The Reaper's Embrace Read online

  What left me wide awake hours into the night was that I knew, at some point, Xiangu would come back and annihilate another section of my Deathmark. This made me queasy. On my first encounter with her method of healing, I’d been naive. I hadn’t known what I was getting into. I’d wanted her to heal the Deathmark.

  Now, I wasn’t so sure. I certainly wasn’t eager to continue the torture.

  This next visit would be much worse. I knew what pain would come, and my body remained in a permanent state of tightly wound anxiety because of it.

  But at some point, no matter how much fear holds a person in its grip, sleep wins. My eyes grew heavy. For once, I didn’t have to keep watch for Brent. I have been so adamant on getting this thing removed so that Brent doesn’t have to kill me. The pain of removing this Deathmark would be excruciating—that much I was sure of. But it was worth it for everything I had yet to do—save Styx, reunite with Brent, heal old wounds.

  I wasn’t surprised when I felt a hand clamp around my wrist. My eyes snapped open to find Xiangu—Xiangu as me—staring down at me with the starry sky as her backdrop. She put one finger to her lips to keep me from squealing or spouting out profanities.

  “He escaped,” she whispered.

  “What? How?” I knew my influence over Brent was waning, but when did it collapse altogether? I didn’t feel different or sense anything amiss. Did it happen in my sleep?

  “Marin was able to hold Eidolons hostage after decades of practice, Scrivener. You are a new Master. You have limitations.” Her soft hand had slid its way up my right forearm with the sensualness of a skilled lover. I didn’t mind such a gentle touch until she tightened her fingers around the partially healed Deathmark. “I will have to work faster than normal now that he’s breeched your bonds.”

  “What…what does ‘faster’ mean? I thought you said it was a process?” Fuck if I really wanted to know the answer.

  “I am going to do a double session.”

  “Now?” I almost shouted loud enough to wake everyone.

  She showed no concern over my distress. Work had to be done, painful or not. Xiangu was careful not to wrench me from the hammock, probably so I wouldn’t flip ass over feet onto the ground, screaming in agony from the first surge of electricity she forced into me. But her effort didn’t work. I flopped to the ground with a yelp.

  Not surprisingly, my reaction stirred everyone awake. And I tried to quiet myself as I laid facedown on the grass, writhing from the first shock. I fought my tears. I ground my teeth to keep from screaming.

  Papa raced to my side. Delia joined him, but where Papa’s face was wrought with concern, Delia’s was strained in rage.

  “What in Hades are you doing?” she hissed at the Master Scrivener. “And why are there two of you, Ollie?”

  “Delia…” I whimpered as Nicodemus helped me sit upright. “It’s how she works. Brent’s escaped.”

  “Brent’s coming?” Delia stood over Xiangu, a towering redheaded spitfire of a protector. “We have to hide, Teacup!”

  “We have to get her Deathmark removed before Eidolon Hume arrives,” Xiangu said. “He will arrive very soon, I’m afraid.”

  Delia’s concern for my wellbeing transitioned to thrusting me toward the Master Scrivener. “Do your black magic then. Make her scream if you have to, but get rid of that damn mark!”

  Delia’s interruption did not provide enough reprieve. Couldn’t she have argued for another minute or so?

  Xiangu began again, and I writhed on the grass. Mama had always told me to go to my happy place when everything around me seemed dismal. This advice usually worked. But at the moment, there was no happy place for me to retreat to. Misery was all I knew. It moved through me, one horrific pulse at a time.

  Xiangu gave me small, one-second breaks where she’d uncurl her hand from my forearm, shake out her limb, and begin again. Again and again she worked. Again and again I went fetal, screaming and crying for it to stop.

  Yet as she progressed and more and more of the Deathmark on my arm faded, it seemed for her, the pain was just beginning. She screeched, too. Sweat poured from her forehead. She quivered.

  By the fifth round, Master Xiangu was panting as if she had run a hundred miles in ten minutes. The rims of the eyes and forehead were all that remained of the skull on my arm. The jaw, teeth, nose, and bottoms of the eyes were burned into her pale flesh.

  “Master!” I screamed when she collapsed onto the grass at my side. Her eyes were wide and glassy, body limp. Whatever energy I had, I put into rolling over her and staring worriedly down at my unresponsive savior. On her right forearm, part of my Deathmark sneered back at me. The exchange of our artwork also meant an exchange in the pain. Soon, I would not feel anything, and Xiangu would bear my grave burden.

  “Is she dead?” Delia asked.

  “Master Xiangu cannot heal Deathmarks too quickly. She has overdone herself.” Neema crouched beside her Master and put a spout of a teapot between Xiangu’s parted lips. I smelled the same tea I had been given earlier in the day as Neema poured it into Xiangu’s mouth. Whatever it was, it had provided me with enough to get through a rapid-fire session. For Xiangu, I had to pray that it did the same because as she had said, Brent was near.

  “She needs rest.” Neema turned to Papa. “She needs someone to carry her to her bedchambers.”

  Papa wasn’t one for taking orders or subtle hints, but a nudge from Delia was enough to spur him into action, and that was likely only because it would help our endgame. Papa lifted Xiangu off the ground as if she was made of paper. Her small body sagged in his arms. She groaned, proving there was some life left in her. I knew that sound of pain.

  “He’s here! Hume breached the mountain!” shouted Nicodemus from across the gardens.

  My heart rocketed into my throat.

  Now it didn’t matter how many more sessions we had.

  “What do we do?” I asked Neema as her Master curled inside Papa’s strong arms. Neither offered any ideas. Neema waited on Xiangu, and Xiangu was too exhausted to put her hand around my right arm and have another go at the Deathmark.

  We each had one half of the Deathmark; between us we made a whole mark. I wanted to ask her if this was enough to confuse Brent. I didn’t get that chance when the sound of his familiar Eidolon shriek ricocheted off the swaying trees of paradise.

  “We need to get to Master’s sanctuary,” Neema urged.

  “Half of my Deathmark is gone. Maybe he doesn’t have the compulsion to ferry me anymore,” I said. My yearning to run straight into Brent’s arms would never change no matter how close to death I was. It wasn’t right that I had to run away from the Eidolon I loved. Perhaps, with just some luck, the missing lines of my Deathmark would be enough to lift the curse between us. Wasn’t it worth a chance? Just a touch of his hand would tell me. Or would it mean my death if I was wrong?

  His touch—how I needed it now, the feel of his chest muscles through his shirt and his arms encasing me in protection.

  Reluctantly, we followed her closely as she led us toward a modest wooden building that had no windows and one narrow door. The place reminded me of an oversized outhouse, minus the moon-shaped cutout on the door.

  This is our refuge from a powerful Grim Reaper? A wooden shack?

  “That’s not going to slow him down,” I shouted from behind Papa and Xiangu. Bringing up the rear of our retreating forces were Delia, Dudley, and Nicodemus.

  Neema flung the shack’s door open. Inside was a mattress covered in silk pillows and blankets, a small table that held a vase of flowers, and a picture frame. Xiangu’s familiar black robe hung in the corner.

  Papa lowered the Master onto her bedding. She let out a thin, feeble sigh.

  I knelt at her side and began stroking the back of her hand for encouragement. Or help. Or advice. Something?

  “H-He’s here,” I stuttered. “What can I do to help you finish the job?”

  Xiangu’s eyes fluttered between wake and sleep.
She was in obvious pain. I empathized with her suffering. I would’ve taken her discomfort on again if it helped her help me.

  “Please, Master…I don’t have it in me to capture him like I did before… I’m too tired. He could kill us all.”

  “We’ll have to slow him down,” Nicodemus said, standing in the doorway of Xiangu’s cabin. “Delia, Stone, and Neema, let’s see if we can distract him.”

  “How?” Delia’s voice was strained.

  “My dear, now is the time to get creative. We’ll talk strategy on our walk back to the garden.” Nicodemus, who never showed any sign of fear even now, took Delia’s hand, and pulled her from the cabin. Papa followed only after giving me a nervous once-over. He knew what to do. We had talked about this for weeks now.

  The door to the cabin slammed shut behind Papa. Neema lingered in the corner, her red eyes on high alert. I welcomed her company. She would be my last barrier if Brent plowed through the rest of my allies.

  “Master,” I pled. “Please, what can we do?”

  She lolled her head to one side. Her eyes cracked open. “Too late.”

  “No,” I growled through my teeth. “You’re more than halfway done. Finish it.”

  “No time.” Her eyes closed. I knew she wasn’t asleep.

  “Get up.” I jostled her shoulder.

  One eye snapped open with that threat. She said nothing. She did nothing. She stared back at me with intense incredulity. Shrieks and howls and screams from outside meant that my team was confronting Brent. I had to remind myself that they were going to be fine, that they wouldn’t become another notch in Brent’s belt of souls.

  I had to remind myself that I wouldn’t be either, that we’d get our happily ever after.

  I used all my energy to pull Xiangu upright and clap her hand around my right forearm. “Finish it. You have it in you. I know you do. Please. I’m not ready to die.”

  Xiangu resisted my effort, but I wouldn’t let her fall back into her pillows to have a nap. This Scrivener would get up if making her was the last thing I did. And it was possible it would be.

  “Now you listen to me,” I hissed. “If you don’t save me, I’ll come back and haunt you. I’m going to terrorize you until you shit blood through every fucking black robe you own. Get up!”

  My words were not exactly encouraging, but they did spark something in Xiangu. Whether it was rage, disgust, or the sheer determination to put me in my place, Xiangu slapped me across the face with the back of her hand. Considering that she was the mirror image of me, minus the top half of my Deathmark, I’m sure Neema found the confrontation amusing. Her quiet chuckle from the corner was proof.

  “No one disrespects me,” Xiangu hissed.

  “Then get up and help me. Please!”

  The chaos outside reminded me that sands in my personal hourglass were diminishing. They weren’t on the other side of the pond. They were closer, coming toward the cabin. I couldn’t focus enough to listen to what they were saying because, truth was, they didn’t matter. What did was Xiangu.

  Her eyes, wide and sparkling green, turned to our arms that bore parts of the Deathmark. Her chest rose with a deep lungful of air, then she clamped her hand around my arm.

  I was face-to-face with her. Wrinkles formed around her eyes as she closed them tight. Her lips pursed as if she had taken of bite of sour fruit. Xiangu, who wore my image, looked to be passing a large, unforgiving object. Of all I had to worry about, I could only wonder if this was the face I made when nature called.

  The pain that came with my first and second sessions was still present, though less excruciating. Xiangu carried more of the burden now. I carried the paralyzing fear that she would fail before Brent busted through the door of this wood structure that Xiangu called her sanctuary.

  Moments after Xiangu began again, she stopped, and looked at me with tired, red-rimmed eyes. She had taken the tops of the eye sockets from my mark. What remained was still enough to send me to the Afterlife, or so I assumed.

  “Not good enough. Keep going.” I disliked being so demanding because it felt rude after everything she had done for me so far, but there was no other choice. But for good measure, I added, “Please.”

  “Put on the robe.” She gestured to the black garment hanging nearby.

  I threw on the robe without hesitation. “Why am I wearing this?” I asked as I buttoned it up, trying not to skip buttonholes because Mama had taught me right.

  “I know,” Xiangu groaned from exhaustion, “that he has half of your soul.”

  “Yes, for over two years now.”

  “Then he only wants the other half.”

  “Meaning my wearing only part of a Deathmark might still be enough for him to act.” I surmised that wearing the same robe and same identity with the Deathmark split between us both that Xiangu’s plan in the next thirty seconds was not to remove the rest of my skull mark. Whatever she had planned was off the cuff and full of guts.

  “We’ll trick him?” I said as I fastened the robe’s collar.

  “We will try.” She struggled to stand. Neema dove in to help her Master.

  “Trick him into what?”

  Xiangu’s eyes—or, rather, my green eyes—held me in a tense, foreboding grip as I anticipated her response.

  But I didn’t need to hear the reply to have an idea of what Xiangu had planned. And there was no sense in asking if it would work because from the anxiety hidden behind those familiar green gems, I knew she had never tried this before.

  Chapter Twelve

  “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague.

  Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”

  —Edgar Allan Poe

  “Where is she?” Brent’s Southern drawl cut through Papa and Delia’s shouts. His voice drowned Dudley’s barking. But moreover, his words muffled the pounding of my heart. This was the final chance to defend my life or let it slip away. All those weeks and months I had told myself that if I had to be taken by him, I’d gladly accept it. Now all I wanted to do was run, forsaking our future together or the bond we had already made.

  The urge to hide inside of the cabin was strong. There wasn’t a single thing to hide inside or under or below. There were no windows. The door was the one way in and out—a door that was the last barricade between life and death. This cabin felt more to me like a tomb or massive coffin than the bedchambers of a Master Scrivener.

  When the door flung open to show me that Brent Hume was here to complete his task as my Grim Reaper, I froze. Wearing the clothes he had been given when he arrived at Wrightwick—a black North Face parka, jeans, and boots—he appeared more normal than ever. I longed to throw my arms around his neck and kissed him. But that impulse was quickly overridden when his brow furrowed, his eyes red as blood. He looked…confused.

  Confused?Oh my Hades, this might work!

  Two Olivia Dormiers dressed in Master Xiangu’s robes faced him.

  Internally quivering, I resolved to say nothing. I did not blink or smile or do anything that would give me away as the true me. Xiangu did the same.

  It was Brent who broke the silence. “Leave us,” he said to Neema who stood between us as our loyal sentinel.

  “I only take orders from Master,” she said.

  “Xiangu, tell your Eidolon to leave,” he said.

  The Master Scrivener did not reply, and so I remained quiet. Brent’s instinct as an Eidolon was strong. He had tracked me halfway across the continent. For this reason, I wasn’t convinced he would fall for the ruse. Xiangu was good at impersonating others, but could she truly fool an Eidolon as savvy as Brent?

  “Can we talk about this outside?” Xiangu said in my French-Canadian accent.

  For a second, I thought that I had spoken, as the tone and inflection sounded so much like mine.

  Brent’s red eyes bounced between Xiangu and me. Remembering her poise and elegance, remembering that she had decades of experience on me, I
did my best to use her tricks. I kept my chin high, my shoulders squared. I didn’t look away when he stared me down.

  “There is nothing to discuss. I have a duty to Styx,” he said, a robot set on kill-mode.

  “You may have your duty to uphold, but you do not know who to approach, do you?” I said. As I let Brent scrutinize me from head to toe, I began to fear that convincing him that Xiangu was me would not end well for her. I couldn’t let her die on my behalf.

  “You both wear the marking,” he confessed.

  “We wear one piece of it,” I said, believing that perhaps this technicality, like the technicality he threw at Marin when I was to be executed, would be enough.

  Brent took a step forward into the cabin. The floors creaked. The cabin felt instantly smaller with him inside of it. The shadow he cast made him appear bigger than he was. Had he shifted into his shadowy form, he would have taken over the entire space. For now, though, he stayed in human form.

  “You need the other half of my soul to complete your job,” Xiangu said.

  Brent stopped. Something about her words gave him pause. His red eyes fixed on me. And my lungs grew tighter. There was no room to push past him and make an escape.

  “Why couldn’t you simply ignore the call?” Xiangu said, her eyes welling with grief.

  This peeled Brent’s attention from me to her. I sighed furtively in relief.

  “I don’t understand why you can’t ignore it,” she added.

  It was clear from his face that Brent was struggling through several emotions. One that stood out among the others was guilt. Much like I had tried to save my friend Eve Cassidy, going as far as trying to dissuade her from getting a skull tattoo Deathmark and to intercept her Grim Reaper, Brent surely felt the same pangs of remorse. I knew how awful it was to carry the burden, and I knew that the grief didn’t lessen after the deed was done. But he had to fulfill his responsibility to Styx exactly as I had to. For me, that business had been tattooing Eve when she’d asked me to. For him, that business was ferrying my soul out of my body.