“I needed guidance, and Dr. Ward was all I had. He understood my demons. Even if he had his own.”
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“Hannah, focus on my voice.” I grip her hand as her chest leaps uncontrollably. Tears pour from her eyes as her breathing stampedes. She whimpers and flinches away from me when I touch her face. Snot and blood smears across her mouth. “You’re not alone, Hannah. I’m real. Just focus on my voice.” My shame drips down my cheek. I did this.
Glittering black dust floats in the air, a remnant of Shy Boy after his body scorched in golden light. He screamed as his body disintegrated. The poltergeist at the Davidson house exploded similarly, but something about this felt different. For starters, it was intentional this time. But I don’t know where that burning energy came from. And now I can’t find it. It felt like I opened something I was never supposed to find. Something that had a cost I may never know.
“Autumn, your hands,” JJ says.
Blood drips from my missing nail. My blistered fingers swell with bright purple bruises. As my adrenaline diminishes, burning pain begins to squirm up my arm. Looks like I’ll be visiting Dr. Ward sooner than expected.
“It’s fine,” I lie.
“A-ah-toom,” Hannah blubbers through heaping breaths.
“I’m right here, Hannah.” I try to hide my panic but my voice shakes. “We’re here.”
“Did—we get him?” She asks. Her eyes finally open as her chest calms.
JJ and I look at each other with a bright smile that’s almost a laugh through our tears.
“Yeah,” I reply. “We got him.”
We sit Hannah up and rest her back against the bed.
“Hailey,” Hannah mutters, staring at the floor. “She was right.”
“Your sister? Right about what?” I ask. I look into her eyes and see the dilated trauma in her dazed stare. What did Shy Boy show her? There’s no telling what torture he inflicted on her mind.
“The spirits are angry.” Hannah sways as she speaks, unblinking. “The Hollow remembers.”
“What?” I ask, but she stares blankly. I shake her shoulder. “What does that mean? What did you see?”
“Huh?” Hannah snaps from her daze and looks at me confused.
“Autumn,” JJ suddenly exclaims. I look at him, but his gaze is focused elsewhere. I follow it to see white light shining across the bedroom window from outside. It’s a flashlight. Mr. Hawtrey must have heard us. I can’t say I’m surprised considering the screaming and loud booms he must have heard.
“Time to go,” I say.
JJ and I scramble to put the Ouija board and tools away. I pick up the charred wooden toy soldier. Black scorch marks remain where the threads once tied around it. All Daisy did was bring a toy home, and it ripped her family apart. But she was rejected long before that. Her adventurous side was shunned, and Greenfield considered her a freak long before she brought home a poltergeist. I can’t help but wonder if Daisy snapped. Did she tell Shy Boy to kill her father? What will happen if I snap?
“Autumn.” JJ breaks my focus as he attempts to lift Hannah.
I shove the toy into my pocket and rush to help him support her. Luckily, she isn’t completely deadweight and pulls herself up.
Together, we fly out the door and rush down the central staircase. As we land in the first floor foyer, white light shines through the textured glass of the front door. We collectively gasp and bolt into the next room as the lock jostles and clicks. We need to get to the basement quietly before we’re spotted.
“Hello?” The old man shouts as he swings the front door open. His sharp voice cuts through the air. “I know you’re in here.” His words trail off as he rotates around the opposing side of the house. The first floor is one big loop, and we’ll meet in the middle if we don’t move quickly. The thought crosses my mind to turn back and bolt for the front door, but the basement is closer and Hannah is still a little clumsy. I’d make it, but she might not.
We round the corner into the living room. The broken couch is still in pieces in the center of the room. Breaking and entering, destruction of property. We’re in deep shit if he finds us. We just need to get through the kitchen and down to the basement. I poke my head around the corner of the kitchen. Immediately, I spot the old man in the next room over. His cloudy eyes glisten in the darkness. He’s tall. He hunches forward as he walks, gripping a flashlight in his left hand. In his right, a long metal golf club. If we’re going to get to the basement we need to go now.
I recoil from the edge and look back at Hannah and JJ. JJ’s eyes are dilated with panic. Hannah carries her own weight without his help, though she looks like she’s sleepwalking. I tilt my head at them to signal Mr. Hawtrey’s location without speaking. I hold a finger over my lips, then point it down to my feet.
Dad taught me long ago when we’d play hide-and-seek never to tip-toe. “Tip-toeing will crunch anything noisy,” he’d say. “Step with your heel, and roll.” Carefully, I step around the corner into the kitchen.
Heal. Toe. Heal. Toe.
Every step is slow and intentional as we sneak through the kitchen. We hug the wall to hide as much of our bodies from view as possible. We reach the door to the basement and I suddenly fear opening it. That stupid door will creak and groan the second I pull on it. I’ll have to swing it open quickly, then hold him off for Hannah and JJ. I place my hand over the doorknob and look back at them. I hold up three fingers. Their eyes widen in understanding.
Three.
Two.
“You!” Mr. Hawtrey shouts.
Shit.
I swing the door open. It screams.
“Go!” I shout.
Hannah is the first through the door. She rushes down into the darkness, gripping the railing for safety. JJ follows behind. I squeeze in after him, pulling the door with me. Suddenly, pain rips across my head as I’m jerked backward. Mr. Hawtrey pulls hard on my hair and I stumble backwards.
“I got you, you little shit,” he says, gripping my hair.
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“Let me go!” I scream.
“Oh no, you need to be taught a lesson.” That last word slithers from his tongue with a hiss. He yanks my hair and drags me back into the kitchen. I squeal and kick. He raises the golf club over his head.
“Leave her alone!” Hannah shouts as she and JJ tackle the old man.
Dust explodes into the air as they pull him to the ground. I reach for his club but I’m too late. He raises it high and slams it into JJ’s leg. JJ screams and crumples to the floor.
“Stop!” I shout.
I stand. I let darkness rush into my mind, turning my eyes black as night. Mr. Hawtrey stops and looks up at me. His jaw drops and trembles.
“Demon,” he mutters.
Hannah untangles herself from him and helps JJ to his feet. The two of them step behind me as I stand over the frightened old man.
“Worse,” Hannah says through panting breaths. “She’s the Grim fucking Reaper.”
The old man drops the club and crawls backward, shaking in fear. Hannah and JJ turn and bolt down the stairs while I stare down at him. His panic-stricken eyes look up, terrified—of me. I feel the darkness wash away and my face returns to something more human. Then, I turn and run down the stairs.
We leave through the exterior basement door and help JJ run through the woods until we reach the car. Hannah checks JJ’s leg. He’ll have a nasty bruise for a while, but he’ll heal otherwise. We pile into the van and JJ starts it up.
“That was fucking awesome,” Hannah says. “You scared the shit out of that old man.”
“Yeah.” I force a smile and look out the window. I search the dark woods to see if Mr. Hawtrey follows us, but I know he won’t. Afterall, I scared the shit out of him.
JJ turns the car around and starts back down the dirt road. I keep my eyes on the trees as we drive. Something catches my attention. Standing between the trees, dark figures reveal themselves. A priest. A woman. A child. A man. Another and another. Their clothes are old. Their wounds are many. And their empty black eyes stare back at me from the dark tangled trees of Thicket Grove.
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I sleep like a rock. I don’t remember my dreams, if I dreamed at all. But school feels like a daydream. None of it feels real anymore. Like a game of make-believe, where I pretend to be a normal human being. But I’m not sure I care anymore. I cover my hands with gloves to hide the obvious wound, and to avoid a trip to the nurse’s office. I get a few judging glares, but I’m certain that has more to do with the dead cat in my locker. I have to remind myself that was only yesterday. It feels like a week ago. I’ve already put the cat out of my mind. After nearly getting Hannah killed, my thoughts are somewhere far away. She says she's fine, but I don't know how she could be. Her limp body floating overhead repeats in my mind again and again. I barely say a word to anyone. Except for Ethan.
He’s sweet. He comforts me, and promises to talk to Jaqueline, but I beg him not to. I know that will only make things worse. Besides, I don’t need his help fighting monsters. That’s how friends get hurt.
He shows me pictures of our popsicle stick bridge he completed last night, and reminds me our project report is due tomorrow. I had entirely forgotten about it. I really was a bad choice of partner after all. I agree to write the report tonight, though that could be a lie.
I’ve decided it’s time to see Dr. Ward again. Tonight. It’s hard for me to match his recent actions with the man I’ve always known. Clearly, so much has been hidden from me for so long. But that stops tonight. I’m done being helpless.
I visit Granny first. She knows something is off with me immediately. Of course she does. I tell her about Jaqueline and her latest prank to avoid telling her the truth. That I’m terrified. I don’t know who I’m becoming or where this path will lead, but I can’t be a passenger in my own story anymore.
“I think a broken nose would do that girl some good,” she says with a wink.
I can’t say I disagree with her. After our goodbyes, it takes me some time to work up the courage to visit Dr. Ward. My mind scrambles to predict what awful tests he’ll have for me this time. I walk the halls mindlessly checking rooms I know he isn’t in. Because he’s in his tower. He always is.
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“We reapers have been called demons long before you were born,” Dr. Ward says, carefully peeling Hannah’s pink bandage from my finger. I wince as it pulls the raw flesh.
I sit in an old, cushioned leather chair in front of his desk. Rays of light shine through the nearby window. I look out expecting sunlight, but it's merely the white reflection of snow. He kneels on the ground to inspect my hand. Even kneeling, his head reaches my height. Dr. Ward is a massive man, especially for someone who must be in their late sixties. But he still dresses his age. He’s well-dressed in his usual old-fashioned attire. His black turtle-neck shirt wraps tight around his heavy arms. His pant legs are rolled up, and even his boots are nice, apart from some dirt. His long gray hair is neatly combed back. A strand of it breaks loose and falls over his face as he releases a disappointed sigh.
“Can’t you just heal me again?” I ask, attempting my best puppy dog eyes.
He leers at me. “You expect me to make your problems go away every time you leap without looking? You endangered yourself and two others, then carelessly showed your powers to frighten an old man.” He stands up and leans against the edge of the wooden desk. The ornate wood creaks softly under his weight. “There’s a reason reapers live in secret. You never should have revealed yourself to those two in the first place.”
“Hannah and JJ?” I scoff. “They’re my friends. I can trust them.”
“For now,” he pinches his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. “Reapers once trusted the mundane, but they fear us. They will always fear you, Autumn.” He crosses his arms. “What if Hannah had died? Who would people blame? What if that old man recognizes you?”
Hannah and JJ aren’t afraid of me. Or I hope they aren’t. Even if they should be.
He sighs and drops his shoulders, then smiles at me. “I know you want to fit in. But have you ever bothered to ask why? Why slave for normalcy when you are destined for so much more? Everything that makes you different is what makes you great. You don’t fit in, Autumn. You were born to stand apart. Embrace that.”
“Mom wouldn’t agree,” I reply softly. “She just doesn’t understand.”
“I do.” He offers a soft smile. “But you should stop jumping into fights you aren’t ready for.”
“Then teach me to fight.”
He chuffs. “You kill one wraith and suddenly you’re ready for war?” Wraith. Another new word.
“No. I’m just ready to take control of my life.”
He scans me for a moment. A smirk of pride pushes against his cheeks.
“Give me your hands,” he says.
A warm glow emits from his large hands as he places them over mine. Crimson threads burst from his palms and wrap around my fingers. The red light braids around my hands in intricate patterns, and heat floods my nerves until he releases me. I watch the threads absorb into my skin. When the light fades, my nail is back and my fingers are clean. I wonder if I can do that, or if only a lunárii can.
“Blood weaving,” he says before I can open my mouth. “And I won’t be doing it again.” His voice is low and stern.
“Maybe you can teach me then?” I ask.
“No.” His eyes are more serious. He rolls up his left sleeve to reveal a scar on his forearm. The wound is old, but the details are unmistakable. An M and C are branded into his skin with a skull in the center. It’s the same emblem from the bestiary. “Mortis Custodes,” he says. “The order of death. There was a time when all reapers were indoctrinated into the order. It was a cult of fearful leaders and devout followers, unwilling to accept change.” He hides his arm under his sleeve again. “Blood weaving was strictly forbidden. Only celibate monks were allowed to perform it under extreme supervision.”
I shake my head. “Next you’re going to tell me they met in graveyards and drank blood.” Of course the reapers had a creepy old cult.
“Yes,” he grins.
“You’re joking.”
“And we slept in coffins and turned into bats.”
I roll my eyes. “Well why would healing someone be forbidden?”
“Using a human soul to reshape the flesh.” He chews on his cheek for a moment, pacing around the library. “It starts with healing wounds, but what more would you attempt with that power? Would you amplify your strength? Alter your identity? Would you take a life to extend your own?” His eyes meet mine. “What if it was to save a loved one? How many souls would you reap to save your father’s life?”
Heat drains from my face. I’d do anything to get Dad back.
“A power too tempting,” he continues. “I don’t agree with much of what the order taught. But they had that one right. Some lines should never be crossed.”
I narrow my eyes. “So what makes you the exception?”
“I’m no exception.” He pulls a dark gray overcoat from the coat hook on the wall, then grabs an old leather bag from the shelf. “Don’t be like me, Autumn. I want you to be better.” He walks toward the door. “You coming?”