“There, there,” she said. “It’s all right.” She held onto me fiercely, and I was grateful for her support.
I watched three black SUVs with tinted windows pull up to the curb, and park in an impressive line of elegant efficiency. A tall man dressed in black tactical gear—and five others like him—emerged from the cars.
“Mr. and Mrs. Briarstock,” said the first man. “Please come this way.”
“Thank you, Bernard.” Sandra guided me forward, but was stopped by the officer who’d tried to interview us earlier.
Bernard smoothly inserted himself between us and the policeman. He blocked the officer’s attempt to reach us, and offered him a charming smile.
“Excuse me,” said the officer in a no-nonsense voice. “I need to speak to those witnesses before they’re released from the scene.”
Bernard produced a card, which the officer took, and then our rescuer spoke in a low, quiet voice.
We were hustled to the middle SUV, and secured inside the very comfortable confines. Soothing classical music played faintly in the background. Ally and I were tucked between our grandparents. Then we were each handed bottled water and told to hydrate.
While we were hydrating, Bernard and one of his look-alike companions got inside the car.
“The safe house will be ready by the time we arrive, ma’am.”
“Excellent, Bernard.”
Soon, we were on our way, protected from anyone who might think about attacking us. Or even talking to us.
“Wow,” said Ally. Her voice was hoarse. “Being rich is awesome.”
Sandra laughed, and it was a nice sound. I realized I’d never heard her laugh before. “Yes, my darling. Being rich is very awesome.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Grandma Sandra woke me up. “It’s time to get up, Molly. Get dressed, and come have breakfast.” She brushed the hair off of my forehead and gave me a smile. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
My grandmother left. And I rolled out of bed. Our safe house was a very luxurious, but rather cold, abode somewhere in the fancy part of Las Vegas. I had no idea where we were because Ally and I had fallen asleep by the time we arrived. At that point, we were both so exhausted, that all we wanted was a soft bed.
I wish I could say that I felt better. But the truth was, I felt even more tired, and like I’d reached the end of my rope. Nothing was more emotionally wrenching then knowing someone you love almost died. Worse, the people who probably did him harm, had also destroyed our house and removed Uncle Vinnie from this Earth permanently. Through the grief, I felt the roiling presence of anger.
No one hurt my family.
I got dressed. Then I grabbed my brush from my bag and dragged it through my hair until I got all the tangles out. I didn’t know where the bathroom was, but I was more interested in filling my belly right now. I left the room, and saw Ally hovering in the hallway. She clutched the tote as though it were a newborn infant she was trying to protect.
“We really need to talk,” said Ally.
“Okay,” I said. “After breakfast. I’m starving.”
“Donuts can wait.” Alex grabbed my arm and dragged me back into the bedroom. She shut the door and locked it behind us.
“Oh Em Gee! There are donuts?”
Ally sat down on the bed, and pulled open the tote. Despite the fact that sugar-encased fat awaited me in the kitchen, I knew that what Ally had to show me trumped food. Now, of course, I realized what she’d been hiding and keeping safe since last night.
I sat next to her and watched as she pulled out an ornately carved box from the flowered bag.
“This is what I found,” said Ally.
“How do you know this box belonged to Mom?”
“The letter is addressed to her. And I’m pretty sure it’s her handwriting on the book pages. She scribbled notes in the margins.”
“How do you know it’s her handwriting?”
Ally bit her lower lip and stared at the top of the box. Then she sighed. “When daddy was packing up her stuff, he left one of the boxes open. I don’t know why he left the room, but I snuck in there. I saw the packet of letters with a ribbon around them. So, I took them.” She looked at me, tears in her eyes. “I just wanted to keep something of her, you know?”
I put my arm around my little sister, and smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “Yeah, I get it. How come you never told me?”
She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to have something of her that was mine.”
I understood that, too. When you had siblings, you had to share everything, including the attention of your parents. Still, I was a little envious that my sister, at the tender age of eight, had even thought about snagging a memento. Two years older (and apparently a lot dumber), I’d sat in my room and boo-hooed.
I was curious about the content of the letters that she’d taken and kept for the last six years. I decided to wait to pursue that topic later.
Now, we had to deal with our past.
I reached over and opened the box.
Molly’s Reaper Diary
Sometimes, You Need Help
BEING A REAPER has a lot of responsibilities (and rules, don’t forget the rules!), but here’s some good news: You don’t have to figure out things alone. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. There’s no reason to be stubborn or self-sacrificing when you have friends and family and other reapers (and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you have the gods, too).
You can draw strength from the people who love you, and you can give strength to them, too. Relying on each other is the best way to get your fanny out of the fire and into the fight.
Be strong.
Be brave.
Be worthy.
“The value of the human soul is beyond what even the gods can comprehend. It is not life that separates humans from the gods, nor is it death that brings them together. Only reapers can keep the balance between mortals and immortals.”
~Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown
“Give me thy heart,” whispered Lord Manning. “And I will give thee the world.”
“Nay, my lord,” said Sally. “Thou doth not desire my heart, but my soul. And thou shalt not have it.”
~from Keep Thy Soul by Benjamin Parker
Chapter 10
I IMMEDIATELY RECOGNIZED the black cube that Ally had described earlier, when we’d been at the hospital. The obsidian container was an exact duplicate of the soul box that had been confiscated from my room. I didn’t want to touch it, especially not after all the trouble I almost got into for having the last one. If I got caught with another soul box, not even Rosie “Aunt Anput” Nowles would be able to save me.
Ally didn’t seem to care too much about the soul box. Instead, she pulled out the other two items: a yellowed letter and three torn books pages, which she unfolded and handed to me. She kept the letter, holding it as though it were a hundred-dollar bill.
I glanced through the pages and skimmed the words. Well, Ally was right, there were notes scribbled in the margins. “Why did she keep this? It looks like homework.”
“I think it’s a spell.”
Ally was smart. Actually, she was one of the smartest people I knew. Um, not that I would tell her that. “What’s all this talk about myths then?” I pointed to the top of the page, my fingertip touching the word “myth.”
“I haven’t had much time to study it,” said Ally. “But I think mom figured out a way to derive a necromancy spell from the myth about Anubis and the seventh warrior.”
“Holy crap!”
Ally looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
I had the shivers, and bad. When had the book been stolen from the Nekyia library? Had my mother removed these pages when she was a student there? Or had she found another version of the book somewhere else? “I’ve been looking for a book called Anubis and The Seventh Warrior.”
Ally looked at me sharply.
“Henry has insisted that I find that book.”
“The ghou
l insisted?” Ally’s expression was both curious and suspicious. “That sounds a little un-ghoul-like.”
“Henry is not the average ghoul, I guess. I haven’t really met any others.” I shrugged. “Apparently, he knows quite a bit about our family. But he’s been directed to keep all of those confidences.” I stared down at the book pages. “What’s the myth about?”
“You really hate studying, don’t you?”
“Ally, you—”
A knock sounded at the door. We shoved everything into the box and Ally stashed it in her tote seconds before Grandma opened the door. “What are two doing?”
“Commiserating,” said Ally.
“I see,” said Grandma. Her sharp gaze studied our faces (I think Ally and I were trying too hard to look innocent) and then she glanced at Ally’s flowered bag. A small frown creased her lips. “You should eat something before we begin our day. There’s a lot to accomplish.”
Dutifully, Ally and I followed our grandmother out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Just as I noted the Krispy Kreme box on the table and my mouth started watering, Grandpa arrived from the living room, talking on his cell phone. He ended the call, and smiled at us.
“Good news,” he said. “Your father is awake.”
“DADDY!” ALLY AND I hurried across the room and hugged our dad. At least, we tried. Wires and railings kept getting in our way. We both pulled back and Ally and I each held one of his hands.
“There’re my two favorite girls,” said Dad. He sounded hoarse and really tired. Even though he was awake and talking, he still looked weak and pale. I wasn’t used to seeing my father laid low by anything. He was tough. The man never got sick.
“You doin’ okay in school, Molly?”
“Yes, Daddy.” I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You look like you could use some coffee.” Daddy laughed, which turned into a cough. My heart ached as I watched him try to catch his breath. Eventually he stopped wheezing, and offered me a grin. “Yeah, I could use a cup of Joe, all right. But apparently, they only got orange juice around this place.”
“Orange juice is better for you,” lectured Ally. “Vitamin C will help you heal faster.”
“Eh. I’m all right.” He started coughing again, so much so that the nurse who was in the room with us came to his side.
“I think you need to rest, Mr. Bartolucci.” She checked the IV, and then she took a syringe and added a clear liquid to the shunt. She saw my concerned look. “It’s morphine,” she said. “The more he rests, the more he heals. His lungs and throat were badly affected from inhaling smoke. Talking doesn’t help him much.”
“Oh,” I said. I shared a look with Ally, and then we were shuttled out of the room by our grandparents. Bernard and two of his men had accompanied us into the hospital. They waited in the hallway on high alert.
“Bernard, is everything arranged?” asked Grandpa.
“Yes, sir. We are transferring Mr. Bartolucci and his mother to a private wing at the hospital in Reno. He’ll have twenty-four hour security.”
“Excellent.”
“You’re taking my dad to Reno?” asked Ally.
“We’re taking everybody to Reno. You’ll be safer there,” said Sandra.
“What about our stuff?” demanded Ally. “And going to school? And what about our house? And Uncle Vinnie?”
“We’ll take care of everything,” said Sandra, “until your father gets well. Then you can decide what to do. In the meanwhile, there’s no reason you can’t attend Nekyia Academy—at least until we get everything straightened out.”
If the expression on Ally’s face was any indication, it looks like she would rather jump into the pit of vipers than go to Reno, or to the Academy. I could almost see the little brain hamsters spinning in their wheels inside her head. Either she was trying to figure a way out of this, or she was trying to figure out how to make the best of it.
“Okay,” Ally said. “Will we be able to get any of my clothes?”
My grandmother examined Ally’s current outfit: a tie-dyed T-shirt tied the knot at the corner of her head, a light blue skirt that didn’t match any of the blues in the shirt, and the pair of black military boots.
I could almost hear Sandra Briarstock’s thoughts: We will burn those, and get appropriate clothes. I almost felt sorry for my grandmother. She had yet to come up against the stubborn wall that was Ally Bartolucci.
“We’ll go shopping for new clothes,” said Grandma. “In fact, we’ll happily replace your entire wardrobe.”
Ally narrowed her gaze. Then she pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I have a very particular style.”
I laughed. “Uh, no you don’t.” I glanced at my grandmother. “She buys her clothes from garage sales and thrift stores.”
Grandma actually flinched.
“Well, I think there are more important things in the world than whether or not I’m wearing a designer label,” defended Ally.
“If you look good, you feel good,” I said, quoting Daddy.
Ally actually grinned. “Loser.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” said Sandra. “I’m sure we can adhere to your … style and upgrade it at the same time. There are certain expectations for how Nekyia students dress themselves. And as a Legacy, you have an even bigger responsibility to be a role model for the other students.”
Ally opened her mouth, probably to say something stupid, like how she didn’t care what anyone thought of her—and people who followed the popular kids were morons. I put my arm around Ally’s shoulder and covered her mouth.
“Ally will be thrilled to go shopping with you, Grandma.”
I leaned down and whispered, “Trust me, sis, you will not win. Just shut up, be happy, and let our grandmother spend money on you.”
I felt Ally’s stiffened shoulders relax. I moved my hand off her mouth and stepped back, offering my grandmother a bright smile.
“Thank you … um, Grandma,” said Ally, sounding almost sincere. “I’m very grateful for your generosity.”
Sandra looked extremely pleased with Ally’s response. She held out her hand, and Ally took it. They walked down the hallway. Grandpa and I followed, and we took our security entourage with us.
IN THE WEEK that followed, we stayed with my grandparents. Their house was massive, so there was plenty of room for all us (and about ten other families, too).
If Nona wasn’t at the hospital with Daddy, she was in the kitchen making Italian cookies and pastries, or teaching the in-house chef how to make proper pasta. I’m not sure if the chef felt he needed those lessons, but you don’t say no to Nona. She was like my other grandmother, Sandra, in that respect.
Even though I’d rarely been in touch with my Nekyia friends, I did text them when I returned to Reno and updated them about the fire, my dad, and staying with my grandparents. I was relieved when everyone responded, and continued to keep in touch. I hadn’t realized how much I missed talking to them. Being cut out of the loop had been hurtful—even though I couldn’t blame them for putting distance between us. After all, I’d done the same thing, even though I hadn’t meant to exclude them from my life. It’s just that so much of it was secret—who was I supposed to share it with?
Sandra and Ally went shopping every day, and they both looked as though they were going off to war. I guess my grandmother won most of the battles because Ally was soon sporting much nicer clothing as well as wearing contacts, and began styling her freshly cut hair. She was, as I had suspected, gorgeous, even with the braces and her klutziness.
I, on the other hand, had been doing homework and training. Same thing, different location. The best part, however, was that Rath was the one kicking my butt.
He had watched over my dad in the hospital, and promised that no other reapers had arrived to take my father’s soul. That was great news.
On the third morning we awoke in my grandparents’ home, Rath showed up at the front door. He met Sandra and Derek, introducing himself as my t
raining instructor from Nekyia, and stating that he would be giving me private instruction until I could return to school and to the training sessions of the Nekros Society. My grandparents seemed pleased about my “proactive attitude” concerning the upcoming Kebechet challenge, even though Rath showing up had nothing to do with my brilliance. Or being proactive.
In the basement of the Briarstock manse was a full gym. In-between spotting me during work-outs and showing me new fight moves, Rath spent a lot of time taking me down to the mat.
Mostly for kissing purposes.
And that was the best part of my day.
The first words he said to me were, “I missed you.”
Yeah, I totally melted.
ON THURSDAY, I was snuggled up in one of the living rooms watching Keep Thy Soul. I was well into hour two of the movie. The test was tomorrow, so of course I was watching the movie the day before to keep everything fresh in my mind.
Also, I was a procrastinator.
On the end table, my phone buzzed. I picked up the cell and read the text message from Barbie. I grabbed the DVD player remote, pushed the pause button, and read the message several times.
Sweet baby Anubis.
My hands started to shake.
Barbie had sent me three little words:
Found the book.
Molly’s Reaper Diary
Let Go and Let Anubis
YOU’VE HEARD THE phrase that the more religious necromancers like to utter: Let go and let Anubis. Okay, sure. If Anubis is around, let him shoulder your grief and your death woes. But what if he’s not? What if he totally freaking disappears on you and you don’t know why, and you’re like, “WHERE ARE YOU, OH MIGHTY ANUBIS?”
Granted, as the daughter of Anubis, I should have a direct line. We share genetics, so it’s not like I’m some run-of-the-mill temple priest trading tithes for prayers.
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