Gizmo’s angry brother lowered his jaw, but Brent and Errol didn’t slow their pace.
Delia clutched my arm. “What now?”
“Find Marin.”
I looked at her in time to see a shadow soar in our direction. Bone and muscle collided with us. Delia buckled. I collapsed to my knees. Brent landed at my side. He was no longer a shadow united with the devilish Errol. He was the man. Blood glistened on his ashen cheek.
“Find him. Stop him!” His body and face slipped back into darkness, shifting in and out of light like a flickering fluorescent bulb. As Chad had done, Brent checked the Watchmen lunging at him. He leaped onto the huge Eidolon as Errol was thrown off. The monster grabbed Brent’s arm and swung him into a wall.
Delia climbed to her feet. “Come on! Let’s find that piece of shit,” she screamed and ran headlong into the fight.
I had a smidgen of sense to follow her lead. I kicked up my knees and went in with reckless abandon. The Watchmen who were incapacitated, were blurs in my periphery as we sprinted with hell nipping at our heels.
Delia and I kept on the narrow path that Brent, Chad, and Errol left behind. We followed the bellows of a struggle. Watchmen who had some fight left in them tried to grab us as we passed by, some even tried to trip us, but the effort was futile.
The Eidolon known in my head as Gizmo II was powerful enough to rip Brent and Errol apart seconds into the fight. Any of my allies would go down fast if they took a hit in human form. Heat was the only way I could help—it was the only way I’d stay alive if that giant and I had a face-to-face meeting.
Though I was shorter, I kept up with Delia’s pace.
The din from the fight formed cracks in the walls. The carpet peeled from the concrete flooring. Bodies littered the path. Scarlet handprints were smeared on doors and wallpaper. Sconces hung at precarious angles. My fascination with horror movies almost had me convinced that this was a movie set.
If only.
“They’re down there,” Delia pointed.
“That’s where he’s—”
The crack of an explosion rattled my eardrums. A moment later, a tidal wave of radiation and violent wind sent us flying. A Watchman missing his legs broke my fall. He threw his arm over me in a vain effort to restrain me. My strength outmatched his, and I made that clear when I shoved him away.
“Delia!” I couldn’t see through the thick cloud of dust and ash. I patted the floor for anything that might be Prada—clothing, hair, anything.
Billowing ash rose higher. I wouldn’t be able look for her if I wanted to breathe.
Using my shirt as a mask, I tried to gain my bearings, unsure which way to go—forward on the path to Marin’s chamber or back through the corridor of horrors.
Climbing over bodies that I prayed weren’t my allies, I came to a door left slightly ajar. I spilled through it as I spat gobs of tarlike sputum, a macabre mix of the ashes of the dead and the plaster of crumbled walls. Inside the room, I fell to the floor and slammed the steel door shut with my feet.
“Who’s there?” a deep, identifiable voice said from the darkness.
I climbed onto my knees, locked the door’s latch, and pawed the wall until I felt the plastic toggle of a light switch. The room illuminated to expose wallpaper and paisley carpet as tacky as in the hallway.
And tied to a chair, blindfolded, blood trickling down his face, was Papa.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Too many Stygians sacrifice their lives for the ghost of freedom.”
—Anonymous Rebel
“Papa!” My feet didn’t touch the floor as I hurled myself across the room. I threw my arms around him, the quickest hug I had ever given, before I ripped off his blindfold. His left eye was swollen. Sticky rivulets of blood covered his cheeks. His arms and shirt were covered in red stains. “What the hell did they do to you?”
“Am I seeing things? Is it you, girl?”
“It’s me, Papa. Why did they do this?”
“They found out I was passing information to the rebels.”
As much as my heart and mind wanted to pause in relief because he was alive, there was no time to get sentimental or talk shop. I had to free him before whoever did this came back. I started on the bonds that were cutting into his wrists.
“No time to explain in detail,” I said. “We are going after Marin. But first I’m getting you out of here before they blow this place to kingdom come.”
He wriggled his wrists to help loosen the ties. “You’re going to take on Marin?”
“I know. It’s crazy.”
“Marin will destroy you, babygirl,” he argued. Even from behind him, I knew he was speaking through clenched teeth. The tug on his bindings must’ve hurt. “The rebels are amassing slowly. Let them do it.”
With another pull at the knot, the rope unraveled. I angered at the sight of blisters on his shredded wrists. “The rebels are too late. This is ending today.”
He leaned forward, and he would’ve fallen out of the chair had I not braced my shoulder against his. “Leg’s broke. Almost healed though.”
I wouldn’t leave Papa no matter how weak he was or how much he protested. I threw an arm around his waist and helped him climb upright. Taking his weight was akin to lifting a sick horse. Papa was a big Reaper, one I had always found comfort in, but three-hundred pounds of solid muscle was not working to our advantage at the moment. I widened my stance to get whatever leverage I could.
“Come on. Small steps,” I encouraged.
“Marin said he was waiting to execute me until you returned. He won’t let you off like he did last time.”
“That’s why I have to be sure I win this time around.”
Papa hobbled. I felt every spasm in his muscles. Getting him someplace safe would not be easy.
“Ollie, even if you get close enough, you can’t kill him yourself.”
“Yeah, well, if I can’t put a Deathmark on him, I can melt him, dammit.” I tried to sound like I had earnest conviction, even as I reeled from anxiety. Brent had told me to mark Marin so that he could ferry him. The plan was simple. But if that fell through, or if Marin was indeed another Master Scrivener, I could at least melt him—a skill that Marin probably didn’t expect because he thought me inexperienced. Melting him would require prolonged closeness with him that I wasn’t comfortable with. A Deathmark was the superior choice. But my options didn’t matter now. I was in the thick of the last hurrah, and I would be lucky if I made it out unscathed.
“Cover your mouth. There’s smoke.” When I opened the door, smog curled around it like the black fingers of a demon. We stumbled into the hallway. Smoke billowed at our waistlines, blanketing the collapsed Watchmen on the floor. I gulped. Delia was somewhere underneath the black cover. I vowed to get Papa to safety before coming back to dig her out.
The hallway to our left, the path I’d have to take to corner Marin, had collapsed into a heap of rubble. The way was blocked. But it didn’t matter. I dragged Papa in the direction of the service entrance. A sliver of hope remained that he’d be able to totter up the ramp and out of the building on his own. On the other side, Nicodemus would be there to assist him.
I tugged at his waist to get him to move faster. “There’s an exit about a fifty yards from here.”
“We’ll never make it.” He hopped as I supported his weight. “They’ll get us before—”
“Hop faster, Papa!” I needed him to dig deep. His heaviness was burdensome. My knees buckled every few steps. The struggle should’ve stopped us, but we fought together. With each pace I took, he limped along.
“I’ve missed you,” he said after what felt like minutes of agonizingly slow travel.
“I knew I’d see you again.” I dug my fingers into his skin. “This wasn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind though.”
“Never is. How was California?”
“Great. Met some wine snobs and a few goblins.”
“Argh!” He bared his teeth. “I can’t.
It’s too far. Put me down.”
I hiked faster, pulling him along in spite of his resistance. “I won’t leave you.”
“It’s not worth it.”
Papa slipped from my sweaty grasp. He went down on his knees, bellowing in agony.
“Just go! Get out of here, you hear?” His voice sounded far away as he balanced on his hands to take the weight off his leg.
“No!” I curled my fingers under his armpits.
Cutting through the haze were the distant yellow stares of approaching Watchmen. We had less time than I had thought.
“Get up, old man,” I shrieked. “Tonight’s not your night to die.”
“Teacup!” Delia galloped through the black smoke. Her doe eyes cut through the gray soot covering her face. Delia leaped with a ballerina’s grace and landed next to Papa. She threw her hands around his hips. “Come on, Handsome. Let’s get you out of here before the kids take over the playground.”
“Where are the others?” I asked Delia as we hoisted Papa from the floor. “Are they alive?”
“I don’t know, but I say let’s get the hell away from here.”
As imperfect of a plan as it had been to bust into Lethe, it couldn’t have fallen apart in minutes, could it? We had planned. We had strategized with saltshakers. Brent, Errol, and I had experience on our sides.
“The boys can take care of themselves,” she said.
“No, we’ll come back and get them.”
With additional Watchmen closing in and the injured ones regenerating, we had to move. Fast. The ruckus of the approaching enemies kicking their way through the rubble forced us into a gallop, working as a team of five legs against the bleakness of success.
We cleared more distance faster than Papa and I could’ve without Delia’s aid. Passing by injured baddies grabbing at our legs to slow us down, we came to the final turn before the service entrance. Countless enemies tracked behind us, moving quicker as we got closer to our exit.
“The ramp,” I shouted over the noise. “Papa won’t be able to go it alone.”
“We’re going with him,” her voice barely sliced through the shouting Watchmen.
Delia and I glanced behind us to evaluate the masses of angry enemies. Our options were few. We’d have to stand and fight twenty of them if we returned to Lethe, or we could get Papa to safety and let the others handle the job. When we looked forward again—to send Papa on his way without us—we were rendered motionless in shock.
“Dormier,” Marin said with a smile.
He was as he always was, in his all-black ensemble of pants and a turtleneck, tight like a second skin. Those inky black voids that were his eyes didn’t indicate who he was looking at, but I knew his stare was on me. Its wintry heft burrowed deep into my bones.
“I’ll let your father and Delia Sinclair by if you turn yourself in without a fight.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Papa argued. “He’s lying.”
“Do as I say, and they will pass unharmed,” Marin’s voice brought me back to reality.
The Watchmen congregated behind us, their voices settling into whispers. They had us covered. Marin was the blockade we’d have to breach to escape. It was a lethal game of Red Rover. One of us wouldn’t get through.
I attempted to control my trembling. It didn’t help that Papa’s body was as unsteady as mine, or that Delia was shaking, too. No matter our fear, a choice had to be made.
I broke away from Papa. He sagged, but Delia hoisted him upright with her arm and hip.
“Go,” I said. “Both of you.”
“Are you mad?” she said, her strained expression begging me to change my decision.
“He needs help, Delia. Take him to Nic.” I gave Marin a slanting glance.
“You’re out of your mind!” She tried to catch my arm, but I backed out of her reach.
“Ollie, we won’t leave you,” said Papa.
“I don’t want Reaper Balanchine or Scrivener Sinclair. I want to speak with Scrivener Dormier,” Marin said emphatically. “Leave before I finish all three of you at once.”
“Listen to him.” I shoved Papa into Delia. “Get out. I can take care of myself.”
Delia and Papa fell silent, staring with brokenhearted incredulity.
A flood of images and ideas returned to me as I faced down my enemy and my allies. Lethe had a way of taking our memories when we left, but it also had the ability to give those memories back when we returned. I saw the look in Mama’s violet eyes when she walked proudly to her execution. I saw Garik’s death, too. I even saw Brent’s face when he half-ferried me that day. And when we’d had our ten-minute reunion after two years apart. Of all those memories, the one that stung the most was Mama’s, that I could do nothing to save her, nothing to stop her death.
But I could prevent Papa’s and Delia’s, even if I had to die to do it.
“No, Teacup, don’t––”
“Please! Papa’s all I’ve got. I can’t let him die like I let Mama die.” I wished they didn’t see the fear and doubt in my eyes. I knew it was there, trickling in brackish tears down my cheeks.
“I’m going to kick your scrawny bottom if you don’t come back,” she said as she tightened her grip on Papa’s hips.
“Babygirl, you––” I threw my arms around Papa’s neck before he could complete his thought. I had found strength in his company when I had been a little girl frightened by night terrors. Papa couldn’t protect me anymore. He couldn’t pull me to his side and tell me stories to ease my fear as I fell asleep in his arms.
“I love you,” I sniveled against his cheek.
He pulled away, chin quivering. Tears rolled down his cheeks in spite of his valiant effort to hold them back. Papa started to say more––to say “I love you,” I knew––but the words broke before he could get them out.
I blinked to clear my eyes. He and Delia slowly hobbled toward Marin, both glancing at me from over their shoulders. For the briefest of moments, I wished they hadn’t listened to me. No matter how brave I wanted to appear, I didn’t want to be alone with the Head of Death.
Marin stepped aside to permit them passage. Patiently, like a predator investigating its prey, he watched Delia and Papa shuffle into the darkness of the exit ramp. I watched them, too, all the while my heart thudding so violently in my chest I thought it would erupt from my body and run after them. If I was still breathing, I didn’t know it. It didn’t matter now that I was butted against another pack of Watchmen, eager to tear me apart if Marin didn’t finish me first.
I resolved to stand strong between my enemies, stock-still and empty of emotion. What else could I do? Run? Beg Marin to forgive me? I wouldn’t. I’d go down fighting, not on my knees like a groveling fool.
Marin took a step in my direction. I backed up one pace.
“I’ve been told you learned a new skill at Wrightwick.”
I choked down the desire to reply and squared my shoulders instead.
“You choose to be silent.” He tilted his head, never blinking those black eyes. “Are you afraid I will kill you?”
Glaring was as menacing as I could get.
“That is Brent Hume’s job to complete, not mine.” Unshakable confidence pulled at his upper lip. “Silly of you to fear what I cannot do, Dormier.”
I narrowed eyes still wet from tears. If I were fast enough, I could have used nuclear fusion to destroy Marin now, assuming that he didn’t have a trick up the sleeve of his skintight sweater.
“Brent, Chadwick, and Errol were neutralized when they stormed my main chamber a short while ago. There’s no sense in holding out for them to rescue you,” he said.
“You’re lying, just like you’ve lied to Styx for so long.”
He clasped his hands at his waist, silent as he stared. Now it was my chance to rant. Wherever Brent, Chad, and Errol were, they weren’t close enough. The time had come for me to own this moment or die trying. And quite honestly, I was ready to meet my Maker because she had to be bett
er company than this fruit loop with a proclivity for turtlenecks.
“Lying is all you’ve ever done,” I continued. “All you’ll continue to do until you’ve razed Styx. It’s going to end at some point. Everything does, Marin.”
I inched to one side of the hallway. He mirrored my movement, coming closer. Marin was toying with me. Predators did that to their prey.
Don’t bother waiting for help, Dormier. His lips didn’t move with his words, and I knew he was inside my head, eavesdropping. This was the gift of being the Head Reaper, I supposed. Read minds, and no one could challenge you because you’re always steps ahead of them.
The discomfort with his skill had me eyeing the exit ramp where Delia and Papa escaped. I could run, sure. Marin and his cronies would catch me. Or I could stall until a better plan came to mind.
Before I would do anything, I’d let him know I was onto his little game.
Welcome to my head, Marin. I remember our last mind-to-mind encounter fondly.
The black abyss of his gaze burned through me. Then you remember that I was the one who offered you clemency.
You offered me a life here in hell with you, I thought back at him. I told you I’d rather die.
I offered you an opportunity to help Styx, much more than you have as an exile. You foolishly turned it down for a fleeting romance and your dignity. His lips thinned into one long line. I wouldn’t expect a Scrivener like yourself to take seriously the delicate balance of life.
I was keenly aware of the Watchmen encircling us as we exchanged words via mind play. Each one was obviously tuned into our subtle facial expressions to try to translate what was being said. I’d give them what they wanted soon enough.
I respect what we do as much as any other loyal Stygian. But killing to enforce your ideals, or slaughtering your own to gain access to the Phlegethon River is wrong.
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