Chapter Thirty-One
Jackson
I 'm standing still, staring like a fool at the door after Millie has slammed it shut behind her. Everything in me feels hollow like all my insides have been torn out of me and through that door along with Death. I'm exhausted in a way I've never known. I'm leaning against the counter in the kitchen like if I let go, I'll sink to the floor and never get back up.
Death's gone, and I have no idea what that means. I've been set up. My brain has enough juice left to work that out. Someone faked Millie's file, leading me to reap Death trapped in his mortal skin. That much I know. Who, how and why—I don't have a clue.
And Millie's pissed at me. It shouldn't bother me, not in the scheme of things, but it does. A lot. I'd ruined her birthday. Admittedly, it would have been a worse birthday if she'd died, but I couldn't tell her that.
As my mind crunches through the questions, the door flies open, hitting the wall with a furious crash. I leap backwards, bringing my fists up to defend myself, but three of Scythe's biggest and baddest Death Wardens swarm into my home. They're dressed all in black—their armour faintly resembling the skeleton hidden beneath their skin, the Scythe symbol shining proudly on their bulked-up chests. Their faces are partly concealed in a mask shaped like the top half of a human skull, their hard jaws and the angry slash of their mouths the only flesh on display.
I'm strong, but these guys make Dwayne Johnson look like a scrawny kid. Before I've even focused on which one to launch myself at, I'm being shoved to the floor and flipped onto my stomach. They yank my arms behind my back, restraining my wrists in something that cuts uncomfortably. I'm yelling and swearing madly, but they say nothing until one leans down, his hot breath close to my ear.
“Someone wants a word with you.”
Before I can respond, they smash my head into the floor, and everything turns black.
When I wake, I'm sitting unrestrained in a chair in the middle of a cavernous room. My head throbs, and I know I have a lump on my forehead the size of a golf ball. Groaning, I rub the spot and try to pull my thoughts together.
With white dots dancing in front of my eyes, I focus on the surrounding space, trying to work out where the hell these goons have dropped me. I see a grand stage directly ahead of me and hundreds of seats on various levels, everything in the same reddish-brown wood. Above me, the sky is icy-white and barren of clouds. The air is heavy with the scent of wood and rain. Anyone could recognise the theatre I'm sitting in—it's the Globe, the ancient theatre and home of Shakespeare. Except, of course, it's not. I'm in the amphitheatre of Scythe HQ, having shifted from its previous state as the Hollywood Bowl to this. Pretty appropriate, given the situation.
Jeanette walks out onto the stage, and my stomach lurches, a vice gripping my chest. Then I see her face—exhaustion, confusion, worry and any fears that she's the one who's betrayed me melt away. She folds her arms and looks down at me dramatically. She's a missing skull away from a full Shakespearean drama.
“Did I really need to be knocked out?”
She shrugs and rolls her eyes in a bored fashion.
“It wasn't like they could kill you.”
“What's going on, Jeanette?” I mumble, my head throbbing, and my stomach sways precariously. I lean down, my elbows on my knees, and groan.
“Honestly? I don't know,” she says, the confusion clear in her voice. “A few hours ago, the Death realm started to crumble. No one can reap. HQ is …”
A chunk of the balcony above me cracks. The wood splinters and drops to the floor. I leap out of the chair just in time, landing hard on my stomach, coughing as a dust cloud fills the air. Jeanette just sighs and continues.
“HQ is literally falling apart, collapsing in on itself. No one knows the cause. Maybe Death's been gone too long? Maybe it's nothing to do with that? I honestly have no idea,” she says fearfully, her eyes narrowing. “The only thing I know is that the last person to die was a man named Arthur Black. And the person who reaped him? Well, that was you. So tell me, Jackson, is that just a coincidence, or do you know what's going on here?”
“Coincidence?” I cough, my throat still coated with dust. I pull myself to my feet.
She shakes her head, looking angry. “I don't have time for your shit right now. Do you know anything? Anything at all.”
I say nothing.
“I sent the Death Wardens because time is scarce and people are desperate. Soon everyone in HQ will be after you, looking for answers, looking for someone to blame. The board has basically imploded. A bunch of bureaucrats can't handle this. I care about you, Jackson, and that's why we're here. I'm giving you a chance to tell me if you know anything, someone who'll believe you. Because, and trust me on this, the next person may not give you the benefit of the doubt the way I am.” She bites her lip, looking at me frantically.
I look upwards, staring at the fake sky like it can tell me what to do. When I look back at her face, I know I have no choice. I tell Jeanette everything. From reaping Eva, falling for her daughter, discovering Millie's death sentence, my plan to save her. As I speak, more of the theatre crumbles around us, the ground itself shaking. After, Jeanette is silent for a long time, a very long time.
“You drugged my wife?”
I cough a little too loudly, melting under Jeanette's furious glare.
“Yes …”
Her nostrils flare.
“We were so careful; I'd never let anything happen to her.”
“If I'd known, I'd have got the Death Wardens to break a few limbs while they were at it.” She rubs her temples, exhaling hard, and some of the heat from her anger leaves her body.
“Fair enough,” I mumble sheepishly.
“I don't need to tell you …”
“What a prick I've been?”
She groans, running her fingers through her dusty hair and across her exhausted face.
“I was going to say selfish, but that works, too.” She sinks down to perch on the edge of the stage before jumping to the floor and standing in front of me. “You've been set up, that's pretty obvious, but why would someone want to kill Death? All of this is going to lead to our destruction and not just ours. The mortal world, too.”
“I have no idea. Lucius and Thomas helped me, but … they're my friends. I trust them, and even if I didn't, what would they have to gain? Who would? I can't figure it out.”
“Did he say anything? Death? Before he went through the door?”
I swallow, the word stuck in my throat. His voice echoes in my head over and over again. I know what she'll say, and I can't deal with that right now. I shake my head.
She exhales, her eyes unfocused. I can see her formulating a plan. My mind goes to Millie. Is she OK? Is she in danger? Whoever set this up knows all about her and my feelings for her. She's vulnerable.
“OK, you need to get out of here before someone else hunts you down. I want you back in the Mortal realm. You're harder to track there. Whoever did this might still have a plan for you. You need to hide out until we work out what it is.”
I shake my head, moving towards her.
“No, I don't have time to hide. I need to figure out how to undo this, and I know someone who might know the answers.”
“But I …”
“They're in the Mortal realm. Don't worry. I'll travel the old-fashioned way, nothing through Scythe.”
She nods but looks worried.
“See what you can find. I'm going to stay here, see if I can work out who did this and why. And most importantly … how we can bring Death back.”
“OK,” I mumble. Fear is a slimy, slithering thing in my stomach. What if we couldn't undo this? What have I done?
I turn away, but Jeanette puts a hand on my arm.
“Wait.” She pulls out a ring from her pocket. The old-fashioned kind we used for travel before the Scythe app was invented. It's a replica of Death's own ring, nowhere near as powerful but still imbued with force. “Here. It's harder to track than the app, use it to travel but only in emergencies. They'll already be looking for you.”
I nod, slipping the ring on my finger. I turn to go, but before I do, I pull Jeanette into a hug, grounding myself in her familiar scent. She grunts in surprise but then wraps her arms around me.
“Good luck, Jackson.”
“You too.”
I move backwards, away from Jeanette, who just stands there, watching me severely. I look down at the ring, concentrating on where I need to go, before looking back up at her.
“It was you for a reason, Jackson,” she mutters, her eyes solemn. “At some point, you'll need to work out what that means. You know that, don't you?”
I say nothing; just close my eyes and let the red light wash everything away.
When I open them, I'm standing in the bright light of a suburban garden. Roisin and her kids are screaming at the ruby-eyed hellhound standing above Millie, who's lying on the ground. It growls, white spittle clinging to its fangs as it opens its jaws, ready to clamp down on Millie's throat.