Chapter 14 The Present #2
“Good,” Nathaniel mutters, still focused. “You’re just in time.”
Talon surveys the room, ritual markings, tools, blood thick in the air. Then his gaze lands on me.
“Gotta say,” he drawls, “nice coming back to someone who isn’t one of those two assholes.”
“That so?” I arch a brow.
“Mhm.” His grin widens. “You don’t scowl as much. Not anymore, anyway.”
It’s not what he says.
It’s how he says it.
That lazy drawl. The way his eyes linger. And beneath it all, something angry.
Cassian hears it too. His shoulders tense. Eyes darken. That earlier edge returns, sharper now.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
Talon drags a chair with a long scrape and drops it beside me, way too close.
“So,” he says, voice light but watching everything, “when you glitched earlier, where exactly did you go?”
I say nothing.
He leans back, stretching like a cat. “Just curious. You’ve got dirt all over you. Moss on your back. And, huh… those are Cassian’s clothes.”
I smooth my palms over my thighs, keeping my expression blank. “Some random garden. Woke up in a pile of dirt and had to crawl my way back. Super traumatic. Felt like being peeled inside out and shoved through a hole in the sky. And yeah, Cassian lent me some clothes earlier.”
Talon lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Peeled inside out? Shoved through a hole?”
He leans in, eyes gleaming.
“Careful, Little Grim. Say it like that, and someone might think you’re talking about sex.”
I freeze.
Cassian turns his head, slowly. Like a wolf catching movement out of the corner of its eye.
“What did you just say?” he asks.
Talon shrugs, still smiling. “Why? Sounds familiar?”
Bad feeling. Real bad.
Cassian clearly has it too.
“You got something to say?” he growls.
“Me?” Talon blinks innocently. “Nope.”
“Sure sounds like you do.” A beat of silence. “Spit it out or shut up.”
Another pause.
Then, finally, Talon lets out a dry laugh. “Alright then. I’ll say it.”
He leans in slightly, voice low and biting.
“I just think it’s funny. You act like you don’t want her. Like she’s beneath you, someone—sorry, something—you’d never touch. And then what? First chance you get her alone, you fuck Little Grim?”
Cassian goes still.
Not the kind of stillness that hesitates.
The kind that kills.
My throat goes dry.
But Talon keeps going, meaner now. Unapologetic.
“Didn’t even bother hiding it. Car smelled like a goddamn brothel. No wonder you two rolled in the dirt afterward, trying to scrub the scent off. Too much to handle, yeah?”
Cassian doesn’t move at first.
But something changes.
His jaw locks. His shoulders rise, just barely. A muscle ticks in his cheek.
Then, silence stretches too long.
My pulse skitters.
And then he moves.
One breath, and he’s across the room. The next, Talon is ripped from his chair and slammed into the wall so hard the plaster cracks like ice.
The whole room jolts.
Cassian’s forearm crushes into his throat, pinning him there, so hard Talon’s boots lift clean off the ground for a heartbeat. But Talon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. His grin just grows, even as his breath turns ragged.
“Ouch. Getting violent,” he rasps, voice raw and needling. “Does the hypocrisy sting that bad?”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Cassian snarls. The sound rips from his chest, raw, almost inhuman. “Don’t talk about Skye like that. She’s not one of those sluts you sneak off with.”
Sluts?
The ones he sneaks off with?
That’s news to me.
I thought neither of them had anyone.
Then again, sneaking off with someone doesn’t necessarily mean they’re with someone.
“Touchy,” Talon coughs, still smiling. “The way she goes around, she might as well be. But never mind that. I’m more pissed at what a fucking coward you are. Wasn’t it you always whispering in my ear not to touch her? Why? Wanted her first?”
“Cassian,” Nathaniel calls sharply from across the room. “Let him go.”
Cassian doesn’t move. His jaw is clenched, stone-hard. His arm stays locked across Talon’s throat, like he’s one breath away from killing a different kind of killer this time.
“Do you even hear him?” he grinds out.
“Yes,” Nathaniel says. “But we don’t have time for this. Deal with it later.”
And it’s that, not morality, not loyalty, not me watching from the sidelines. That finally makes Cassian pull back. It’s time.
But before he does, he leans in, voice dropping to a low, intimate growl.
“Say whatever the fuck you want about me. But don’t talk about Skye. Not when you can’t even look in the mirror because of your past.”
Talon’s grin falters.
Just slightly.
Cassian lets him go.
Talon stumbles back, rubbing his throat. The smirk lingers, but something flickers behind his eyes now. Guilt. Shame. Regret, for whatever Cassian meant.
Cassian doesn’t look back. He turns away, jaw tight, hands flexing like he’s still weighing whether to finish the job.
Nathaniel sighs and tosses Talon a water bottle.
“Next time you want to antagonize someone who could crush your spine without a second thought, maybe wait until after we summon the wraith.”
Talon catches it, cracks the cap, and downs half in one go. “Yeah, yeah.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then glances over at me, expression unreadable.
“No offense, Grim. I’m not judging. Get your power however you want.”
Wow.
I cross my arms, spine straightening, mouth flattening into a hard line.
“Thanks. I will,” I say, flat.
And for once, just once, Talon doesn’t make it worse. He just nods and drops onto the arm of a nearby chair, his usual swagger dimmed to a quiet simmer.
“Come here, Skye,” Nathaniel says at last, like he’s trying to guide the room back from the edge. He extends a hand to me.
I hesitate, then walk over and place my palm in his. He holds it for a second then lets go and presses something else into my hand.
It’s a bowl. The one filled with the ritual mix: my blood, Laura’s remains, the locket.
It’s revolting. Thick, dark, and metallic. A swirling soup of death and disgust.
But I guess these are the things you do to keep Death happy. This is one of them.
“We’re going to drop the wards,” Nathaniel says. “Once we give the signal, pour it into the circle.”
“Got it.”
“Be ready to blink out if this goes sideways,” Cassian calls from behind me. I glance over my shoulder.
“This whole thing has a high chance of being a scam, remember?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I remember.”
“Alright, let’s do this,” Nathaniel says.
Did I say I only sort of missed Pain earlier?
I take it back.
There’s nothing; nothing worse than being without my raven. I feel bare. Exposed. Like I’m walking into battle naked. Not even cool fantasy naked. I’m talking nightmare naked. Middle school presentation and someone stole your clothes off the gym bench naked.
If this sketchy soup triggers anything, I’ll need my scythe like I need air.
And guess what?
I won’t get it.
Nathaniel moves to the corridor’s edge, where a makeshift wall of cartons holds the salt line in place.
He looks back at me.
“Here we go,” he murmurs, and breaks the line. “Now.”
I hear the others breaking theirs.
It’s my turn.
I step forward, and pour.
The mixture—bone dust, blood, and one evil-as-hell locket—hits the floor with a soft, gritty hiss. It looks like cursed seasoning. Smells like iron but if someone ramped up the intensity.
Nothing happens.
Then—
The lights overhead flicker. The air goes still. Dense. Like time is starting to feel a bit different.
And then the temperature drops. Not just a chill. Not the “someone left a window open” kind of cold.
This is funeral-home cold. Tombstone cold. The kind that seeps into your bones and tries to settle there.
The room groans.
Something in the ceiling cracks.
I brace myself, expecting the nightmare again. The deformed, screaming wraith. The smoke. The snapping bones.
But what appears… isn’t that. Not even close.
A teenager stands before us.
A boy.
Ruffled black hair, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. Hollow cheeks. Pale skin. Dark circles under unblinking eyes. He’s thin. Wiry. And so still that for a second I think he’s a life-sized cursed doll that just appeared in the wrong summoning circle.
Then I see the Grim Reaper robes.
What the fuck.
“Finally,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Took you long enough.”
A flicker of emotion cuts through the blankness, something sharper. Meaner.
Pretty damn mean.
“Uh… what in the…” I manage. “Are you guys seeing this too?”
I glance back. The guys look just as confused as I am.
I turn to the boy again.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Utterly unimpressed. Then his gaze drops to the floor.
“A binding circle?” he says, tilting his head like a smug crow. “That’s cute.”
I blink. “Uh…”
Cassian steps in. “What the fuck are you?”
He doesn’t say who.
Just what.
Same as he used to with me, back when I didn’t have a body.
Maybe that’s just his thing, treating anything supernatural like an object. And honestly? From where I’m standing, it doesn’t feel entirely out of line this time around. I’m wondering the same thing.
You don’t just appear in a summoning circle, one meant for a wraith, and turn out to be human.
Last I checked, regular Grim Reapers don’t pull that off.
The boy finally looks at Cassian like he’s only now noticed him. His expression curdles into something cold and judgmental, like Cassian’s just been filed away as irrelevant and irritating.
“What am I?” he repeats, tone clipped and mocking. “Seriously?”
Cassian takes a step forward, still bristling from everything with Talon. Still raw from hearing his sister’s name out loud. His fists curl.
“Cassian, wait,” Nathaniel says sharply, cutting him off.
I stay frozen, completely thrown.
“He… seems to be a Grim Reaper,” I murmur, my eyes catching on the robes again.
Cassian swings toward me. “I doubt it.”
“But the clothes,” I say. “They’re Reaper robes.”
And yet… something feels off. He’s not like the one we saw in the Candy Maker’s house. Not detached. Not cold. He feels like a Reaper, but... something’s different. A bit closer. Like he’s a little more present.
Still, that explains nothing.
“I say we try to kill it,” Cassian mutters.
The boy scoffs.
“If that’s what you want, be my guest,” he says coolly. “But good luck hunting the wraith on your own. Doesn’t seem to be going all that well for you.”
That stops Cassian cold.
Hell, it stops all of us.
“What?” the boy taunts, raising a brow. “Shocked?”
Yeah.
We are.
How does he know we are trying to catch one?
My gut twists.
Whatever this boy is… he’s not just a Grim Reaper.
And he didn’t come here by accident.