8. Ivy
8
IVY
I stare at the horde of not-dead warriors advancing on us, their battle cries sending chills down my spine. Fuck. This is not how I wanted to test out my new Death powers.
“Stay back,” I warn the guys, stepping forward. “I’ve got this. I think.”
Channelling the power of Death, I feel it swell through me like an icy river. I raise my hands, focusing on the approaching army.
The warrior swings his massive axe at my head, and I duck under it, feeling the whoosh of air as it passes inches from my scalp. As I come up, I press my palm to his chest and channel Death’s power.
The effect is immediate and much like what happened to Torin’s dad. I suck him into my palm, absorbing his essence and putting him firmly back where he belongs. “It’s not time for you to fight, and you definitely aren’t meant to be fighting me, you dickheads! Back in your box.”
I spin and slam my hand against another crazed lunatic lunging towards me. Death said this army was the worst of the worst. I believe him. The insanity in their eyes, the blood lust, is undeniable.
“Holy shit,” Bram mutters behind me.
Ignoring him, I whip through the horde of warriors, my hands a blur as I touch one after another. With each contact, their essence is absorbed into me, sending them back to whatever afterlife they escaped from.
“There has to be a quicker way than this!” I screech, hoping one of the Deaths will answer me.
They don’t.
Arseholes.
A massive brute of a man charges me, sword raised high. I duck under his swing and press both palms to his chest. He howls as I absorb his essence. A shudder goes through me as these terrible souls settle back where they were meant to be, and then a thought occurs to me.
“David, you utter cock. You knew they had escaped. This was on your watch!”
He chuckles in my head. “And what a perfect time to pass on the mantle.”
“Oh, you are dead. Deader than dead. Do you hear me?” I shriek, slamming my hand into another horrible being.
“This is getting dull.” Another voice echoes in my mind. “ Shall we help her out?”
“Oh, please do,” I snarl, kicking out at one not-dead fucker so I can get rid of another. “And who are you ?”
“Mazzarat.” The pissed-off tone makes it clear he knows I called him Mattresshead earlier.
“Well, Mazzarat . How about you give me a hand, and I promise to be the best damn Death any of you have ever seen?”
“Hmm, we’ll see.” He sniffs, still miffed off. “ Close your eyes and channel the power in an arc. You don’t need to touch them to bring them back.”
Well. Gee. That was hardly an epiphany. I’d have probably figured that out myself at some point soon. But I don’t bitch, instead, I do as he says, and when I open my eyes, I see the black arc, etched with deep purple, whip around the souls with a lasso. It tightens under my will and draws them kicking and screaming into a huddle in front of me before they fade from existence, disappearing into the void that is me.
Panting and sweating, I bend over, placing my hands on my knees. “That all of them?”
“Yes,” Torin says, looking around.
“ No,” Mazzarat says at the same time. “That was only the ones who were here.”
“Fantastic,” I growl.
Torin frowns at me.
“The ex-Deaths say no,” I explain.
“Great,” he mutters, earning himself a death stare from me. Or should that be a Death stare?
I straighten up, still catching my breath. “Okay, so there are more escaped souls out there wreaking havoc. How do I get to them all?”
“How many more?” Bram asks, scanning the trees warily.
I close my eyes, reaching out with my new Death senses. The awareness of souls floods through me. It’s an overwhelming tide of life and death across realities. I grit my teeth, trying to focus just on the escaped ones.
“Too many,” I finally growl. “Hundreds, maybe thousands. They’re scattered everywhere.”
“Shit,” Tate mutters. “We can’t possibly track them all down one by one.”
“No kidding,” I snap. “Any other brilliant observations?”
He glares at me. “I’m just trying to help.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“We need to figure out how to fix this,” Bram says. “Not just rounding up escaped souls, but the whole fucked up timeline situation.”
“What if instead of you tracking them down, we get the souls to come to you?” Tate asks.
“Oh, the warlock is smart,” Mazzarat pipes up.
I ignore the first Death, not even wanting to contemplate how old he is.
“Great idea in theory, but how do we do that? Not to mention, we still have this other thing to deal with.” I chew my lip, still heartbroken over Ramsey and Josh.
“What if one fixes the other?” Tate starts hesitantly.
All eyes go to him.
“Mazzarat?” I prompt when he has no snide comment. “Is he right?”
A resounding silence fills the forest where not even we dare to breathe while we wait.
And then Mazzarat speaks.