Chapter 34
”Soul-magic serves as the antithesis of death magic, acting in a manner that essentially counterbalances and neutralizes its effect.”
-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs
FANTASIA
The metal door slams open, sounding like thunder in the warehouse. I jolt up from the ground to catch sight of Scathe bolting toward the enclosure.
“Scathe!” I yell, running up to the glass. He whimpers. “I know, boy. I’m okay.” I scan him, searching for any sign of injury. He’s walking fine, and there’s no matted fur or blood on him.
“How the hell did this happen?” Godric’s voice booms from the doorway.
“Are you a fucking reaper, too?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the brute.
“What?”
He’s not,the voice from earlier says into my mind.
“Get out of my head!” I shout.
Scathe whimpers, lowering his head.
Sorry, Tasia. I was only trying to help.
“All right then,” Godric says, blowing out a puff of air dramatically. “We’re only trying to help. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“That’s what it just said, too,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. “The voice.”
Godric presses his palm into the door and closes his eyes. His palm glows white.
“I’m sorry, Godric. I’m on edge. After Reed overdosed and Archer turned into a freaking ghoul and slurped up his soul like a freaking spaghetti noodle and then Mellie turned me in and I basically murdered a Scout to get away—oh, with Stace and Alisha’s help, of everyone’s? Not to mention thinking Scathe got shot and accidentally inhaling dreamdust, thinking I was going to die, only to wake up here and find out Arlo is the Reaper and he’s Archer’s brother, all on top of the weird voice in my head. I’m losing it.”
I pause, sucking in a huge breath to compensate for the lack of air during my rant.
“Whoa.” Godric stills, his hand pressed against my glass prison. The white light on his palm flickers. His jaw goes slack, and he stares at me with a blank expression. “You said—Archer what?”
Of course out of everything I rambled, the mention of Archer takes precedence. He’s his brother after all. I can’t blame him. “Looks like you and Archer have a third brother in the mix,” I say, throwing my hands up. “The cocky lab owner.”
“Arlo? The one making a bid for High Chancellor?” Godric shakes his head. Keeping one hand on the glass, he runs his other hand over his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, shutting his eyes again. “Where the fuck is Archer?”
“I don’t know—wherever reapers go with souls?”
His eyes flick open, and the glow emitting from his palm subsides. “He’s not a reaper.”
“I saw it with my own eyes.” Unless I’m going crazy.
You’re not going crazy, Tasia. Well, maybe a little, but certainly not because of me.
“Get out of my head!” I glare at Godric. “You don’t hear that?”
He pauses, glancing at Scathe, then back at me. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “What exactly does this voice sound like?”
“I don’t know. Deep. Sassy. Kind of annoying.”
Godric sighs and turns his attention to Scathe, who sits patiently like a good boy at his side. “Knock it off, hound.”
“He’s not doing anything. Don’t snap at him.”
“You want him to leave you alone or what?” Godric shuts his eyes again, and his palm begins to glow once more.
It takes me a minute to understand what he’s implying. “No. No. Scathe isn’t—he can talk?”
“Mindspeak,” Godric murmurs. His hand is glowing brighter now. “Can you give me a second, please? Trying to get you out of there.”
“Shit, yeah, sorry.”
I focus on my own thoughts. You can speak?!
Woof, woof, bark,Scathe says into my mind as sarcastically as ever. Yes, Tasia, I can.
What the ever-loving fuck?
Scathe barks. If Archer was here, he’d scold you for that, you know.
A loud cracking noise grabs my attention, and I notice the glass beneath Godric’s palm is cracking upward in a long zigzag.
“Back up,” he says.
I do as he says, and a second later, the glass shatters, collapsing in a pile of jagged edges at his feet.
“Holy shit.” I stare at the broken glass in awe. “That was pretty cool.”
“Comes in handy every now and again,” he mutters, brushing his hands together.
“One second,” I say.
Jumping over the broken glass, I run to Scathe’s side, bending down to inspect all four of his legs and paws.
Gently, I grab his soft head, inspecting his neck and scruff for any sign of injury.
I’m fine, he says in my mind.
“I heard you got shot. I was worried.” I wrap my arms around his furry neck, hugging him close. “Wait,” I murmur into his fur. “You’re not, like, a human dude or something, right?”
“Hellhound,” Godric says. “Let’s get out of here.” He hustles to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Explain everything. Starting at the beginning.”
Why couldn’t you fill him in?I ask Scathe.
No time. We just got here.
Jumping to my feet, I bolt after Godric to the door closest to the glass cell. We exit into an even larger room made of concrete with a labyrinth of pipes running overhead. Fluorescent light fixtures buzz above us, and more glass prisons sit empty around the room.
“What the hell are these?” I ask.
“Holding cells,” Godric says, words clipped.
“Is this a prison?”
“No—private property.”
His strides are long and confident. I figure he knows where to go, so I hustle to keep up with him. Scathe stays by my side.
How’d you guys find me?I ask him.
Scented you.
I make a contemplative sound. Can you speak to everyone?
Only fae.
“I’m not fae though,” I murmur.
Guess you’re close enough,Scathe replies. Would’ve tried striking up a conversation sooner had I known you’d hear me, human.
I might’ve had an aneurysm.A delirious giggle escapes me at the thought. I’m talking to a freaking dog.
Hellhound, Scathe amends.
You can hear all my thoughts?
Just the ones you don’t guard.
“Well, fuck.” I side-eye the hound as we burst through one final door and emerge into the bright morning sunlight. Warm air welcomes me. For once, I find it comforting. “Did you know about Archer?”
What part? That he’d lose the cool on his power for you?
“What? That’s not what—”
“If you’re done talking to yourself,” Godric says with a low growl, “can we hustle?” He points to his SUV up ahead, parked in an empty lot.
“I’m talking to Scathe,” I mutter. Squinting against the rising sun, I glance around. I’ve never been to this part of the city. The air carries a hint of salt. We’ve got to be on the east coast—near the Jacarinian Sea. The city’s skyline sits off in the distance in what must be the west.
There are quite a few warehouses here, separated by concrete lots. Further east, beyond the warehouses, the city prison stands like a storm cloud, with its own wall wrapping around the property. Beyond that are deadly cliffs jutting over the sea.
I study the enormous concrete prison building one last time and shudder. At least I wasn’t in there.
Arlo must’ve wanted me for some reason. I still can’t figure out why, though.
Wordlessly, we jog to Godric’s vehicle, and Scathe and I get in the back.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To the last place Scathe saw Archer so we can follow his trail.”
As soon as I put my seat belt on, I lean over to kiss Scathe’s head. “You’re a good boy, huh?”
The goodest of all.
Godric floors the vehicle, and I jerk forward, slamming my hand into the passenger seat in front of me. “Good Gods, you maniac.”
I turn back to Scathe. What do you mean that Archer lost his cool…because of me?
Scathe sits alert on the seat next to me, staring out the window. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s always struggled with the darkness inside of him, Tasia.
I frown, staring out my own window and watching the warehouses whip past in a blur. We’re winding through the back roads, heading toward the city.
Archer has a gold soul-shade though. How could he possibly struggle with darkness?
I didn’t know the extent of it, Scathe says. I don’t think he knew either.
Are you saying he didn’t know he was a fucking reaper? I ask him.
Scathe yelps. Why is that so difficult to believe? You thought your dad was a good man. It’s easy to ignore things we don’t want to believe.
“Hey, leave my dad out of this,” I say angrily.
Godric makes a questioning noise, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I shrug, and he turns his attention back to the road.
No need for hostility, but your passion about the matter, instead of looking at the facts, proves my point, Scathe says.
Scathe…I don’t want to talk about my dad right now.
The city rises up ahead of us, sunlight reflecting off the skyscrapers. The traffic gets more congested, and Godric swerves through the streets with reckless abandon. I clutch my churning stomach, willing myself not to get sick.
You should know, Scathe says, even after you abandoned Archer, he sent me after you. To protect you.
“I didn’t abandon him,” I say as we pull into a familiar alley. We’re at Archer’s city apartment. Godric parks behind Archer’s motorcycle. Scathe’s sidecar is still connected to it.
Didn’t you, though? He gave in to his darkness to protect you. He put you first, ahead of his own morality. He found out a truth he wasn’t prepared for, and you left him to clean it up on his own.
I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. Scathe places his paw on my lap, grabbing my attention. When I turn to him, his icy eyes peer right into my soul, as if sending me a message beyond words.
Tasia, Archer’s life mission has been to protect people. Save them from harm, not cause harm. He is not a judge or a jury, nor is he an executioner. Reaper magic or not, give him the same grace he’s given you.
A knot of guilt tightens in my chest.
Did I overreact?
Archer didn’t actually kill Reed. Reed killed himself, and he was dealing dreamdust—killing others inadvertently.
Is he okay? I ask, suddenly worried about Archer. He always seems so strong, so self-assured. I didn’t realize he could potentially be struggling with his own inner darkness.
I hope so. Scathe sniffs the ground, then glances back at Godric and me. He wasn’t himself when I saw him last.
“Follow Scathe,” Godric says, gesturing at the hound.
My heart squeezes at the thought of Archer not being okay.
Scathe leads us partway down the alley, and Godric presses his palm into the brick. It opens up into a hidden doorway. My brows fly up, but at this point, I’m no longer surprised.
We enter a short tunnel, then descend some stairs, finally arriving in a strange, small room. The floor is made of black dirt, and a plethora of greenery is packed into the space. It’s bright, with lights hanging above all the plants.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Godric grunts, and Scathe growls at another door on the other side of the room. Godric crosses the room and opens it to reveal what I recognize as the Underground—tunnels that are simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.
Scathe bolts down the tunnel. Godric starts jogging after him. I follow suit, suddenly grateful for being somewhat in shape thanks to my job at the bar. But even though my endurance is accidentally pretty decent, I still struggle to catch up with the duo.
After twenty minutes of running, I have a cramp in my side. I slow down to catch my breath.
“Go…on,” I say, doubling over and wiping the sweat from my brow. As I do this, I notice the path here isn’t as packed as some of the other tunnels.
He’s here! Scathe says. Get your ass over here, woman!
Gulping in more oxygen, I get a second wind and push forward.
Up ahead, the tunnel bends out of sight. I grit my teeth and force myself to keep going. When I round the corner, my shoulders relax, and I allow myself to slow down.
Archer kneels next to Scathe, scratching the hound’s neck. He glances up, saying something to Godric. I halt, frozen in place as I watch the interaction.
Archer’s honey-gold soul-shade wafts around his body. The sight of it steals the remaining air from my lungs. Even though I’m no longer running, my heart continues to race. He tears his gaze away from Godric and faces me. Then he stands, staring at me with a heartbreaking look of sorrow and regret.
My instinct is to run to him, kiss away his pain and fears, but I can’t get my legs to move. He’s half-fae. He’s a reaper. He’s not the man I thought he was.
Quit being dramatic, Scathe says. He is the same man you know. Forgive him.
Get out of my head, mutt.
What Scathe said earlier hits me hard. He implied Archer didn’t know what he was—he never wanted to know. It’s only because of me that he let his darkness out. I always knew this man was too good for me, that I’d be the one to ruin him.
I think about how he’s dedicated his life to changing the city.
How he gives every ounce of energy to making the lives around him better.
How he would never purposely hurt someone, even if they deserved it.
I think of how he brought me tea and oil pastels when I was sick. How he thoughtfully picked a mask to match my tattoo. How he disrupted his entire life to protect me and make me comfortable.
How, if it wasn’t for me, he might never have known the true, dark extent of his power.
No matter what his power is, he’s still my Archer.
Fuck it.
I rush forward. He takes my cue and does the same, meeting me halfway. I launch myself into his arms, gasping for air. He wraps me up in his strong muscles. My legs latch around his waist, and he spins me around, squeezing me tight.
“Tasia,” he says like a prayer. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He continues to mutter my name, not attempting to hide the emotion in his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Archer,” I whisper back. I’m still angry at him. So angry. But deep down I know he’s still the man I’ve come to care for. The man with a golden soul-shade and a golden heart.
“Did you know?” I whisper, needing confirmation.
He squeezes me tighter. “No, I didn’t.” He makes a small noise in the back of his throat before nuzzling me and saying, “I knew I was different. I knew there was more to my magic—to me—but I never wanted to face it. I thought if I could ignore it…”
“That it wouldn’t exist?” I whisper, knowing all too well what he means. “That you wouldn’t be different from the people around you?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “I was afraid. I think, deep down, I always knew what I was…but I was afraid, Tasia.” He draws in a big breath. “I can’t express how sorry I am for letting you down.”
“That was your first time? With Reed?”
“Yes.” His voice is thick, weighed down by guilt. “I’m sorry for scaring you, for disappointing you, but if I’m being honest, I can’t apologize for what I did to protect you. I would do it again. I’ll always protect you, no matter the cost, baby.”
My stomach clenches with desire when he utters the term of endearment, and tears prick my eyes. His body nestles perfectly against mine. His strong arms hold me with ease. I can relate to his battle with his magic, with identity. His admission only softens me toward him.
Pulling back so I can see his face, I take a deep breath, then press my lips to his with desperation. One of his hands moves to cup the back of my neck while the other grips my hip, holding me flush to him.
He breaks free from my mouth, trailing kisses down my jaw and to the tender skin of my neck.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmurs into my neck.
“That makes two of us. You had me worried there for a minute, gangster.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.” He squeezes my hip. “I was coming for you. I will always come for you, whether you need me to or not.”
I smile as his breath tickles my skin.
When he pulls back, his expression is full of relief. He studies me for a moment before breaking out into a grin.
“What?” I ask, smiling back.
“Was there another spider?” His eyes, now filled with humor, crinkle at the corners. “Last time you jumped into my arms like this, it was to avoid death by spider.”
“Oh.” I chuckle. “I’m not used to you having a sense of humor.”
“Only with you,” he mutters.
With that, he sets me down. I bite my lip as I stare at him expectantly. Neither of us talks for a moment.
“I’m sorry for abandoning you, Archer.” My eyes flick to the dirt ground. “I didn’t know—I wasn’t…”
“It’s okay,” he says softly, pulling me to his chest in a reassuring hug.
Okay, okay, I know I said forgive him, but can you guys do your makeup sex later?
“We’re not having sex!” I yell.
Archer jerks back as if I burned him. His brow furrows. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Not you,” I rush to say. “Sorry—your dog is in my head.”
His eyes light up. “Scathe’s speaking to you?”
“Yes. He saved my life, actually. Again.”
Archer’s amusement rinses away, and he grabs my hand, pulling me through the tunnel. “We need to make sure we’re all up to speed.”
“Hey,” Godric says when we catch up to him. He holds up his phone and waves it at us. “Pixel has eyes on Arlo. He’s in the Ministry District, likely glamouring his way to the High Chancellor position. She’ll keep us updated on his movements.”
“That fucker,” Archer growls.
I snort. “Did you just drop an f-bomb, Archer Acciai?”
“I’ve changed,” he teases.
My nose scrunches and my heart pinches at the thought of Archer changing. I like him just the way he is. “I hope not too much,” I say.
He squeezes my hand in reassurance, and the four of us stride through the tunnels.
“We should stop to fill each other in,” Archer says a few minutes later.
Is that what the kids are calling it these days?Scathe woofs at me.
“Sirius save me,” I mutter, chuckling at the hound. You’re a perv!
Scathe barks again, and I swear he’s laughing.
“Good idea. It’ll give us a moment to rest and recoup,” Godric says to Archer.
A short while later, we end up in what looks like a meeting area. The room is cavernous, carved into the earth, with various wooden beams helping to hold the dirt at bay. A wooden table with matching chairs sits in the center of the space, and we all grab a chair. Scathe sits at my side, his head barely reaching the top of the table.
Without wasting any time, Archer looks at me and says, “I think Arlo is my half-brother.”
I wince at his disdainful tone. The news isn’t any less shocking as it was the first time I heard it. “I know.”
His face remains neutral. “You do?”
“He told me while I was in his little glass prison.”
At these words, fury blazes through Archer’s expression. He runs a hand through his dark-blond hair. “Tell me everything.”
And so I do. When I finish, he returns the favor, telling me everything he’s learned about the Reaper, concluding with the bargain he made.
“You can’t touch him, then,” Godric remarks.
“No,” Archer says. “But you can, surely. We need to get him out of the city. For good.”
“Wait,” I say. “I still feel like we’re missing something here. Why would a powerful fae want to run the city? Why would he run a lab, glamouring faeologists into making a drug that kills people? Maybe he wants to rid the city of human bloodlines and move in his own…fae.”
“That’s not it.” Archer looks deep in thought. “The fae hate the city. They don’t want to live here.”
“Well, Arlo sure seems to want to,” I say.
“No,” Archer says, his eyes glazed over. “Bargains,” he mutters. His posture tightens, and he sits up tall. “Bargains. The humans made a deal with the fae, long ago, according to the books I’ve read. Fae leave the humans alone so long as they stay contained in the city—leaving the Wilds untouched.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I ask.
“It’s a loophole,” Godric says, slamming his hand on the table, causing me to jump.
Archer stands so quickly that he almost knocks his chair over. “Arlo said, ‘I don’t need to destroy the city when it’ll destroy itself.’ He also mentioned something about my ma knowing about his plan.” His eyes flick to Godric, and his jaw tightens.
My mind whirls as I put together the pieces. “He also mentioned something about not causing the dreamdust mayhem at the masquerade…but he admitted to having something to do with the drug. He said that humans often destroy themselves.”
“It’s not coincidental,” Archer says. “He’s bitter about humans being on his family’s old land. He’s hoping they’ll ruin the city themselves so he can take the land back.”
“But what does my dad have to do with all this?” I whisper. “Arlo said that the Scouts killed him for breaking an edict.”
“Tasia,” Archer says, giving me a regretful look. “It’s possible your dad simply got caught in the middle, as a faeologist who had experience with magic.”
“His note implied he was glamoured,” I mutter. “Likely by Arlo. To make the dust.”
Godric hums to himself. “If it was unauthorized, and someone caught wind and reported your dad, he’d be executed for treason.”
“So he was a good guy.” That’s enough to bring me a small sense of relief. It won’t bring my dad back, but it at least explains why he did what he did. And they must’ve thought my mother knew about my dad’s experiments with magic, even though she was mentally incapable of understanding any of his work. “If he was glamoured into creating the dust, it wasn’t his fault—it was against his consent.”
“Yeah.” Archer swipes a hand over his jaw. “After all this time, why did Arlo choose to come after you now?”
“Maybe for my dad’s journals?” I say. “He stole them, after all.” Thinking of my dad’s words, I reach into my bra, pulling out the note.
“Does it really matter?” Godric asks. “I’m ready to murder the bastard.”
“He’s cunning,” Archer says. “We need to come up with a plan.”
“Can you read this?” I ask the men, unfolding the paper and showing it to them.
“No.” Archer and Godric both say. They shake their heads, looking at me curiously.
“Good. You said he’s in the city still?” I ask, wheels turning. “So he doesn’t know I escaped?”
“Shouldn’t,” Godric says.
“I don’t like where this is going,” Archer growls. “Whatever you’re thinking, Tasia—”
“Godric,” I say, ignoring Archer, “can you use your magic to put the glass back together?”
“In theory, yes.”
“Take me back.” Meeting Archer’s gaze, I say, “I have an idea. But I need dreamdust for it.”
Ignoring their protests, I rise, heading out of the room. They have no choice but to follow.
Help me out here, Scathe, I say. Lead the way out.
Tell me your plan at least so someone can have your back. Scathe whines, trotting ahead of me. He glances back, and I swear the beast has a glint of judgment in his blue eyes.
Fine, but you can’t tell Archer. If he doesn’t know my plan, his bargain with Arlo can’t stop him. No harm, no foul.
Icy fear freezes my veins as I go over the plan in my head. The note from my dad had a line that didn’t make sense before, but now I think I understand it: Blood is thicker than water, but blood can wash away dust.
Blood, as in my blood. Washing away dreamdust. As in cleansing the poison. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but it feels right, especially after reading my dad’s journal. Plus, the Scout blew the dust into my mouth, and I never got high. I’m still alive today, with no apparent issues.
I think…I think I’m immune to dreamdust,I say to Scathe. I can hide it in my mouth and blow it into Arlo’s face. Just like the Scout did to me.
If I’m wrong? Well, I won’t live long enough to find out…