“When I saw my reflection, I didn’t recognize myself. I knew I was walking a dangerous path. But I wasn’t about to go back to being miserable. I don’t think he knew what dark creature he was creating.”
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My heart thumps against my chest as we step into Thicket Grove. The woods feel less alien to me now, like a familiar nightmare. Though the immediate cover of its ashen branches twisting overhead still tickles my senses with unease. Anxiety hangs in the air, damp and sticky like a cloud of sweat. Nevertheless, this time, I keep up with Dr. Ward as we enter.
“You know, you’re as impulsive as your father,” he says as we step through the quiet woods. “It’s no wonder he fathered a reaper so easily.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His statement confuses me. I thought he wanted me to come back. And what does Dad have to do with anything?
“You came here knowing I would test you, but according to you, you depleted your reaping. You have no power we can train with. We’ll need to fix that.” He leers down at me. “You leap without looking. Something your father surely passed down.”
It’s difficult to tell if he means it with praise or annoyance, but pride kisses my cheeks all the same. While I feel defenseless without any powers, I have questions. And whatever demented training he has for me may not leave room for me to ask them. The longer we spend preparing, the more information I can pull from him.
“I’m glad to hear a part of him still lives.” I smile back. “You knew my dad well. You two would hunt together right?”
“We did,” he smiles as he looks ahead down the trail. “He spoke of you often. He hated keeping secrets from you. He wanted to train you himself, but your mother forbade it.”
“Why?”
“A question you’ll have to ask her.”
I allow a moment of quiet to settle the rage boiling inside me.
“What did you do together? Any stories?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Plenty. He was quite the talented tellúrii. He would find an echo around every corner. On nearly every hunt, he was bound to disappear. Off somewhere investigating the history of the earth at his feet. He could manipulate echoes to flip through time like pages in a book. He once found the echo of a crying baby and bound it to a pebble. Then he hid it in one of the top shelves of my library. It would cry intermittently, then suddenly stop for hours. It took me a month to find it.”
I laugh. “He would always pull pranks on Mom and me. He once picked me up from school dressed like a caped superhero. I ran home.”
We both share a laugh until the obvious next question creates an awkward pause.
“How did he die?” I finally ask. “Really.”
Dr. Ward takes his time before speaking. “He was a curious man. We were both fixed on stopping the creature in these woods. One night, he came to my office. He had grown impatient after another dead body was found. I refused to push our investigation deeper into The Grove. He called me a coward. I chased him and begged him not to go any deeper.” He releases an unsteady sigh. “It found us. Unprepared. You’re a lot like him in many ways. I just ask that you don’t waste the gift he has given you by making the same mistake he did.”
“What about you?” I quickly ask before the sob building in my chest takes hold. “In the bestiary you gave me, the last owner was Sir Arthur Ward. Is that who passed down your powers?”
He stops. For a moment, I swear I see fear in his expression. Or is it sadness? Then he stifles it and looks behind us at his mansion, framed by crooked branches.
“He built this place,” he replies. He stares at the house, lost in some far off thought.
“Do you miss him?” I ask.
“Hmm?”
“Your grandfather, right? Seems like he meant a lot to you.”
He looks down. “I do miss him, or at least the man he once was. He changed after his wife died.”
“How’d she die?”
He glances at me, then turns back down the path. “You sure are inquisitive today. And I lent you that book by the way. I do want it back.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Lots to read. It may take me a while to get through all of it.” I smirk and follow close behind him; these woods still give me the creeps.
“You know, the reaper gene is incredibly rare. It often skips a generation or two. Your dad was overjoyed when you saw your first ghost. I don’t know what he did to get you that weaving focus so quickly.” Ward looks down at the golden hilt poking out of my pocket. “However, it’s useless in your current state. That will be your first lesson. Never leave home without a reaping,” he scolds me as we march deeper into the woods. “Preferably a fresh one. Evil comes in many forms, and getting caught without reserves could get you killed.”
“What if I can’t find an echo?” I ask. “It’s not like I can stock up at the nearest ghost supermarket.”
“Open your eyes.” He stops again.
“Wha—” I look up at him. His eyes are black.
“A reaper’s sight comes naturally, even without a harvest to pull from,” he says
I close my eyes and release a long steady breath. When I open them, a long thread of silver light floats beside me. It weaves between the trees and curls into the ground beside one. As I step toward it, fear tickles my spine. Soft whimpers whisper into my ears. A girl, my age maybe, sits huddled at the base of the tree crying.
“I learned a long time ago to trust my senses. They rarely lie,” he says. “Now reap it before it gets too late.”
I know this isn’t a soul. Merely an echo of the past. But I can’t help but feel bad. A small piece of her soul created this for whatever reason. Reaping it feels like erasing a part of someone’s life.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Then I wrap my fingers around the silver thread and open the door. Her fear and desperation enters my body like a snake. It wriggles down my spine and vanishes somewhere dark.
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“Can I be possessed?” I surprise Dr. Ward with a question as he places his leather bag on the ground and unzips it. It’s a question that’s been gnawing at my brain since last night. Hannah’s limp body flickers in the corner of my eye.
“Not without some willingness on your part,” he says, pulling bulky black fabric from the bag. Then, he stops and stares at something in the wet grass.
“You see that?” He points to a bundle of red bulbs sprouting from the ground. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the deer meat Dad would bring home. Each bulb is the deep-red color of severed muscle. Violet veins pulse through the pedals, chasing away any green to their tips. A horrid thing.
“Sarracenia purpurea,” he says. “Any insect naive enough to dive into its bowels will never return. Then, that little monster will preserve its body, siphoning its energy until nothing remains.” He looks up at me. I already hate what he’s about to say. “Like you.” Yup. Hated that. “If a spirit enters your body, your soul will rip it apart and consume it. Even a tellúrii, who ordinarily couldn’t reap anything more than an echo, would be safe. If that ever happens, you have two options. You can either consume the spirit, or reject it. But if you choose to reject it, it will explode from your body in a wave of terrifying energy.” He returns to digging the black fabric from the bag. “So, I’d recommend against that option.”
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The heat drains from my face as the Davidson house floods my mind. The horrifying pieces come together to make a macabre painting of dread and guilt.
The boy.
“Don’t be scared.”
I still remember the last words he whispered to me before his spirit exploded. I felt his presence vibrate through my body. His desperation, fear, and anger flooded my mind. His memories added to my own. So I panicked. I must have rejected him. Then, he was gone. That was the spirit bomb. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just scared.
Guilt squeezes my throat and my eyes begin to throb. But I quickly wipe my eyes and smother my heaving chest as Dr. Ward stands.
“Well, this place is as good as any,” he says, holding up a long black robe. Elegant patterns of black stitching cover the fabric, contrasting the stark white human bones attached to it. A complete ribcage hangs over the chest. Long straps dangle from it, presumably to tie around the wearer. Odd and uneven bones are woven into the fabric or fastened with buckles and laces. Their placement is barbaric but deliberate. Larger bones are fitted to cover wide areas, while smaller pieces fill the gaps in a crude mosaic. It definitely took more than one life to assemble all of it. More pieces still hang from Dr. Ward’s other hand, resembling pauldrons and vambraces composed of the same morbid ornamentation, complete with a cowl and a mask made from a skull.
“Nope,” I say.
“Put it on,” he commands.
“Creepy ghosts and dead bodies I can handle. But I draw the line at wearing human remains.” I cross my arms, but I already know I’m going to lose this argument.
“Your blade harnesses the energy of a human soul.” He gestures to my hilt. “It can burn the flesh and sever the spirit. A human soul can pass through anything except another soul, or something made from one. So think of the bones as spirit armor.” He tosses the robe and its additional pieces at my feet.
“What do I need armor for?” I ask, wincing at the pale skull looking up at me.
“That is a traditional reaping cloak, made by the Order. Ordinarily, it’s used to guard against spiritual attacks. But today—” Lightning suddenly cracks, echoing through the woods. He steadies a long white blade and looks at me with a grin. “It will have to defend you from me.”
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White light ripples against the stark shadows around us as our blades flicker with heat. We circle each other under a dome of tangled branches. The cloak sags over my shoulders, but it fits better than expected. Like it was made for someone only a bit taller than me. The skull mask presses against my face. Its jagged eye sockets frame my vision as I focus on Dr. Ward. His large stature towers over me, even at a distance.
“You’re wasting time,” he says. Static cracks as he smacks the tip of my blade with his own. “A reaper’s energy is limited. You must be quick and precise. End the fight before you deplete your harvest.”
“What if I hit you?” I ask. He isn’t wearing a cloak, just the same turtleneck.
He smirks. “If you think you can, do it.”
I lunge forward and swing the blade wildly overhead. He raises his sword and bats my attack away. I quickly attempt a second swing, hoping to catch him off guard. But he’s taller than me. He flicks away my second attack and plunges his sword past my head. I feel the heat radiate against my face and leap back.
“You’re afraid,” he says bluntly.
“You’re a fucking giant,” I complain through heaving breaths. The bones wrapped around my chest squeeze my lungs. I’m not used to tight clothing. I prefer my hoodies and oversized tees. “I can’t even get close to you.”
“Most creatures you face will be larger than you.” He spreads his arms wide. “I am your monster. Right now, I control the distance. Take it from me. Find the opening and strike. Again.”
I lift my blade. He immediately slaps it away.
“Your fear controls you. Conquer it.”
I take a deep breath. I imagine myself in a smaller space, my room. Maggie is beside me. She’d get a kick out of this. If she was here, she’d be shouting superhero fight moves. I shake out my wrists and wrap both my hands around the hilt. He’s tall, so maybe I can slip under him when he raises his arms.
We pace around each other once more, our black eyes locked on one another. I wait for the tell. I know he’s impatient. It doesn’t take long for the opportunity as he raises his arms and lunges forward. I duck low and hold the blade over my head to block his, then I leap toward him. Suddenly, pain rips through my body as he kicks me in the chest.
I fly backward and drop my blade. It deactivates as it slaps the wet ground. My lungs stab against my ribs as they beg for air. My diaphragm spasms, unable to inhale. Finally, it recovers from the shock and I gasp.
“That’s… not fair,” I cry.
“This is life or death,” he says coldly. “That was clever, but monsters won’t have swords and they won’t fight fair. Get up.”
I force myself to stand. But as soon as I grab my hilt, he dives toward me. I desperately activate my focus and raise my sword. His weight slams against me. Each swing vibrates my bones as I block blow after blow. He steps forward with each attack, forcing me back.
Pop! Pop!
I feel a sudden crack as his glowing blade crashes into mine once more. The tiny threads that weave my sword together snap like guitar strings. My blade rips in half. Iridescent sparks whip around me and the sword flickers away.
My mind swirls with panic and confusion. How did it break? Blinding light floods my vision as his glowing blade swings toward me. Suddenly, my heel catches on a rock, and I stumble backward into the grass.
I wince as he holds the blade against my neck. Its searing heat pulses against me like an open flame.
“Blocking is foolish,” he mocks. “Monsters will be much larger than me. You won’t be able to block their attacks.” He deactivates his blade and steps back.
“You broke my sword,” I say, staring at my hilt.
“It isn’t broken. I overpowered your reaping. I am a lunárii. I reap things more powerful than echoes.” He releases a long sigh. “You’re a reaper, Autumn. Your power is rivaled only by Death herself, and yet your fear controls you.” He turns and begins to walk away. “Come find me when you deserve that power.”
In a single sentence, my confidence withers away. I’ve never deserved these powers. I never wanted them in the first place. Why the fuck am I even here?
I stand and catch my reflection in the placid water of the swamp. The white skull peeks out under the shadow of the black hood. I look just like the reaper from the drawings in the bestiary. The dim light fades to black at my feet, giving me a floating spectral appearance. I look back at Dr. Ward as he disappears around the corner. Fuck him. I don’t have to play by his rules. I may not know how to fight, but I can hunt.
I step into the high brush and weave between the trees. The robe is black and gray. It blends perfectly in the shadows. I stick to the darkest parts of the woods as I stalk behind him.
Heel. Toe.
Heel. Toe.
I move quietly enough to get ahead of him and wait in the tall bramble. Then, just as he passes me, I leap toward him. I keep my body low and wait until the last minute to activate my blade. It flickers to life with a crack of lightning. I sweep for his legs. If monsters are larger than me, my best bet is to immobilize or disorient them. Ward is no different. But he leaps away just in time.
He activates his focus and swings it down toward my shoulder. I sidestep, dodging his attack. Then another, and another. One gets too close and I raise my blade. His sword glances off mine, spitting heat across my face. But I shove through the fear and push forward. If he doesn’t have to play fair, neither do I. I’ll hit him with a telekinetic push. I feel my storm rage inside me and reach out my hand. With all of my strength I throw the storm forward. Energy ripples down my arm.
Then searing heat replaces it.
Dr. Ward flips his blade and slices through my wrist. My nerves scream as the sword scolds my skin. I wail and fall to my knees, gripping my hand.
I can’t feel it.
My hand is completely numb.
It swells red from a fresh burn across the wrist. But I can’t feel anything. I strain to squeeze my fingers, but they hang limp. Pain tears across my skin.
I cry. “I can’t move my hand!”
“You’re fine.” He deactivates his blade and grabs my hand. “Take a deep breath.”
I try, but panic conquers my lungs. They jump uncontrollably.
“It’s only a first degree burn,” he says, as if that offers any comfort. “The paralysis will pass. Just breathe.”
“But the blade—You said it cuts the soul,” I stammer.
“Your soul will heal. Your body protects it from any permanent harm. It will take a moment for you to rebuild the connection to your hand, but it will heal. The cut just fries the senses. If I had cut your neck or spine, we’d have a different story.” He gently rubs my hand. His face flushes red with anxiety. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.
“I can’t even hit you,” I whimper. “I don’t want to be a reaper. I just want to be normal.”
He then sits down beside me. I miss Dad. I miss having him—anyone—to hold and comfort me. It isn’t fucking fair. Why couldn’t the monster take Mom or me instead?
“Normal is a lie,” he says calmly. “Normal is how the weak enslave the strong. It’s a creation of fear. You are not normal, Autumn. The world will not be kind to you. It will seek to bind you in fear.” He looks at me. His eyes are black, reflecting my own. “Does fear control you, reaper?”
I stare up at him. Tears tickle my cheeks, but my heart steadies. I find my strength, and build a wall around my core. I pack it tight, and fill every crack. Nothing will break through as I wrap my soul in iron.
“No,” I reply softly.