Chapter Thirty-Nine
Millie
T he odd sensation inside my belly, like tugging but not quite, fades instantly. Even so, I lean on my knees for support as I adjust to having been on a tropical island only a second before.
I'm not sure what I'm expecting from Scythe HQ, but it isn't this. If the human world, as Jackson calls it, is in chaos, then this place is in absolute anarchy. Smoke pools upwards from burns on the ebony walls and floor, scars from where weapons have missed their mark. People are scrambling around or huddled nearby, weeping together. A few people in dark uniforms seem to restrain people and drag them away. Cracks shatter every wall, and ominous white light peers through like reality itself is collapsing in on itself.
This is a war zone.
A war zone that looks a lot like it used to be the sleek reception of a large corporation—a massive, echoing atrium, black everything. The only colour is the silver veins running through the marble floors and gold trimmings on the furniture wreckage. A colossal statue of the Grim Reaper is in the centre, travelling from the floors below us to the floors above. Great spiderwebs of cracks run up his centre, and dripping red words are spray-painted across his torso.
Save us.
“What the hell is …” I start, but Jackson drags me under the remains of a desk in the corner, pushing on my shoulders until I kneel close to the ground, his body pressed close to mine, the warmth of his breath on my ear.
“Scythe is falling apart. Without the Death realm, it can't exist. And neither can we. People are scared. And someone is taking advantage.”
I nod, following Jackson's angry gaze as he stares at the uniformed soldiers who are grabbing people roughly and hauling them across the room.
“They're called Death Wardens; they're the Scythe army. They're arresting people when they should be trying to get them to safety. But why?”
A large chunk of marble drops from the ceiling just ahead. I scream, scrambling backwards and slamming hard into the wall. Jackson grabs my arm to steady me. A cloud of dust rises upward, blocking our vision for a moment.
“What next?” I say, my voice gravelly.
“You see the statue?” He points towards the giant Grim Reaper. “That's where the device is. We just need to get to it.”
“There's, like, fifty soldiers. How exactly are we going to do that?”
Jackson's face drops as he considers my words.
Then, a hand squeezes my arm.
“He needs a distraction, that's what.”
When I turn my head, Lucius is behind us, his face grim, but Jackson exhales, happy to see him.
“You've got an idea?” Jackson mutters as a Death Warden passes close to where we're positioned under the desk.
“Maybe, but not a good one.”
Jackson slaps him hard on the back, grinning as Lucius holds out his hands to pull us both up.
“That’s a start.”
“Follow me, and keep low.” We nod, following Lucius as he leads us away from the fray.
The office space we're running through is empty, though I spot the occasional determined soul still working or cowering under their desk. Large chunks of ceiling and floor are missing, with more threatening to collapse on top of us. Debris, crumbling walls and the wreckage of computers and desks block our way, making progress slow. Lucius leads us into a large office. He shuts the door quietly behind us and sinks into the chair behind the desk, immediately rummaging through the drawers.
“Where are we?” I ask, breathless, adrenalin turning my heart into a steel drum.
“This is my boss Jeanette's office,” Jackson mutters, pacing the space. He exhales, running his hands through his hair before turning to his friend. “What's your idea? We need to get to the statue. Death created some kind of device; Atropos called it the Chronica. We can use it to reverse time.”
“He's got a police box stashed in there, has he?”
“Not the time to wave your geek flag, Lucius,” I grumble, folding my arms tightly across my chest.
He looks up at me, shooting me a gentle smile of comfort.
“So … is it true? Is Death really gone?”
Jackson swallows hard and then nods finally. Lucius just stares at him. The shock seems to have frozen him to the spot.
“Where is everyone?” Jackson asks, still pacing, his face solemn.
Lucius sighs, rubbing his eyes.
“The Death Wardens started rounding people up right after the last death. Thomas and Jeanette disappeared hours ago. Jackson?” Lucius's face turns soft with worry, his bottom lip quivering slightly. He stops with his search. “They have Ginny.”
Jackson strides across the room and clasps Lucius's shoulder firmly. The look on his face melts some of the icicles that have taken form in my heart. I look away.
“I'll fix this.”
Lucius goes back to searching the drawers. Jackson turns to look at me. Everything about him is unusually flat—the spark, the liquid charm, all absent. I resist the urge to comfort him, to wrap my arms around his waist, to lean my head against his beating heart.
“Are you OK?” He searches my face before moving forward tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger on my skin, and I lean into his touch. My need for him is stronger than any lingering anger.
“I think so.”
“You were amazing back there.” He shakes his head, looking down at me in a way that makes my cheeks heat. “Just amazing.”
I snort. “I was terrified. I'm still … this is a nightmare, Jackson.”
“I know, but … I'll fix it. We'll fix it. I don't think I could have done this without you.”
His thumb brushes my lower lip, the gaze in his eyes unshielded. He moves closer slowly …
“Got it. Knew she'd have one.” Lucius is sitting straight, almost smiling, but not quite.
The cold envelops me as Jackson moves away and towards the desk. He leans over and stares into the drawer Lucius has opened.
“Are you insane?”
Lucius shrugs, looking unnaturally happy. Maybe pessimistic people come into their own during the end of the world.
“You want a distraction … that's one hell of a distraction.”
“What is that?” I walk forward, bending over the desk next to Jackson so I can see for myself. “What the actual …”
Lucius laughs, picking up one from the dozens in the drawer, and throws it casually in the air. I leap back. Jackson snatches the grenade from Lucius's hand and glares at him.
“I can't believe she has these in the office.”
“Who on earth collects grenades?” I say.
Jackson shoots me a grim smile, then he throws his arms wide, and I scan the rest of the room. What kind of person keeps grenades in their desk drawer? The kind that hangs rifles and shotguns on their wall, that's who.
“Jeanette worked in a weapons factory during the Second World War. She made all sorts of weapons. She has quite the collection.”
“Is it … you know, live?” I ask, walking back towards them.
“Yeah, it's a Mark Two. We pull the pin, and then we've got …” Jackson looks over the grenade, examining it, seeming as unfazed as if he handled grenades as often as he handled coffee mugs. “… Four seconds from pulling the pin until it goes off. A few of these will take out a good chunk of reception.”
“So we have a plan,” Lucius says, still smiling. “We better get back …”
Jackson turns to Lucius, his eyes suddenly serious. The ash from the atrium sinks into the lines of his face, hands clenched at his sides.
“Why are you helping me? You must know this is all my fault. I reaped Death.”
Lucius's face barely changes, though a flash of disappointment turns his smile sour.
“We did this. I helped. Can hardly blame it all on you and look myself in the mirror, can I? I knew something bad would happen. I felt it. I just didn't realise it would be this bad.” He runs his hand across his face, and I notice how tired he looks, how his skin and clothes are coated in as much ash as ours. I can smell the soot and acrid smell of explosives that has followed us all up to this room.
“Who set me up, Lucius? Who the hell has done this?”
Lucius groans, sinking back into a large chair behind the desk. He puts his head in his hands.
“Honestly, I have no idea. Who the hell has the power to do that, to trap Death? And that same person has taken control of the Ghouls, the Hellhounds and the Wardens? How is that possible?”
“Everyone is panicking. It wouldn't take much for someone with a clear head to slip in and take control.”
“I don't understand …” I start, looking curiously out of the window, the view of old New York looking back at me. I shake my head, not even wanting to understand how that's possible. “… how this place works, but they may have been planning this for months, years. They knew there would be chaos, and they already had people on their side for when it happened.”
“Listen to your girl. She's talking sense.”
“That doesn't help us work out who?”
“I know you won't want to hear this, but who else could it be? Why do you think I'm in this office?” Lucius shrugs.
“You can't be serious. Jeanette?” Jackson scoffs, his face looking incredulous.
Lucius stands up, walking purposefully towards him.
“Think about it, she's powerful but not in charge and never will be, not as long as Death is around. And all this talk of a successor. Maybe she finally had enough, knowing he was going to hand all this over to someone else. She had enough of waiting around for her shot.”
“A shot at what? There'll be nothing left soon enough?”
Lucius growls, looking around.
“I have no idea. But they're not just searching for you; they're looking for something else, too. Maybe it's this … Chronica? But … there's something big we're missing here, Jackson.”
Jackson falls silent for a long time, then finally shakes his head.
“Maybe … but it's not Jeanette. I trust her as much as I trust you.”
Lucius sighs, shaking his head, and looks at me with an 'I told you so' grimace. He leans back on the desk, folding his arms across his chest.
“She knows you better than you know yourself. She knew what you'd do right from the beginning. Do you think any of this is a coincidence? Who else is powerful enough to change Death's plan without us, including me, noticing? From the moment you got her momma's file, this was always going to happen.”
An explosion roars in my head. I lean against the window to steady myself. My knees are weak, and I feel them ready to collapse under my dead weight. I turn slowly. Everything feels wrong, too loud and too fast.
“What did he say?”
Jackson turns to me, his face still angry, but when he sees me, the colour drains away. A look of pure horror, of terror, masks his features. Lucius shuts his eyes, dragging his hand over his face, swearing silently to himself.
“Millie, I …” He doesn't continue, just lets whatever lie he was about to utter die on his lips.
A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, but only one takes root, clawing its way from my brain to my tongue. A memory, something I knew was wrong but didn't challenge. A cold night, the first time those steel eyes cut through a brick wall of rage and grief and loneliness. The night I first met Jackson.
“You knew my name.”