the ground. The driver jumps out and motions for us to get into the back. Liliana wheels Zachary in while Rachel and I follow. It lifts us up to the airplane’s door.
We step inside its large interior, furnished with comfortable leather chairs, a love seat, and a sectional that wraps around a table. A crew member straps Zachary’s chair to the plane floor. Rachel and I sit on the sectional, while Liliana flops down on the love seat next to Zachary and glares at us.
A flight attendant asks us what we want to drink. Rachel asks for orange juice, Liliana for a spritzer with a twist of lime. I ask for water and drink one glass after another, ravenously thirsty for some reason.
A phone next to me rings. When I pick it up, Dad says, “You made it.”
“How’d you know?”
“The card activates a few automatic functions. They called and told me you were at the airport. I arranged for a spare airplane to be made ready for you. They’ll fly a new one to Bangor for the businessmen it was intended for. Everyone will be comped the flight, which should keep the protests to a dull roar. You still have Zachary?”
“He’s here.” So stiff, it looks like you could break his arm right off without even trying. “What are you going to do with him?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything and arrange for him to be sent back to his father. I’m just glad you’re safe. Who else is with you?”
“Tomás Eshu and Sean Dullahan said they were going to Chicago. Rachel’s here and also Liliana La Muerte.”
“I see.” He clears his throat. “And what does Liliana intend to do?”
I look over and my heart breaks a little for her. She’s staring out the window, one hand resting gently on Zachary’s forearm. “Dad. She’s planning to go with Zachary. He’s her half-brother. Did you know that?”
The silence from the other end goes on so long, I think we’ve lost our connection.
“Hello? Dad?”
“All right, son. I’m here. I’ll make all of the necessary arrangements for Liliana as well.”
“Okay,” I say.
We hang up. I get the feeling Dad isn’t thrilled with Liliana’s plan to escort Zachary’s body to California. From everything I know about the La Muertes and Angels, it does seem a little foolish. They could do anything to her. Her expulsion from school and her lack of “official” place in the soul guide world make her totally vulnerable.
* * *
The pilots arrive a few minutes later. They introduce themselves, then quickly head into the cabin. Less than thirty minutes after handing my card to the ticket agent, we’re in the air, headed for New York.
Bet Sean and Tomás have barely bought their tickets. Bet they’re stuck in Bangor for a few hours more, at least until somebody can FedEx them some IDs. I’m not gonna lie, Sean was such a jerk about me being a Reaper, the thought fills me with immense satisfaction.
Rachel conks off shortly after takeoff. She puts her head on a pillow and before long she’s drooling all over it. I’d wipe the drool off but I don’t want to wake her up.
Liliana looks out the window and pretends I don’t exist.
I wonder what secrets she’s hiding and what she’s trying to prove. What does it mean for her to be half La Muerte, half Angel? What does her existence mean for all the clans?
I have so many questions and I don’t have the first clue how to answer them. If Rachel is a Reaper, who are her parents and why did nobody know about her until recently? Why didn’t the Reapers, my family, know about her? How did my mother die and why did she become a ghost? If Rachel and I are both Reapers, what happens now? And now that I’ve been kicked out of school, what’s going to happen to me?
And what about Sarah? Is she lost forever or can we rescue her from the clutches of La Luz? Are we still friends? Is there still a possibility for us? Or is she so mad, we are irrevocably over?
Even though I’m watching Rachel drool and Liliana ignore me, my mind is everywhere else but here. Just as it feels like my life was beginning, it now feels like it might have come to an end. Or maybe it’s just another beginning.
My eyes start to droop. I jerk myself awake, afraid. What if I end up back in the graveyard?
Then I remember that I took care of that. My mother’s ended her infinite journey around and around the train loop. We broke the circle. She’s passed to the other side.
I push my part of the sectional into a reclining position and rest my cheek against a pillow. It can’t take longer than a few seconds before I fall into a deep and completely dreamless sleep.
The first one in . . . I don’t even know how long.
* * *
I wake up as the airplane begins its initial descent. The flight attendant stands up and takes away our drink glasses and we buckle up for landing. We bump down on the runway and start to taxi. We taxi some more and then some more. And then some more.
“Maybe the pilot’s driving us to my apartment in Brooklyn,” I joke.
Liliana grunts. Rachel gives me a wan smile.
A million years later, it feels like, we turn into a large hangar and through a window I see the giant doors close behind us. The plane is a tiny Skittle lost in a warehouse. We pull up beside an ambulance and a black SUV. As soon as the door opens, four paramedics climb in and set to work on Zachary.
Dad’s waiting at the bottom of the plane steps, tall and gaunt in his black overcoat, looking like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He nods at me and smiles at Rachel. He holds a hand out to Liliana. She takes it and he bends down to kiss it. “Liliana, sweetheart,” he says, “with everything that’s going on, you shouldn’t go to the Angels. There’s an ongoing investigation into your expulsion and that decision may soon be reversed. Things are really getting dangerous. Plus, you’re next in line for the succession. This is going to cause problems. Huge problems. Maybe war.”
Though her face looks strained, her voice is clear and determined: “I have to do this.”
Dad sighs. “I knew you’d say that. La Muerte women are always determined.” His rueful smile takes the sting out of his words. He hands her a black bag. “This has everything you need if you change your mind. If you need to run. And if you do need to run, please find your way back here. We’ll protect you. The whole Reaper clan.” He sweeps his hands out to include me and Rachel.
They look at each other for a long time, and then her eyes meet mine and then Rachel’s, and finally she nods. “Thank you.” Simple but elegant. I practically burst with pride.
She walks toward the ambulance where they’re loading Zachary’s body.
I hesitate for a second. But I can’t let Liliana just walk away. Too many things happen in this world that we can’t control. At least I can say a proper goodbye.
“Hey, wait!” I hadn’t realized I was running until I skid to a stop beside her.
She’s standing behind the ambulance door, searching through the bag’s contents. She holds the bag open toward me and I catch a glimpse of women’s clothing and toiletries. Two passports zipped into a clear interior pocket. She unzips it and shows me both of them—one American, one Canadian. I flip one open. The passport is for one Christina Lopez, with a birth date eighteen years ago. I don’t know how in the world he did it but the picture in the passport is Liliana. A recent photo, right down to the highlights in her hair. She looks serious. Four small fat manila envelopes contain stacks of one hundred–dollar bills. There must be at least twenty thousand dollars in just one envelope alone.
She mutters someth
ing I can’t understand. When she’s done, she covers her face in her hands. “Tell your father thank you again. He thought of everything.”
“He usually does,” I say.
She smiles, faint lines wrinkling across her forehead, and leans forward, as if she’s going to hug me. Instead, she places her hands on each side of my face, her fingers gentle, and presses her lips against mine. She tastes of lime and spritzer and her lips are warm and soft as they linger.
She drops her hands and lets them swing loosely at her side as she steps away. I grab them.
“What . . . ?” I start to say.
She looks apologetic but extricates herself, turning away, following the paramedics to the ambulance.
“Bye, Lili,” I call.
She turns back for just a second. “Adios, amigo.”
I can’t move. Everything in me wants me to follow her, to stick with her, to keep her in my sights. But I don’t. I just lift my hand and wave goodbye, though she doesn’t look back. She climbs into the back of the ambulance with Zachary’s body and one of the paramedics closes the door. They drive slowly outside.
And just like that, Liliana is gone.
“Didn’t you guys just meet today?” Rachel asks.
“No.” I don’t say anything else and Rachel, because she’s Rachel, doesn’t pry.
Dad’s standing by the black SUV, his back to us, talking to a man in a dark suit.
“Is Zachary gone?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Good!” He turns and faces us. “I’m so glad you are both safe.”
Rachel bursts into tears. Dad takes a step toward her, his outstretched hand unsure. She throws herself into his arms and he pats her back gently.
A suspicious lump in my throat is making it hard to swallow.
“There, there,” Dad says. “You’re ours now. You’re family.” He brings me in close for a hug. My forehead touches Rachel’s and tears smart my eyes. I hold both of them, throat hurting. I have no idea what the future holds. I don’t know how to interpret Liliana’s kiss—was it, Goodbye, it was nice knowin’ ya, or was it a promise? But these two! I know where I stand with them. They mean . . . everything.
Arms around us, Dad leads us to the SUV and we climb in the back. The man in the suit slides into the passenger seat. The driver straps his seat belt on and turns the key in the ignition.
“Reaper compound,” Dad tells him.
“Is that what you’re calling our tiny-ass apartment?” I ask.
He laughs. “That rattrap? I rather liked the place. It was small, but it served us well. It kept you hidden. Safe. Now that everybody knows you and Rachel are Reapers—or they will shortly—we might as well live in the actual Reaper compound. It’s in Manhattan. The Upper East Side.”
I feel in my coat pocket to make sure The Book of Light is still there. First chance I get, I’m giving it to Dad.
Okay. Not really. Maybe I’ll read it first.
Dad pats my knee. “We have a lot to talk about, Adam.”
We put on our seat belts. The driver rolls up the windows and puts the car in gear. Rachel sits beside me, her hand touching mine loosely, in a friendly way. I smile at her as we drive out of the hangar into a cold, cloudy New York day.
List of clans mentioned in this book
and the territories they control
Italy
Mors (Letum)
Japan
Shinigami
North America
Angel (California)
Ankou (Louisiana)
Crowley (Tennessee, Kentucky)
Cu Sith (territory unlisted)
Dullahan (Midwest)
Eshu (Caribbean & Belize)
La Muerte (Central America, Mexico, US–Mexico border regions)
Pesta (Minnesota, Ontario)
Reaper (Eastern Seaboard)
Samael (territory unlisted)
Yamaraja (territory unlisted)
J.L. Powers is the award-winning author of three young adult novels, The Confessional, This Thing Called the Future, and Amina. She is also the editor of two collections of essays and author of a picture book, Colors of the Wind. She works as an editor/publicist for Cinco Puntos Press, and is founder and editor of the online blog, The Pirate Tree: Social Justice and Children’s Literature. She teaches creative writing, literature, and composition at Skyline College in California’s Bay Area, served as a jurist for the 2014 NSK Neustadt Prize for Children’s Literature, and is launching Catalyst Press in 2017 to publish African writers. Photograph by Allison Sattinger
M.A. Powers is J.L.’s “little” (but much taller) brother. He has a PhD in the oncological sciences from the Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. He is currently a stay-at-home dad and lives in Maine.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher.
Published by Akashic Books
©2017 J.L Powers and M.A. Powers
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-61775-580-4
ISBN: 978-1-61775-595-8 Library of Congress Control Number: 2017936100
First printing
Akashic Books
Twitter: @AkashicBooks
Facebook: AkashicBooks
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.akashicbooks.com
About Akashic Books
___________________
Thank you for purchasing this Akashic Books e-book.
Sign up to our email list to receive special offers, access to free e-book excerpts, and vendor-wide digital sales information. Follow this link to join our list, or browse online to www.akashicbooks.com. Free e-book excerpts are available for multiple platforms at www.akashicbooks.com/subject/digits-ebooks/
___________________
Akashic Books is an award-winning independent company dedicated to publishing urban literary fiction and political nonfiction by authors who are either ignored by the mainstream, or who have no interest in working within the ever-consolidating ranks of the major corporate publishers. Akashic Books hosts additional imprints, including the Black Sheep for Young Readers, the Akashic Noir Series, the Akashic Drug Chronicles Series, the Akashic Urban Surreal Series, Infamous Books (curated by Albert "Prodigy" Johnson of Mob Deep, Kaylie Jones Books (curated by Kaylie Jones), the Edge of Sports (curated by David Zirin), Punk Planet Books, Dennis Cooper's Little House on the Bowery Series, Open Lens, Chris Abani's Black Goat Poetry Series, and AkashiClassics: Renegade Reprint Series.
Our books are available from our website and at online and brick & mortar bookstores everywhere.
"As many in publishing struggle to find ways to improve on an increasingly outdated business model, independents such as Akashic—which are more nimble and less risk-averse than major publishing houses—are innovators to watch." —Los Angeles Times
"It's heartening that even as the dinosaurs of publishing are lurching toward extinction, nimble independent publishers like Akashic are producing high-quality, innovative content." —Portland Mercury
"Akashic fits in that very slight category of publishers, growing slimmer every day, whose colophon is a recommendation on its own." —Toronto Star
"Akashic is one of the most impressive of the newer small presses, in part because of editing and production values that rival and perhaps surpass the big houses. We're grateful to them . . ." —Denver Post
"Akashic serves as a prime example of the diversity that marks the small press movement." —Mystery Scene
"What's great about Akashic is its sense of adventure and its smart eclecticism . . . Anything carrying the logo comes with the guarantee that it's worth checking out." —Hartford Courant
"An excellent small press." —In These Times
"[Akashic] fully conveys the charms and possibilities of small press publishing . . . placing a priori
ty on the quality of the books, rather than the possible marketing opportunities they offer."—Poets & Writers
"Akashic is the brainchild of the charismatic Johnny Temple, the bassist of the rock group Girls Against Boys. Temple set up Akashic to give attention to literary works that are ignored, as well as to prove that publishers don't have to exploit their writers." —IUniverse.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.akashicbooks.com
