So easily my rage could have toppled me over the ledge of sanity. In a way, I did. It was Brent who caught me by the ankle and wrenched me back over into goodness. When I glanced at the Trivial, he was lying on his back, heaving from pain and blood loss. I had done that to him. I had maimed him all in the name of anger.
Suddenly, I was nauseous. How could I have wanted to be so wicked? Was this how Marin officially tipped into the world of darkness? Had no one stopped him or cared enough about him to stop him?
I put my forehead on my knees and released wracking sobs. I was disgusted with myself. Angry for letting rage fuel my actions. So close I had come…so close to turning evil and being the thing I had fought all these years to defeat. It really was that easy.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I didn’t want to look up and face continued shame. But I did it anyway. Brent knelt in front of me, his eyes full of sadness.
“Don’t punish yourself, darlin’,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t do you any good. I know, I’ve done the same thing. Just remember, you’re not him. You are good. I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t.”
“I only stopped because of you,” I cried.
“We can’t do everything by ourselves. Sometimes we need a helping hand.” Following Brent’s words of wisdom, ones I wanted to stamp on my heart so I’d never forget, voices filled the room. Soon after that, Stygians filtered into the empty spaces.
“Dormier?” Neema called out over the masses.
“She’s over here.” Brent stood up and waved a hand over his head.
Neema marched through several rebels to come to my side. She was dirty and covered in blood, but she was alive. In fact, many of the rebels were alive. It seemed they had overcome the rest of the Trivials.
“You look like shit,” she said to me.
I laughed through my tears, but I didn’t reply.
“Delia and Nicodemus are waking up,” Brent said as Stygians encircled the pair, helping them rouse from their drugging.
I was relieved to hear that they were slowly coming to, that they were likely okay, but I was too weak with grief to move. I watched Brent go to their sides as Neema and I stayed back, watching from afar.
“We neutralized them. I tried to ensure most of them didn’t die,” Neema said of the Trivials as we watched Delia and Nicodemus sit up, blinking warily. “Some did, though.”
I swallowed hard. “There’s been enough death. It’s time we start to rebuild.”
“It’ll be an undertaking.” She glanced toward the double doors. The smoke had settled. The number of rebels were too many to see through to the Heart outside. Instead of waiting for me to ask, Neema threw an arm around my waist and lifted me off the floor. My feet were weak, but they helped as he guided us to the doorway.
I looked out over the foyer. The glass chandelier still rocked from side to side. There were bodies littering the floor—some of rebels and some of Trivials. A web of blood streaked everything—bodies, floor, walls, ceiling. The damage was expected, all things considered. Something unexpected stood on the opposite side of the room, watching us. A group of somethings, actually.
“Souls,” Neema said. “They remained hidden until a few minutes ago.”
Souls, too many to count, hovered across from us. Some were human souls and some were Stygian. And standing in front, was a Stygian I knew better than any.
“Mama.” My aching heart swelled with sadness and relief. Mama’s lime green dress looked as stunning now as it did when she wore it when she was alive. She wasn’t in Erebus after all. She was stuck here, in Lethe, waiting. I could not say what was worse, Erebus or this horrible place, but I was glad to see her because it meant she’d been ferried out of her body but not fully crossed over. Mama could still go to Elysia.
She could go with Papa.
Brent must have heard my raspy call to my foster mother over the din of activity. He said something to Nicodemus and Delia before he left their sides to return to mine. Neema stepped out of the way so he could hold me up. My knees and legs felt like wet noodles. I didn’t trust that they’d hold my weight. But it didn’t matter. Brent tightened his grip on my body to keep me upright. He held me close as if to tell me and my foster parents that he’d never let go.
“There’s Garik.” Brent pointed to former Watchman-turned-rebel three souls down from Mama.
Errol, the handsome, Scottish Master Scrivener and my last mentor stood behind Mama. At his side was Xiangu.
“They all need to be crossed over,” Neema said as Nicodemus and Delia wobbled toward us.
“How? There’s no Head Reaper right now,” I asked.
“We can do it in the absence of one.” Nicodemus, who used a Stygian’s arms to stand, was next to us, looking toward all the Stygians who awaited their redemption. Delia moved into Neema’s embrace. The redhead appeared confused and groggy as she sank into Neema’s arms. Her doe eyes blinked away fogginess. But in her daze, she still put her hand on my shoulder and muttered, “Teacup, so glad you’re alive,” as she smiled.
“What happened to you two?” Neema asked Nicodemus and Delia.
“They drugged us,” Delia muttered.
“Once the new Head Reaper is instated, he or she will uphold the task of sending any soul that comes through Lethe to the Afterlife. These, however, must be sent over now. We cannot let them linger any longer. It’s unkind, and it is putting a strain on Styx that it cannot bear.” Nicodemus, with the Stygian assisting him, struck out across the Heart. They both wound their way through bodies, careful not the tread on their resting spots. Brent and I followed, knowing that this was the time to finally give the souls what they had been waiting for.
Brent put out his hand when we reached the collection of souls. We had done this enough times now that I knew what he asked for. I peeled the lotus pendant from my neck. The weight of it was barely noticeable when I wore it. But when I took it off, it felt like my world was drifting away. This time, however, it felt right to remove it.
Brent curled his fingers around the pewter lotus and leather rope. He looked at me, his eyes tired but asking for consent.
I gave a slight nod. There were many souls in there—Papa, Wallie and his rebel allies, and Eve.
“Thank you, Ollie,” he said. “You’ve done an amazing job of protecting them.”
I smiled wearily as Brent drew out Wallie’s soul first. The Kentuckian Reaper still in his baseball cap appeared before Brent. They communicated, that I was sure, but they didn’t speak. I didn’t need to hear what they said, either. That was between the two of them and, from the look of relief in Wallie’s expression, it was enough before he slowly dissipated, smiling as he vanished.
“Is he crossed over?” I whispered to Brent, wondering if it was this simple when everything else in Styx seemed so complicated.
Brent ran a sleeve across his wet eyes. “Yeah. He’s on his way to Elysia.”
He paused for a moment before he continued. I put my hand on his back and leaned my cheek into his bicep. Neither of us had ever been through anything like this. What was the proper protocol? Did we say a prayer or just cry?
He had to formally say good-bye to his brother. There was no rushing that sort of process. Brent took a deep breath, one that released a million different emotions, before he began again. The second soul to emerge from the lotus pendant was Papa’s.
He appeared not as he had looked right at the time of his death. Papa wore the silly moose sweater that Mama had crocheted for him several years ago. He had always sworn that he hated the sweater, only bringing it out on holidays. Now he wore it proudly as he stepped alongside Mama, his inner light glowed more intensely. I knew why. He was finally reunited with his best friend, a woman who had been his companion for so long that he could not live fully without her. They were together again. No longer apart.
I watched Mama and Papa closely as they exchanged looks after not seeing each other for so long. There was no grief surrounding them. That died with their bodies.<
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As I gazed upon my foster parents, I realized that losing Papa was not a tragedy. His loss was mine to bear. But no longer was Papa disconnected from his beloved, Lorelei. I would cry for their absence. I would carry it with me for the rest of my life. But it was a small price to pay to know they were reunited as they should be.
The rage I had for the Trivial who killed Papa felt uncivilized now. I wanted to wash it off with a scalding hot shower. That person wasn’t me. She was a monster that could have done horrible things to her own kin. No. Hades, no, that wasn’t me. Mama and Papa brought me up right. They taught me good from bad. Had I gone into the darkness, I would not properly honor their love for me.
My throat felt tight as I tried to choke down guilt. Maybe Mama and Papa already knew how close I came. They perhaps saw it from the other side. If they did, their souls did not show it. Instead they glowed bright with affection. They were proud, they loved me, and they were ready to move on to the next plane.
Brent released his grip on me just as I continued forward to stand in front of Mama and Papa. We gazed at each other for several long, full moments. I remained silent. Sometimes words were unnecessary. Feelings seemed to be a better conduit for communication at the moment.
Mama was as radiant as always. Her eyes glistened. Her cheeks were round with a soft, delicate grin. I couldn’t help but put my fingers to the tip of her nose. There was only a cool, wet mist. But I still wanted to touch her freckles—the ones sprinkled over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She tilted her head to one side as if to say she understood. Every time I’d look at my own freckles in the mirror, I’d think of Mama. That was our mother and daughter bond even though our skin tones were different. Mama had always said, “A face without freckles is like a night without stars.”
Papa beamed down at me. Happiness. He was happy—that was what he told me. He did not worry about the world he left it behind. I would be fine. I proved that in everything I had done so far. Papa needed relief and rest.
I wished I could have hugged them one last time, but even here in the bridge between life and death, there were some things that simply weren’t possible. Nonetheless, there was a gift in Marin’s failure to ferry all the souls over. I got to see Mama and Papa together again. Silver linings are hard to spot at times and other times, like now, impossible to miss.
It was Nicodemus who stepped in for Brent. He put his hands out to my foster parents, to tell them that the time to cross was now. They smiled at him and then at me. I returned the expression even though my heart was breaking again. There was never a right time to say good-bye. It just happens. And sometimes we never get to say good-bye.
But I couldn’t hold onto them forever.
I gave them a little wave and sank back into Brent’s arms. Then, as they moved toward Nicodemus’s reach, they faded into nothingness.
My mama and papa were gone from my life.
I put my face against Brent’s chest and cried. The next soul to emerge would be Eve’s. It was too much. Saying good-bye to her, too, after all of this, weighed heavy on me. I needed to sleep. I needed time to let my heart heal before it broke again.
I peeled my face from Brent’s body to see my sweet, beautiful friend, already free of the pendant. Her punk blonde hair hung over one smoky eye. She wore a Clash T-shirt and ripped black jeans. I laughed through my tears because at seeing Eve Cassidy again, I almost wanted to reach out and fetch a coffee from her.
She was radiant. Young. Perfect. I tried to touch her cheek but felt mist just as I had with Mama. Even though I was sure the rules were the same for human souls, I hoped that perhaps there was some loophole, and I’d get to embrace her one last time.
Thank you, those sparkling green eyes told me.
“I did my best for you. I hope it was enough,” I said.
Her cheeks glowed from a smile. I knew that she was okay with my best.
“Whatever happens to you next, promise me you’ll stay away from tattoo parlors, okay?” I chuckled through my tears. Crying and laughing could be a welcome combination. Right now, it hurt too much.
Eve winked as she would’ve done in life. It was as playful as it had always been.
Nicodemus, in his role as temporary Head Reaper, called for Nicholas Baird, the Grim Reaper who had started ferrying Eve’s soul. When the Head Reaper called—or, in Nicoldemus’s cases, whoever was standing in for the Head Reaper at the moment—one had to answer. While the Head Reaper could send the souls the Trivials had ripped out of their bodies to their final rest, he could only send Eve after her Reaper completed her ferrying.
After a few minutes, Nicholas emerged from the shadows. Shooting me a wary look, he edged toward Eve’s shade. I raised a hand and let heat flow through my fingers—a warning that whatever he did to complete the ferrying, it had better be gentle.
Baird scowled, but then Nicodemus nodded at him, and Baird shook himself and got back to business. He leaned down and blew his Reaper breath on Eve’s face.
A thin thread of energy that held Eve’s soul to the pendant broke. She was free.
Nicholas faded back into the crowd before any of us could say a word.
Brent handed off the task of fully crossing her over to the Afterlife to Nicodemus so he could wrap his arms around me in support. I welcomed his closeness, putting my cheek against his chest like before as Nicodemus took gentle care of Eve’s soul. The old Eidolon reached out to my human friend’s soul, inviting her to begin again in a new life. Eve seemed giddy at the idea. Her childlike happiness lingered long after she was gone. The sensation warmed me through and through.
I had done it. Eve was okay. The very person who had catapulted me into the rebellion was finally at peace.
My job was done. There was nothing else needed of me at a point when there was nothing left to give.
I survived. Brent survived.
And, just as importantly, Styx survived.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Voting for the appointment of a cabinet of Head Reapers begins promptly on May first at eight a.m. starting in Quebec City. Be sure you are registered to vote by going to HermesHarbinger.com and entering your ID code. Everyone has a voice with their vote!”
—Stygian Broadcast, April 5th
I scratched Dudley’s ears, giving them a good rub from my spot in the tattoo studio as I watched Delia lean over her client’s curved, hairy back with her tattoo machine in one hand. She gave Dudley and me a sidelong look that begged for some sort of intervention. Maybe she thought Dudley would erupt into a barking fit to distract her from the man in the chair. Or maybe Delia wanted me to make her stop before she put the needle to his skin and reset the course of his future. Any help would’ve been appreciated, I knew, but I sat back in my chair, petted Dudley again, and gave a little nod to my favorite mentee. Delia would become a Master, and I would see to it that she’d learn everything before she stepped fully into that role.
She crumpled her lips in protest before following through with the first small black line on his back. It wasn’t that she minded the man’s skin or the hair that was so thick, he resembled a small bear. Delia wasn’t sure that the tattoo would work. Would it be enough? Would the Master training she had undergone with me these past several months work?
Only time would tell. He’d either walk away from the experience with a tattoo of “Hope” inscribed in cursive on his upper back, or he’d walk away with a little more—a cure for his cancer diagnosis. Much like his tattoo’s wording, I had hope that he would. Styx wasn’t just the bridge between life and death. We didn’t have to wield death alone, but hope, healing, and a future for those who stumbled upon our paths. But like the Deathmark, the client had to ask for the right marking, and this was something we could not decide for them. Fate either brought them to the shop for a Deathmark or a healing mark. We did our jobs regardless of the outcome.
This man, whose name was Rex, needed us. Delia needed him to prove to herself that I wasn’t the only Scrivener in Styx w
ho could heal. She could, too. So could Hui, the Scrivener we met in Denver, once Xiangu’s pupil. Hui worked in my shop in Kalispell alongside Delia and me. He wasn’t old enough yet to begin work as a Scrivener, but he was old enough to go beyond the basics he had learned from Xiangu.
Hui was off from work today, however. He, along with his father, was on the campaign trail as Styx prepared for its first election of a Head Reaper, a Head Scrivener, and a Head Trivial. We learned that having one supreme leader was not the best path to justice. Brent had advocated for a cabinet of leaders, and it had been a welcome idea by the majority of Stygians. Everyone had a voice. Everyone had a representative to speak on their behalfs.
Hui was campaigning for a Scrivener he’d met through Xiangu who was from Las Vegas, a charismatic man named Martini. He wasn’t a Master. He didn’t need to be. Martini had a good soul. He wanted to be the voice of the Scriveners, and he, thus far, was doing a great job on the campaign trail. Martini was going up against three other Scriveners from Tokyo, and Johannesburg.
In my opinion, all of them were high-quality candidates to serve as Head Scriveners.
But Hui was convinced that Martini was the only fit candidate, and he and his father campaigned for him with gusto. I admired the young Scrivener’s passion, that he cared enough to spend his time off from his mentorship with me advocating for his kin brought me great happiness. He would do well for Styx now that it was a place that welcomed his voice.
Today, it was just Delia, Dudley, and me at Deathmarks Tattoo in Kalispell, Montana, on a chilly Saturday in April. Well, and Rex, the human. We were far from the roar of politics on Stygian radio or television, working on the healing skills that even I was still perfecting.
Delia would be able to help Rex. I had a feeling she would. But she needed to believe in herself. Delia knew fashion; she owned it. She did not quite know her own power, something I was determined to remedy.
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