Ember X (Death Collectors)

chapter 18

When I was thirteen, my mom locked me in the attic for an entire day because she believed I killed several of her house plants. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, only she didn’t let me have anything to drink or eat and there were no bathroom breaks permitted. I walked out of the situation without being too traumatized.

The only thing that bothered me was her belief that I killed the plants on purpose. At the time, it seemed ridiculous; the idea a person could dry out houseplants in less than five minutes. Now I wonder if perhaps I did do it and if my mom has always known there was something different about me.

I wake up on the couch, with my legs flopped over the back and my head hanging upside down. It’s late in the afternoon, the sky tinted a pale pink. Children are laughing outside and someone is throttling a motorcycle.

I lie motionless, with a splitting headache, trying to fall back asleep, not ready to face the day, or find out what Ian’s been doing in his studio all night. I heard someone sneak in late last night, but I didn’t care enough to go see who. There were muffled voices on the stairway and then footsteps headed into the attic.

Without changing position, I reach for the remote on the coffee table, but the front door swings open and someone comes whisking into the house.

Their high heels click against the floor. “What the hell happened?” Raven asks with her hands on her hips. “Why was there an ambulance here yesterday?”

She looks strange upside down, dressed up as an Angel with white-feather wings and a silvery-satin dress. Her pink hair is curled and wound with white ribbon to form a halo on the top of her head.

I sit up and rub my eyes. “Because my mom flipped out and tried to slit her wrists.” The words tumble out.

“Ember…” Her arms fall to her side. She doesn’t have a clue how to react to my honesty. “What can I do to help?”

I drag my ass off the sofa and her glitter-framed eyes widen at the blood all over my shirt. “You can let me go to sleep for a really, really long time,” I say. “That’s all I want to do is sleep.”

She gasps, pressing her hand to her heart. “Why the hell is there dried blood all over you?”

“Because my mom stabbed me with a pair of scissors,” I confess with a yawn.

She pries open the gap in my shirt where the scissors had violently entered. “Em, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I tell her. “She stabbed me with the scissors and then I almost killed her by sucking the life out of her to heal myself.”

“You’re in shock.” She pulls her hands away. “Or did you hit your head?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” I push past her. “I’m going to go up to bed to get some rest. Maybe I’ll sleep for an eternity.”

She seizes the back of my shirt and pulls me back. “No, you’re not. You’re going to go to this party and have some fun. Depression runs in your family. And I will not let you sink into that dark hole.”

I spin on my heels. “My mom is locked up on suicide watch and I found out that my death omen curse stretches farther than I originally thought. I sucked my mom’s life away to help myself survive. I’m not going to a God damn Halloween party.”

“You are not going up to your room to write sad poetry about death and pain,” she insists sternly. “Your mom’s pulled a similar stunt before, when she locked you up in the attic for an entire day after she thought you purposefully killed all the plants.”

“No, that was different—she actually killed me this time.” But was it her or the Grim Reaper? It seemed like she could hear him and see him.

“I don’t care what she did,” Raven says with a bossy attitude. “You’re going.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I annunciate each word. “My. Mom. Tried. To. Kill. Me.”

“Are you sure?” She twists the silver chain of her necklace. “Maybe you should think about it really hard.”

“I…” I stare at her, watching her eye twitch. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” She rubs the corner of her eye like she has something stuck in it. “I just think you should go out and have some fun for once.”

“I think you should go,” Ian intrudes from the bottom of the staircase. He’s dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with red paint smeared on it, along with his face and arms. “In fact, I’ll drop you off on my way to my own party.”

“You’ve both lost your minds.” I storm for the stairs, but he dodges to the side, blocking my path. “Move out of my way, Ian. Please.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not going to leave you here by yourself after what just happened. Mom will be fine—you’ll be fine. In fact, I got a call from the hospital this morning and they said she’s doing really well. Her wounds are healing really quickly and the meds have stabilized her mood. We should be able to see her tomorrow.”

I thrum my fingers on the sides of my legs. “I’m still not going.”

“Yes, you are,” Raven insists.

I shake my head. “I always go with you to every party you’ve ever asked me to, but not this time.”

Ian gently shoves me toward the stairway. “Quit being a baby, go get a damn costume on, and go have some fun for once in your f*cking life.”

“Asher will be there,” Raven entices with a waggle of her eyebrows. “He texted me and said to make sure you were still coming, because you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Asher. The Anamotti. The X on my mom’s head. It all rushes back to me. I need to know what’s going on.

“Okay, I think I…”

The Grim Reaper materializes behind Ian with his head tipped down as he floats up to the ceiling. Then he elevates his hand to his face and the sleeve slips down his arm, revealing his human hand.

“He’s human,” I whisper, unable to move.

The Reaper puts his finger to his lips. “Shhh… There’s no need to be afraid. The answers are in me,” he purrs and the sound of his voice is enthralling. “Come with me, Ember. I’m begging you. Never look the other way.”

My mind starts to melt to his request, but the touch of Raven’s hand on my arm pulls me back.

“Em, get it together,” she commands.

I blink the feeling away and stagger back. “I told you to stay away from me.”

His finger shifts to bone and beneath the hood, flames ignite. He swoops for me and I duck to the floor, flat on my stomach. He hovers above my head, his cape flowing onto my back as he puts his mouth to my ear and his breath smells like a thousand stolen graves. “I got your mother to kill you, imagine what else I can do. Do not go against my wishes, Ember Rose Edwards. The only answers you need are from me.”

I feel him whisk away, a hush of air across my back. When I push back to my feet, he’s gone and Raven and Ian are staring at me, their faces frozen in horror.

“Em,” Raven speaks tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I think so.” But I need to get the hell away from all this madness. I need to breathe.

“Look,” she says in her stern tone as she fixes her hair. “You’ve been through a lot the last couple of weeks and I don’t want you home alone, especially on Halloween—you know how crazy things get sometimes.”

“I know… Alright, I’ll go.” I snag my jacket from the banister and dash for the door. Against the Reaper’s warning, I’m going to Asher for answers. I’ve been forced by the control of death too much in my life and I think it’s time to break free of it.

“Um… Em.” Raven steps in front of me and spreads her hands out to the side of her. “You need to change first.”

I shake my bloody and ripped clothes. “I’m sure no one will notice. It’s Halloween.”

She shoos me toward the stairs. “You may not care, but I already have other plans for you. Big plans. One that will make Asher fall on his knees.”

“I’m not really worried about how I look right now or whether or not Asher will fall on his knees,” I pause at the bottom step. “I’m only going because I need to talk to Asher about something and it’s not important if I look hot.”

“Just give me like an hour,” she pleads, with her hands crossed in front of her. “One hour to work my magic and then we’re out. Okay?”

***

Two hours later we’re still in my room. I’m sitting on my bed, while she lines my eyes heavily with black eyeliner, then she traces my lips with a red lipstick. Every one of her touches brings quietness, not death. Something has changed in her—or maybe in me. I need to test it out, find out if death has finally left me. Or if it’s left her somehow.

“I still can’t believe you had sex with him,” she says for the thousandth time.

“Why not?” I wonder. “I had to have sex sometime.”

“Yeah, but I always thought you’d be in love when you did?”

I frown at her. “Why?”

She brushes some mascara on my eyelashes. “Because… you’re always writing about how you feel… you’re so poetic and kind of a romantic.”

I snort a laugh. “No, I’m not. I’m far from it.”

She disagrees with a shake of her head, but stays silent.

I try to text Asher to see if I can persuade him to come to my house instead, but he won’t answer my text.

“Keep texting him all you want,” Raven singsongs, adding the finishing touches to my makeup. “But he’s under strict orders not to let you off the hook from going to this party.”

I growl at the phone and shove it aside. “I just need to talk to him.”

She leans back and admires her handiwork. “I am damn good if I do say so myself.” She steps aside so I can look in the mirror. My grey eyes sparkle against the silver and black eyeliner and my lips appear full and plump. She’s tucked a rose over my ear and my black hair flows down my back. Around my neck is a choker centered with a rose and a black dress fits against my body. My feet are laced up by a pair of my black boots and black feathered wings span out from my back.

“Isn’t it a little weird, though,” I say, inspecting myself in the mirror. “I mean, the black feathers… people already think I made Laden disappear and that might set them off more. And then there’s the Mackenzie thing…” I haven’t shared the truth about that with Raven yet.

“Who gives a shit what they think,” she declares, flicking a mascara wand through her eyelashes. “You didn’t do anything and if anyone gives you crap, you’ll knock them out—bring out the bar-fighting Ember I know.”

A black ribbon secures the entire front part of the dress together. “I do like the costume.”

“Well, you make one hell of a Grim Angel,” she says, clipping the lid onto the eyeliner.

My head snaps in her direction. “Is that what I’m supposed to be? I thought their bones showed through their skin.”

She gives me an once-over. “On some they do… the ones that go crazy. But some are as beautiful as the Angels of Death.” Her cell phone beeps from inside her purse. She takes it out, reads it, and then sends a text before putting it away.

I run my fingers along the soft petals of the rose in my hair. “I thought you said you didn’t know much about them.”

“After you talked about them, I went back and picked up the books to try and refresh my memory.” She reapplies her lipstick in the mirror. “You looked so upset that I couldn’t remember anything.”

I stroke the tips of my wings. “So what else do you know?”

She bites down on her glossy lip. “A lot, but I want you to prepare yourself for what I discovered.” Then she grabs my hand and pulls me out the bedroom door. “They are exceptionally beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that some humans can’t actually see their beauty.”

I follow her down the stairs. “And what about the insanity part? Is that true? Do they really lose their minds from the burden of death and the Reapers’ blood?”

She stumbles at the front door and realigns her foot into her white satin high-heel. “They can, if they give in to the wrath of death. It’s all about good and evil with these things, I guess. At least, that’s what the book said.”

I turn sideways to fit through the doorway. “As in the Grim Reaper? He’s the wrath of death, right?”

She stutters at my knowledge. “Yeah, that’s the Grim Reaper. The belief is that a Grim Angel is a hybrid of Angel blood, mixed with Reaper blood, mixed with human blood.”

It’s dark outside, the stars and moon shining brightly. We hop into her car and I have to lean forward because my wings are uncomfortable to lean back on. Raven takes her wings off and tosses them into the backseat before she climbs in, then she starts up the car.

“Reapers are considered the bad version of death. They collect the evil souls and they are very powerful. Allegedly, the Grim Angel breed was put on Earth to stop some battle between the Angels of Death and the Reapers over who should get which souls... or maybe it was that one of them was stealing souls.” She adjusts her mirror and backs onto the street. “The Grim Angel lives on Earth as a human, carrying both the power of Heaven and Hell in their bloodstream—their bodies hold balance to keep the Angels of Death and the Reapers at the same level, so neither would have more power over the other.”

“You make is sound like the Angels of Death are as bad as the Reapers,” I say, noting that her version of the story matches up with the one I read in the book. “Aren’t Angels the good ones?”

“In some ways, yes. They are the ones that collect the good souls, but the book said that they got greedy trying to balance out the soul collection when Reapers started stealing innocent souls.” She sighs heavily. “But anyways, I guess Reapers constantly try to trick Grim Angels and mess with their heads so they would surrender to death and join them. It’s like a game to them or something, even though, technically, neither the Reapers nor the Angels are supposed to interfere with their lives.”

Her tires screech as she peels onto the highway. The sidewalks are flooded with kids in Halloween costumes carrying bags of candy and the houses are gleaming with purple and orange lights. A girl in an Angel costume skips down the sidewalk, holding her mother’s hand in front of a house with an eerie mist across the front lawn. Can Angels and Grim Reapers really exist?

I rotate away from the window and lean against the door. “So what happens to the Grim Angels that don’t lose their minds? They just live being tortured by death until they die?”

Raven doesn’t answer right away. “Basically, I think so.”

I’m reminded of Asher’s tattoo and the story: One girl with death on her shoulders connected them both, and with a single choice she would save the world. But the fight would not be easy. He had to be talking about a Grim Angel.

She reaches into the backseat, swerving her car as she hunts from something. “Here, there’s the book.” She tosses a book onto my lap and regains control of her car. “It actually doesn’t say much more than what I’ve told you, but I marked the pages if you want to read through it.”

“Thanks.” I open the book and flip on the light above the console. “And I mean that. You really didn’t have to go re-check this out and read it.”

She fiddles with the temperature, turning it up then down. “Look, Ember, I know I’ve been a really shitty friend for most of our friendship, especially during the last week or so. But I want to start over—I want to be a better friend.”

“You’re a good friend.” I flip to the page she marked. “And last week’s bitchiness is totally acceptable considering… what happened.” I pause, one thing still bothering me. “But Raven, can you do me a favor and never call me crazy, even when you’re mad?”

She nods with regret. “I’m so sorry. That was such a low blow. And I know you’re not crazy.”

I’m not so sure anymore. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if a Grim Angel lives inside me.

As we drive over the bridge, we both stop breathing. The road is still stained with the X and the median is scuffed from the collision. There is a small spot decorated with flowers and ribbons.

My mind flashes back to the bar fight and the way Asher took down a guy twice his size without even so much as blinking. Could Asher have killed him to protect Raven? But why would he decorate the scene? “What do you think happened to Laden?” I ask, trying to convince myself that there’s no way it could be Asher, but deep down my heart and soul disagree. “Do you think he’s… Do you think Asher really killed him?”

She clutches onto the steering wheel. “You know what? I really don’t want to know what happened to him. If Asher killed him, then so be it.”

I clear my throat and distract my thoughts onto the book. “Grim Angels are the most important and most dangerous breed of Angels that have ever existed. They have a direct insight to death…” I read aloud with a shiver. “They have the power to either destroy the human race or save it, depending on where their legions end up lying.” I glance up from the pages. “But how can they destroy the human race? That’s what I want to know.”

She flips the page and taps it with her finger on the title. “I’m not sure, but read this. It’s really interesting.”

“The Grim Reaper is believed to be the collector of the evil souls. They possess the ability to not only separate one’s soul from their body, and guide it to the next world, but they can also trick an individual to render their life over to them.” Oh my God, my mom. “They like to play tricks on the bodies of the souls they take, leaving them hanging from trees, hiding them—”

She taps the brake so hard it locks up our seatbelts.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, unlocking my seat belt.

“What if… what if Asher’s a Grim Reaper and you’re a Grim Angel?” It’s like a light switch has flipped on in her head.

I shake my head. “There’s no way that can be true. Why would you even say that?”

“Ember, think about it. You can see death. If you were a Grim Angel, this could be why,” she presses. “And Asher has so much interest in you. And he knew where your car was. What if he told the cops?”

“No. There’s no way.” But doubts tug at my mind. When I died in the rose garden and I saw the Reaper take off his hood, he looked like Asher.

I shake the thoughts from my head. I won’t jump to conclusions just yet, not until I hear what he has to say. Especially since Asher brings me an indescribable calmness to my mind and body and he has never openly done anything to hurt me. And he’s had a lot of chances.

“It says in the book that they like to mess with Grim Angels’ heads and try to ruin their lives, make them go crazy, and get them to surrender to the Wrath of Death,” she says. “Think about it, Em. What if Asher did something to Laden after he saved me, but only so he could reenact what happened with your dad? What if he has been wiggling his way into your life to f*ck with your head?”

“Why are you making these accusations?” I ask. “When just a few seconds ago you were defending Asher.”

“Because it’s making sense now.”

“No, it’s not. Nothing is making any sense. At all. My whole life doesn’t make sense. It’s like I’m always one step away from walking off a cliff.”

“Read some more,” she urges, waving her hand at the book. “See if there’s anything else that might give us some more clues.”

I continue in an unsteady voice. “Grim Reapers are also excellent shape shifters, more often than not in the form of snakes, rats, cats, birds, and sometimes humans. Through their abilities, a Grim Reaper has been known to steal many innocent souls with a simple bribe or trick. This was the cause of the first battle between good and evil that lasted nearly a decade.” I stop reading.

She reaches over and turns the page. On the top of it is a beautiful Angel, with wings as black as the ones I’m wearing and hair as dark as ash. “Keep reading. I think you’re getting close.”

“An Angel of Death brings a more peaceful death to the individual whose soul they collect. They only collect the souls of the dying innocent and carry the spirit over to the next world. They bring a sense of calm with their touch.” That sounds more like Asher. “Unlike the Grim Reaper, they wait for death and do not feed off the life of an individual. They are gentle by nature, but passionate in battle.” My eyes meet Raven’s. “Passionate in battle?”

“It talks about a battle more toward the back.” She diverges into the parking lot of the community center, not reducing the speed, and I’m slammed into the door. “But you can read about all this later. Right now, I want you to focus on having fun.”

“Yeah… right.”

Strobe lights flash in front of the entrance and a shroud of torn sheets hang from the front doors. Hay bales, with skeletons situated on them, border the sidewalk, and on the sloped roof of the school, the Grim Reaper stands. It’s fake, with yellow eyes, but it sends a chill up my spine.

“Em.” Raven’s voice brings me back to her. She parks the car next to a group of people dressed up like the Scooby Doo gang. “I have to tell you something. And it’s really important.” She texts someone and then tucks the phone into her bra.

“Really.” I give her a look. “In your bra?”

Her face drains of humor. “I might need my cell phone.”

I bite down on my lip until it bleeds and fills my mouth with the bitter taste of rust. “Raven… do you really believe in this stuff?” I hold up the book. “Grim Reapers, Death Angels, and battles between good and evil? Or are you just showing it to me because I asked about a Grim Angel?”

Her eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been, and at that moment she is the same friend that slapped Ricky Stewart in the face when he cut off a piece of my hair in kindergarten. “My best friend has been able to see how everyone is going to die since she was four-years-old. If that shit can exist, why can’t this?”

“I think the gift might be gone.” I place a hand on her arm. “I can’t feel your death anymore.”

“Your curse isn’t gone.” She smiles sadly and slips the white-feathered wings onto her back.

“Yeah, but what if it’s not a curse?” I maneuver awkwardly out of the car, bending low to get my wings out. “What if I’m… What if this whole time I’ve been able to do all this stuff because I’m not human?”

“It would still be considered a curse, Em. Death stole your life away from you when you were four.” She locks up the doors and the headlights flash as the car beeps. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

The chilled wind blows through our hair as we hike across the parking lot and Raven holds the bottom of her dress down and fiddles with her hair. Inside her bra, the phone rings, and she does a little wiggle from the vibration, but ignores the call.

“Damn Halloween decorations.” Raven coughs as we push the front doors and a mist blows in our faces.

I fan my face and blink my eyes until we break through the mist and into the main area. A guitarist flares on his strings on a stage near the farthest wall and music bursts through several large speakers. Orange and black streamers are spiraling around columns, and purple and silver ceiling lights flash down on the packed dance floor, where people jump up and down, shouting out the lyrics of the song. There are witches, devils, vampires, Frankenstein’s, and even a few Angels. In the farthest corner, someone is fashioned in a Grim Reaper costume.

“God, I hope there aren’t too many of them,” I mumble.

Raven tracks the object of my gaze. “Oh, Emmy, you don’t fear the Reaper, do you?”

I shoot her a blank stare. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

She smiles and hooks arms with me. It’s the strangest thing in the world, touching her and not feeling her death. We create a wide path with her wings as we weave around the room, toward the common area, a small room just behind the stage. Heads turn in our direction, but I keep focused on the common room doors.

“Why are we going back here?!” I yell over the music.

She points at the doors decorated with spider webs and an ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK sign. “There’s a haunted house back there and Asher just sent me a text that he was walking through it with some friends.”

I slam to a stop and she’s jerked back. My mind is begging me to turn around and run.

“Em, what the hell?” She unclasps our arms. “What are you looking at?”

My pulse races as I stare at the door. “I’m not sure I want to go in there.”

She rolls her eyes and jerks me forward. “Come on, we’ll be fine.”

“Why can’t I just meet him out here?” I ask, glancing back at the dance floor.

“Stop being a chicken!” She laughs and it brings my focus back to her. “I was only kidding about him being the Reaper.”

She pushes through the door and I follow her into the haunted house. It’s dark inside and when the door shuts behind us, it suffocates the music. There are skeletons in the entrance of a hallway formed by hay bales and orange and purple twinkle lights light the way down the path.

I back up, but Raven wrenches me forward. “You are going to have fun tonight whether you like it or not.”

Shaking my head, I trudge after her. One of the skeletons jump up and shriek at us as we pass it and Raven speeds up, laughing. The farther we go, the more scarce the lights get, until there are none left and we’re smothered by blackness.

Screams fill the air along with evil laughs and a warm mist dampens my skin.

“Raven,” I hiss, clutching onto her. “I want to go back… this was a mistake coming back here.”

Her hand falls from mine and she laughs. “Last one to the end’s a rotten egg.”

I stumble around in the dark with my hands sprawled out in front of me. “Raven, where the hell are you?"

Behind me a light clicks on and highlights the graffiti on the wall. I lower my hands as another light turns on and emphasizes a chain link floor-length gate in front of me. I push through the gate and step into the next section, which is lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. The gate slams shut behind me and I whirl around, threading my fingers through the links, jerking it fiercely.

The gate won’t budge, so I hurry, vigilantly, up the slender hall between the mirrored walls. “Raven, please tell me where you are. This isn’t funny anymore.”

I hear her laugh from somewhere and the lights flash off, then on again as a man appears at the end of the hall, with dark hair, kohl-lined eyes, black jeans, and a T-shirt. A giant X brands his forehead.

I squint through the blinking lights that reflect blindingly against the mirrors. “Laden?”

“Hello, Ember.” He grins, expanding his arms out to the side of him. “Long time, no see.”

I back up, but crash into a solid figure and a thousand deaths pour through me: pain, terror, falling, drowning, fire, pain, pain, pain. I buckle forward, but he grasps my arm, rotates it behind my back, and reels me to face him.

Garrick’s greasy hair shines in the light and he scratches the X on his eye. “You’re not playing the game right, do you know that? You‘re not answering every question we ask and you’re not giving in. It’s very disappointing.”

“We,” I say, hoping to throw him off. “As in the Anamotti.”

His face remains tolerant. “What? You think that surprised me? The bigger question that I think needs answering is who are the Anamotti? And who leads us?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” I try to wrench my arm away, tugging hard and letting out a scream.

His fingernails dig into my skin. “Oh, I think you do. It’s the perfect crime, you know. Telling the person you’re after the group who is chasing after her, when really you are part of it. Earning her trust, so she’ll never see it coming.”

“Asher isn’t after me,” I choke. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“What, lie?” A sly grin creeps over his face. “Or try to kill you? How do you think he showed up so fast that night at the lake after I ran into you? And how do you think we knew you were going to be here tonight?”

Kinking my arm, I jerk out of his grip and back up, peeking over my shoulder at Laden, grinning at me as blood drips down his forehead and onto the floor. “I’m not an Angel. And that’s what the Anamotti want, right? Angels?”

“Not just any Angel, but a Grim Angel.” Garrick matches my steps and leans in, putting his face close to mine. “I think deep down you know what you are. The Grim Angel, the one that holds the balance of the Reapers and the Angels of Death. The one that carries death with her all the time. The one that will easily crack and lose the balance with her mind. It’s in your blood, you know—the insanity.”

He lunges at me with his hands out, his fingers seeking my throat, and I bring my knee up and knee him between the legs. His face contorts in pain as he crumples to the floor and I dart around him and throw myself against the fence. The metal slices open my palms and forces me to let go. I land on my butt, but scramble to my feet and spin around, ready to protect myself, but Garrick and Laden have vanished.

I give the fence a few more shakes, but a padlock on the other side secures it. I’m fully pissed off at myself because I walked right into a trap. And I have no god damn clue what waits for me at the end. I take a deep breath and hurry down the hallway of mirrors. There is a fork at the end, and I select the right

“Ember,” Garrick’s voice suddenly touches my ear. “Don’t breathe.”

I take off down the hall without looking back, my legs struggling as I tear around the corner. His footsteps barrel after me and his laugh echoes down the hall.

“Ember,” he calls out. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

As I tear around a sharp corner, I trip over something heavy and solid and losing my balance, my body slams to the floor. I rapidly flip over to my back and glance at what made me fall.

“Oh shit…” It’s a person, face down on the floor. I crawl over to them and turn them on their back.

Laden’s dead eyes stare at me, his pale decomposing skin ice-cold, and the X on him is an older wound. He’s been dead for a while. I think back to my tree with his body hanging in it, and the one I saw in the library. Is this even real?

Garrick’s voice drifts down the hall. “It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? What’s real and what’s not. Tell me Ember, does it ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

I leap to my feet, jump over Laden, and sprint madly down the hall, sweat dripping down my skin. The side entrance door finally comes into view and I reach for the door handle, but something hits me from the side and I slam to the ground as a hay bale lands on top of me. My head cracks against the tile and the sounds of my bones fracturing are stomach-churning.

Garrick crouches down in front of me. “Ever heard the term ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’? Well, it’s a little misleading.” He pulls the hood of a cloak over his head. “Because everyone fears death, Ember. Even Death itself.” He pulls out a knife and cuts an X across my forehead, and then everything goes black.