“Hey, don’t walk away,” Delia shouted as Neema climbed to her feet and headed for the row of trees that led one back into the world outside.
“Delia, it doesn’t matter. She has every right to be upset,” I said.
“You don’t find it odd that Xiangu would jump in front of Brent for you?”
“Yeah, I do. But we can’t go back in time and ask her why, can we?”
Delia folded her arms over her chest. “There are crazier things in this world. Let’s try.”
Nicodemus moved into the middle of our circle like the peacemaker he was. “Let’s take a moment and note that no one in our group has died. In this world, that’s a mark of success.” He clasped his hands at his waist and, though Delia and I had more to say, we resigned ourselves to quietness. Nicodemus was right. “There is not a soul on this planet who hasn’t done questionable things. Let us not trouble ourselves with why and focus on what is to happen next.”
Of course, what we’d do next was a black void of apprehension. We knew. We had to get back to Quebec City and fix what Marin had broken.
The notion of returning to Lethe sickened me. I preferred never to go back. Had Stygian rebels bombed the enclave and let crumbled bedrock entomb it forever, the nearest I would celebrate would be from the other side of the world.
We’d have to go back because the mess was partly our doing. Good children clean up their messes, after all.
Neema returned from the tunnel of trees as if she had forgotten something. Her stride was long and angry. It took her only a few short steps to reach us. She shoved an envelope at me.
“Here,” she said.
I ruffled my brow. “What’s this?”
Neema pointed at the letter.
I unfolded the paper and scanned the florid handwriting. The message started as most messages do: “Dear Olivia.” As I read Xiangu’s handwritten words, my heart began to thud in my chest. The final two paragraphs blended into a mix of black, inky letters that ignited complete sadness. Xiangu’s signature appeared at the end in a mockery of all that I had endured.
I crumpled the paper in my hand but was careful not to burn it into ash.
“What did it say?” Papa asked, catching my elbow in his hand.
“You have to keep her name clean,” Neema said. “You have to honor her sacrifice. She deserves that.”
Everyone kept their distance as I sat on the edge of the pond watching ripples in the water. Green lily pads were clustered in one corner. A few pink and white lotus flowers sprang out of the muddy water.
This silent meditation following Xiangu’s letter was a warning to my companions. From the concerned looks on their faces, each of them wanted to ask what it was that ripped me away from a happy reunion with Brent to this. They’d find out soon enough. For now, I needed time.
But the moment was short-lived like everything in Styx. I felt someone approach me from behind. He padded quietly across the grass, like he was sneaking up on me, but my nose knew it was him. I’d never grow tired of Brent’s scent. My glance over my shoulder was my invitation for him to sit down at my side.
Brent copied my position—arms locked around his knees and pulled to his chest. He gazed out across the pond with me. The water grew still. The next breeze would come along and then he could watch the ripples in the water make everything dance again.
“I was hoping we’d find a quiet spot and make up for lost time,” he said. “But no pressure or nothing.”
I sighed. And then, after trying to fight it, I laughed. The air I breathed to laugh felt rejuvenating. Strangely, I had forgotten how to breathe.
“You were just trying to kill me not too long ago,” I said. “Need time to think.”
“I never wanted to hurt you. It was an instinct older than time.”
“I know what it was. But…” I gulped. “I don’t know how I feel right now.”
He made a little sound in his throat, a catch. Not that he ever saw me as anything but his equal, but I had a lot to learn and prove. Brent was the most powerful Eidolon I knew. I had not only outrun him, I’d outwitted him, too. I had stopped Marin. I had stopped Brent from his ultimate job. I had, finally, earned my stripes. I was a Master Scrivener and, as far as I knew, the most powerful one in Styx. That title I would humbly wear. I would not become corrupted like my predecessors.
I would die before that ever happened.
“So you gonna tell me about the letter from Xiangu?”
There was no sense in keeping Xiangu’s message from Brent because, in the end, he was the only one who could help me.
“Remember the Interceptor?” I said.
“I remember the look of fear in your eyes when we rigged it to the roof of the Château.” Le Château Frontenac, one of Quebec’s grandest hotels, sat on top of Lethe, unbeknownst to every human who worked or stayed there.
“Then you remember that I created it to watch human shows on television because Marin made it illegal to watch them.”
He edged nearer, closing in the sliver of grass that was between us. I was grateful he wanted to be close. But I didn’t feel comfortable with that right now. I scooted away. Brent kept his reaction stifled. He stayed where he was, exuding calm like a human trying to approach a frightened, injured animal.
After a tension-filled minute of silence, I handed him the letter that was crumpled into a ball at my side.
After a couple failed tries, he unfolded the ball of paper and flattened it over his knees. I lingered quietly as he read. When he was done, he let out a harrumph, scrunched it back into a tight ball, and handed it back to me because that was what the letter deserved—to be a ball of paper, left forgotten in the trash.
“Xiangu confessed that she let Marin start the Scrivener Purge,” he said with bitterness on his tongue.
I knew this already. She had said as much. What she wanted from me, however, was to protect her name from getting tarnished. She asked that I erase her part in Marin’s tyrannical takeover of Styx. And I could not say no considering the sacrifice that she made for me. I was a mix of anger and grief and guilt. There would be no more lies.
Except for this one, I guess.
“Scriveners were nearly eliminated because of other Scriveners. Why would they destroy their own?” I said, mostly to myself.
“Possibly because Marin and Xiangu knew what Scriveners are capable of. You came along and took them both out. Seems like their concerns were warranted, even if they were evil.”
I shook my head. “Maybe. But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Not everything makes sense.”
“Everything does if you know what to look for. Even if it’s for a shitty reason.”
“You’re angry because you don’t know why they did it. That’s perfectly understandable.”
The scrunched note in my hand felt like a twenty-pound weight. Nothing Xiangu said was helpful. She had confessed to turning her head the other way while Marin plotted out the Scrivener Purge. Xiangu had known he could never cross over the millions of souls. Having permitted him to sit on the throne for so long, and by looking the other way when her own people were dying, she was no less guilty than Marin.
She had my birth parents’ blood on her hands.
For the past couple of years, by way of rebel cells and my minor uprising, Styx had been asking to see Scriveners restored to their usual numbers. But that was without knowing that the very people who were victimized caused decades of fascism. Once the truth came out—and it would—Styx’s sympathy for Scriveners would die. They would be seen as the enemy so vile, they’d do away with their own kind.
I wasn’t proud of my lineage at the present, but I would have to be if Scriveners wanted to earn the respect of Styx.
“How are we supposed to fix what has been done and prevent it in the future if we don’t know why?” I said. “I can’t lie about Xiangu’s role. But I have no other choice. That’s not how governments should be run. Stygians need to know the truth, but I can’t give it
to them now.”
He put his hand on my knee, and something warm and comforting moved through me. His eyes flashed between yellow and red, a sign that he was starting to see what I had been digesting for the past hour. He shifted his attention to the water again. It was an understandable move. The water with its gentle waves and lily pads and lotuses was a nicer scene than the one we would soon face.
“It isn’t over,” I said. “Our problems are different. If we don’t clean up Marin and Xiangu’s mess, we’re going to be the next in line to take the heat.” I did what I had wanted to do since I read Xiangu’s letter—I burned it into ash. Black flecks fell from my palm and landed on the grass at my side. Soon, the wind blew them away, forever.
“We can’t let them know about this.” Brent knew of whom I spoke—Papa, Nicodemus, and Delia. “No one else can know.”
“Neema knows.” So long as Neema kept the secret, perhaps no one in Styx would learn what Brent and I knew. And if she refused, one of us would have to make her quiet—an action that could so easily turn us as vile as Marin ever was.
“Maybe I’m showing the limit of my skills or knowledge here, but how are you and I supposed to fix this?” he said.
Well, that was the problem. I didn’t know. But like everything I had ever done, I would find out as I went. Brent would have to trust me.
“You know what makes me the angriest?” I asked my beloved, avoiding answering his question.
He gave a peculiar grunt as if to say, “What?”
“After everything I’ve been through, I’m angry with myself for believing until now that everyone is inherently good, even Marin.” More than anything, I wanted to run for Lethe and let it wash away my memory of the letter. For once, the realm and the river of forgetfulness would be useful.
“Xiangu must have had some regret for the past, or she wouldn’t have saved you instead of herself. Do you forgive Xiangu since she gave her life for you?” He was brave to ask this.
I set my jaw. “I have to.”
“Do you forgive me after everything that’s happened?”
My eyes slid to meet his. I had an answer for him. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, though. So I said nothing before I got up and walked away.
Chapter Fourteen
“Always dress like you’re going to see your worst enemy.”
—Kimora Lee
“Ollie, do you think this goes with my shoes?” Delia trotted into the dining hall wearing a gold floral cheongsam. The Chinese silk dress accentuated her curves in a way that made me hot with jealously. She carried her pink Jimmy Choo heels, the ones Xiangu had bargained from her.
“You didn’t wait long to get those shoes back.” I closed Scriveners, A History, one of the books I had borrowed from Wrightwick Manor.
“You didn’t answer my question. Shoes or not?” She bumped her hip to one side as her cue that I should answer or risk her wrath. Delia had a way of making you talk.
“I hate the shoes. In fact, I’ve always hated those shoes, so when Xiangu wanted them, I saw it as a victory for us.”
Her lips pursed. “You could’ve told me that weeks ago.”
“I know. I’m a shitty friend.”
“No, you’re not.” She plopped down at my side and flicked one of my dreadlocks from my shoulder. “You’re a shitty fashionista.”
The day I cut off my dreadlocks, Delia would celebrate. She despised my style.
“Delia,” I said, “I need your help.”
“I know.” She put her hand on my knee. “Let’s start with plucking your eyebrows and then we’ll move north to those dreads of yours. We can do it slowly if you wish. I’m all about making it a pleasurable experience.”
“Delia, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
My nostrils flared when I huffed, and that was all she needed to know that I was not in the mood for teasing. She took one hand from my book and cupped it in both of hers.
“What is it?” This time she was serious.
“Brent, Dudley, and I are going to leave for Quebec tonight.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “You’re going to leave us?”
I nodded—my best answer.
“Why?” Her question was simple but it was loaded with “why after we followed you across the earth, Ollie?” and “Why do you have to leave at all—the fight is over?”
“I need to get back to that Interceptor.”
One red eyebrow rose high. “Sounds kinky.”
“The Interceptor is the device I used to override Stygian television and make a plea for help. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Sort of. I remember Errol showing the video of your confrontation with Marin to me shortly before you came to visit us. And you know what?”
I gave her a look that said I was listening and prepared for a comment on my looks or how she had planned for my makeover from that moment onward.
But Delia, who showed me an unending breadth of loyalty, said, “I knew you’d make things right for Styx after watching the video. I knew you’d become my best friend as soon as I met you. That’s why I can’t let you leave here without me.”
My throat tightened. I had gained and lost several friends in my life. Delia would never replace Eve, but she did a good job of slipping politely into the void Eve left behind, filling it with her grace and humor.
“I would have you come with us, but I need you first to smooth things over with Neema,” I replied. “She is upset, and I have a feeling we’ll need her help. Can you work your charm on her? And will you watch out for Papa and Nicodemus?”
“I can fix things with Neema. But you know, you could watch out for Papa Bear and Nic yourself if you waited and we all went together.”
She had a point. But much like when I had to flee Quebec City after leaving my Deathmark on Nicholas Baird, I could not waste any time going back to clean the mess that had been left behind in Lethe. I had been the one to dethrone Head Reaper Marin. I had to be the one to fix his mistakes. I would start by airing the truth on live Stygian broadcasting so long as the Interceptor still worked.
“Is this about that woman in your necklace?” Her eyes settled on my lotus pendant.
“This is partly about Eve, yes.” And it is partly to do with you, Delia, and Brent, Papa, Nicodemus, and all the others who went before us. Styx had to work again. People, human and Stygian, had to go somewhere other than a horrible limbo when they died. Mama and Eve needed to be in Elysia. And everyone else I loved needed to have it waiting for them when it was their time.
“The other part must have something to do with that letter Neema gave you.” Delia wasn’t stupid. She knew. Papa and Nicodemus would ask the same questions. They would all know eventually. I only needed time.
“Please, promise that you’ll keep them safe and get Neema back on our side.”
“Mm-hm. By safe, you mean distracted. The second they hear that you’re gone, they aren’t going to continue lounging around the Acheron like two bumps on a log.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m asking you for help. You can keep them distracted long enough for Brent and me to get a head start.” I would not bother telling Delia any further information. She had not needed much information to go along for a ride. Delia enjoyed adventure in her pink Jimmy Choos. She’d be my ally from afar—a gift I did not have when Brent and I fled Quebec after the Deathmark incident with Nicholas Baird.
“Oh, fine,” she groaned. “How much of a head start do you and Paul Bunyan need?”
I gave my answer due consideration. “A couple of days would be great.”
“That’s a lot of shoe shopping between here and Quebec.”
“It sure is. Load Papa and Nic up on candy bars, and they’ll be fine for a few days.”
“It’s a plan, Teacup.”
Night seemed the best time to make our exit. The trouble was that Brent, who had been on the run for the same amount of time and carried the same exhaustion, did not want to rise from his
hammock in a dark, private part of the gardens.
Waking him from a deep sleep was wrong. I should’ve let him get one night of rest. That would’ve been the kind thing to do.
“Brent,” I whispered, bent over him. I wanted to move in closer to brush my lips against the softness of his earlobe. I decided not to as a bubble of fear rumbled in my gut. “Let’s go.”
I had told him we would leave in the night. He had been fine with the idea hours ago. Now he grumbled and turned his head away.
“Come on. It’s time to go.” There was a way to coax him out of his slumber—flip the hammock. I would save that trick as my final warning. Hades knew I didn’t need to agitate the Eidolon when I needed him most.
“Brent, I—” My urgency was interrupted when he clamped one hand around my wrist and pulled me down over him. I kept my toes on the ground, balancing precariously above the drowsy Eidolon. Had I toppled over, we undoubtedly would’ve gone on a wild ride, spinning the hammock and landing hard on the grass. I clung to my balance for all I had.
“You have a habit of running off in the middle of the night, Scrivener.” His baritone was ripe with desire.
“Maybe. This time you’re coming with me.”
He tugged slightly on my wrist, nearly forcing me to fall on top of him. Brent obviously did not pay heed to the instability of a hammock. One wrong move and it would end poorly. To fight his draw, I yanked my arm back. My heels returned to the ground. My balance was restored.
My reaction forced his eyes open. Gold shined back at me. Gold meant many things in a Grim Reaper. For Brent, who was an Eidolon, it did not mean death. For once, I was happy to see that look in his eyes. But now wasn’t the time for it.
“I’m serious. We have to go before they wake up.” I broke completely free of his hand.
The hammock swung lazily. Brent remained cradled in his bed, staring. His expression told me he would not move until he got what he wanted. Perhaps the time had come to flip the hammock and send him flailing to the ground. He had fair warning, didn’t he?
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