chapter 20
Alex
When I made the deal with Draven I really didn’t think there would be a chance I’d ever have to repay the debt. I didn’t think I’d live long enough for him to collect it. I’d either die from the Star or the portal. That obviously didn’t happen and even though, deep down, I knew he’d eventually show up, I was hoping it’d be when I was old and had lived my life.
I follow him outside, wanting to reach inside my pocket and stab him, yet knowing that he would neither die nor get hurt and would probably end up killing me. I shut the door and halt on the step.
A woman dressed in a long, black dress with turquoise eyes and blond hair stands at the bottom of the porch.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask.
A slow smile spreads across Draven’s face. “This is Marissa. She’ll be transporting us.”
I note the crescent moon and star mark on her arm as she rolls up her sleeve. “She’s a Witch.”
“Obviously.” Draven trots down the stairs.
I hesitantly follow after him, my knife feeling like lead inside my pocket. My Keepers’ instincts want me to put up a fight, even if I end up getting killed.
“And don’t try anything stupid,” Draven says, stopping beside the witch, who stands there, staring at me mutely. He turns around with a wicked glint in his eye and I nearly explode on the inside with the urge to knock it off his face. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”
The witch—Marissa—smiles and extends her hand out to me. In her hand is a golden Crystal with jagged edges and a pointed tip. She doesn’t say anything as she holds out her other hand, opening her fingers, and a flame ignites in the center. She dips the crystal into the flame, and she’s mesmerized by the flickering as she chants under her breath. I shut my eyes because I don’t want to watch. I want to save Gemma from going to the Fey Realm. I start to panic thinking about it and suddenly I don’t care if I get killed.
I open my eyes, ready to fight, but the foul odor of rotting banana peels and musty socks surrounds me. I’m standing in an alleyway between tall metal buildings that are lined by large metal dumpsters which are overflowing with stale food, rotting wood, old clothes, trash bags, and more trash bags leaking out onto the asphalt. I’ve been here before, when I originally met Draven, when I made the stupid deal.
Marissa is standing next to me, clutching onto the Crystal and staring at Draven with a silent begging in her eyes.
“You can go,” Draven orders and relief washes over her face.
Letting out a noisy breath, she snaps her fingers and vanishes in a cloud of smoke that snakes over to me and stings my eyes.
Draven steps back and I fan the smoke from my face, coughing. He crooks his finger at me, stepping backward down the alley. “You, come with me.”
I glare at the back of his head when he turns around. As I follow him, I calculate everything; from the garbage on the ground to how many steps we take until we stop—ninety-eight.
He stops in front of a dumpster, barely grabbing onto it, he wheels it to the side, revealing a door hidden behind it. Then, he pulls out a silver key, shoves it into the lock, and pulls the door open. He steps aside, motioning me to go first, and I obey because I have to; otherwise, I’ll die.
As soon as we’re in, he shuts the door and darkness suffocates our surroundings. Part of me wishes that’s how things would stay because then I would never have to find out what I have to do. I hear the sound of a key scraping in a lock and then some squeaking, like a rusty latch being slid over and locked.
“This way,” he says and brushes past me.
I can barely make out his silhouette as he walks down a dark, cement tunnel and I follow with my eyes locked on him, forcing myself not to try and stab him in the back. He can’t die. The air is musty and smells like decaying corpses. There’s a light up ahead and we head towards it. When we step out of the tunnel, we’re in the room where I first met Draven. Lanterns hang from the red walls by metal loops and an oval table circles the center. There’s a cage in the corner, but it’s empty.
Draven pulls a chair out and takes a seat at the end of the table, then gestures for me to sit in the empty chair next to him. I obey, but only because I have to. It’s a rule now that I’m paying my debt. Do whatever he says, or I’ll drop dead.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask. “I know I owe you, but there has to be a reason why you’re collecting now.”
He thrums his fingers on top of the table, deliberating. “There’s been a fight going on between Helena and me for quite a while… Even though I’m Lord of the Afterlife, she has it so I can’t enter the Afterlife.” He waves his arm around at the room. “I have to live here, in this filthy place, with a bunch of rodents and garbage, but I’m still able to keep up with what’s going on in the Afterlife.”
Well, this is news to me. “I’ve never heard any of this before,” I say. “From what I understood, you’re pretty much out of the loop.”
He leans over the table, reaching for a wooden cigar box. “You will never repeat what I just told you. To anyone.” He opens the lid to the cigar box and takes out a cigar. “You know the rules about your debt.” He pops the cigar in his mouth and reaches for a silver lighter next to the box. “If you don’t obey, you die.” He lights the end, puffing smoke while he turns the cigar. “Or, if I really want to be cruel…” He lets out a breath of smoke as he leans back and crosses his leg over his knee. “…I’ll send you to the Afterlife.”
“I know the rules,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Good.” He puffs on the end of the cigar, then takes it out of his mouth and positions it between his fingers. “Now let’s get down to business. You’re here for a year. Now, usually I don’t get someone like Keepers, and I plan on using that to my advantage.”
I rest my arms on the table. “What kind of advantage?” I ask, pretty sure I’m not going to be thrilled by his answer.
He puts the cigar down on top of an ashtray, the end still smoking. Then, he leans back in the chair with a pleased grin on his face. “I’m going to train you.”
“Train me for what? To kick your ass?”
“Watch your tone with me.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at me. “I’m going to train you to be my apprentice. I want you to learn how to become like me, so I can take control of the Afterlife. Because, with your help—with two people as strong as me—Helena doesn’t stand a chance.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” I say, trying not to laugh. “You think I’m going to help you take control of the Afterlife?”
“I don’t think. I know. Because you can’t disobey me.” He grins when I frown.
“If you do that, then I won’t even be human. I won’t even exist.”
“Oh, you’ll exist,” he says. “You’ll just be different.”
“I’ll be the scum of the freaking earth.”
“You better watch what you say.”
“Or what?” My words are fueled by my rage. I’m angry. Enraged. If he does what he says he’s going to do, then I won’t be myself again, even in a year when I’m freed. “You’re going to change me into something evil.”
The darkness in his eyes dims even lower as he leans forward, the veins in his neck bulging. “Watch how you talk to me.”
I’m planning my next choice of words carefully, when someone emerges through the side door of the small room and interrupts our argument. She’s wearing a bright red dress, has long blonde hair and a very familiar face. It takes me a minute, but I place her. She’s the Banshee I met here before—the one that led me to this room.
Her lips twist into a smile as she walks over to Draven and wraps her fingers around the back of his chair. “Glad you made it back.” She doesn’t quite clarify whom she’s speaking to.
“Trivela, take our new friend, Alex, to his quarters,” Draven tells her, his fingers seeking the cigar from the ashtray.
Her smile widens. “It’d be my pleasure.” She walks over to the door and waits for me to follow.
I push back from my chair, my gaze fixed on Draven. “It’ll never work. I’ll never turn into you.”
“You will eventually. Eventually, everyone gets tired of fighting.” He places the cigar on his lips and smoke surrounds his face. “A deal’s a deal, Alex. And, you never know, you may start enjoying being evil.” He removes the cigar from his mouth. “Maybe you won’t even want to go back to your old life.”
“Oh, I will,” I assure him and then drop my voice to a threatening tone as I place my hands on the table and lean over. “And when I do, I’m going to come back and kill you.”
With that, I follow the Banshee out of the room, knowing I’ll probably pay for my exiting line, but not caring because, at the moment, things couldn’t get any worse.
The Banshee takes me to a dark corridor that leads to a small room with a single bed, a chipped dresser, and a small bookshelf. She stops in the doorway and watches me as I walk around the room, shaking my head at everything.
“If you need anything,” she flashes a smile at me, “and I mean anything, please, please, ask me.” Grinning at herself, she turns around and leaves me alone.
I sink down on the bed and drop my head into my hands. I’m here for a year. A year. Away from the world, from life—from Gemma. What’s worse is that I can still feel her, how sad she is. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture her lying on her bed, crying. We’re going to be apart for a year. A year.
And if Draven teaches me to be like him, and forces me to start taking Souls, then what? In a year, I won’t even exist. I’ll wind up a hollow shell, full of death and darkness.
I may as well be dead.