Chapter Forty-One
Millie
M y arm is aching, and shooting pain slices across my shoulders. One harsh tug will pull it out of its socket. The Death Warden continues to walk at a blistering pace, pulling me roughly beside him. It doesn't stop me struggling, doesn't stop me trying to yank my arm free.
“Let me go!” I yell as we head towards an arched black door at the end of a grand hallway. Gothic details make up the matte black walls, those silvery cracks flickering against the darkness. The sight makes my heart race. What I've done is beyond stupid, but if it gives Jackson a little more time, it’s worth it. Plus, right now, I’m so confused and angry about how I feel about him, about everything, that I’m almost pleased to be parted from him. Almost.
I don’t know where I’m going. A few scrambled conversations between the Death Warden and a nameless voice on the radio have told me nothing. Everything I've seen so far told me this door could be anything. A gateway to hell or a backdoor to Buckingham Palace for all I knew.
The Death Warden grabs the coiled gold handle, opens the door before I can make out what's inside and shoves me in. I land face down in a patch of dirt. The door slams shut behind me before I can find the words to scream at them. I feel grass tickling my face and mud clinging to my cheek as I pull myself up onto all fours. Coughing, I spit some dried dirt from my throat and peer around.
Inhaling the scent of grass and the fresh smells of early morning in the countryside is a welcome change from the cloying scent of smoke and explosives. The fields go on for miles, hazy with a silver fog drenching the skyline, painting dew across the grass, but in front is the familiar shape of Stonehenge. The rising sun, glowing dimly behind, bathing it in shadows. I look behind me to find that the door has disappeared.
Groaning, I stand, dusting myself off as I walk towards the ancient monument. There's a chill in the air and a stillness that feels oppressive. Silence surrounds me, which is weird. On the news, people were swarming places like this, places with spiritual connections, praying for death to return or thanking whatever god they believed in for the miracle.
There was something about this place that was just … off.
When I reach the stones, my mouth drops when I take in their size. They're over double my height, and in the early morning light, they seem to glow like mercury. I'm not sure why it surprises me, but it does. I walk closer to touch a stone and let my fingers feel the rough surface, maybe expecting to sense some link to history. Or even just a distraction from the wailing thoughts telling me I needed an escape plan. What I wanted was a moment to exhale.
“They're not real,” a faint American accent drawls.
I turn and, leaning against the stone opposite, sits a woman. Her legs are stretched out, a pencil skirt pulled up to her thighs. Her blonde hair is in messy victory rolls, and a mass of colourful tattoos covers her skin.
“So we're not at Stonehenge? This is all … fake?”
“Yup.” She chuckles, sounding bitter.
“Then where the hell are we?”
She yawns like she's bored and stretches her arms casually above her head.
“We're in the basement, still in Scythe. This room adapts to become a different wonder of the world. I'm not sure why; I guess I'm not important enough to know. Not anymore, anyway. Not since I've been forcibly demoted and imprisoned.”
With a groan, she stands up and takes a few clumsy steps forward like she'd forgotten she was wearing heels. Now closer, I can see her cat's eye makeup is smudged; her lipstick is bleeding into the lines around her mouth. She looks exhausted.
“So you're the infamous Millie?” she says as if this amuses her. There's almost a drunken slur to her voice. “I know all about you.”
“I guess that makes you Jeanette. That's a nice collection of firearms you have hanging in your office.” I add drily, “And you're Jackson's boss.”
“As if Jackson ever pays attention to anyone, but yes, technically, I'm his boss. Where is he?”
I wrap my arms across my chest, once again wandering around the stones. Maybe they weren't real, but I needed to move.
“He got away.”
“He let you get caught?” She frowns, looking surprised.
“No, I let myself get caught … so he could get away.” I open my mouth to elaborate further, but I remember what Lucius said and smack my lips together. “Why have they put us here?”
She shakes her head, looking down at her chipped black nails.
“Well, they're using it as a cell, that's obvious. This is all about manipulating Jackson. I'm guessing that when the time is right, they'll use us to make their play. Until then, we're stuck here.”
I sigh, not happy with the answer but not surprised either. I lean back against a stone, letting the cold rock penetrate my clothes and chill my skin. The sensation is soothing.
“Do you know who's doing this? And why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
I stare at her, looking for any sign that she's lying, but I didn't know this woman. If she has any tells, they're lost on me.
“Lucius thinks you might be behind all this?”
She laughs. “Lucius would. That guy was born paranoid,” she says. “Oh, you think this is some kind of play? I bring you here, pretend to be a prisoner, and you tell me Jackson's oh-so-clever plan? Sorry to disappoint …”
I close my eyes, focusing on the coarse texture of the rock. It may be fake, but I need to feel grounded in something right now. A fake ancient stone would have to do. Jeanette settles back down on the grass, observing me curiously.
“He told you about your mom, didn't he?”
I flinch. That strangers knew about my life, about Jackson's betrayal, made me feel queasy.
“He killed her, yes, I know.”
Jeanette laughs, her head rolling on her shoulders like it's barely attached to her neck. She looks at me, her lips curling.
“He didn't kill her. He reaped her. We're not murderers; we're reapers. We do what is needed to be done. Tell me, how is the Mortal realm dealing with no death? Is paradise not what you were expecting?” Her voice turns slippery. It slinks around the words like a serpent. She cocks her head to watch me, amusement twitching on her lips, and then it fades. She exhales, her head going back against the rock. “I know it's hard to understand at first, but everyone has to die. Everyone deserves an end, even if they don't deserve the ending they're given.”
I stare at her from across the space, the chill in the air growing even though the sun had risen no further and presumably wasn't going to. Her words resonate more than I want, more than I thought possible, and I need to look away. Letting my anger go feels treacherous. It left me untethered. Rage had been my anchor ever since Mum had got sick. It kept me steady. Without it, I feel like a strong breeze could blow me away.
“If I … If I forgive him, it's like … it's like I'm saying it's OK that she died. How do I … how do I live with that?”
The words pour out of me, shocking me. Not just their truth, but that fact I'd uttered them to a stranger. I clench my stomach hard, every part of my body aching.
“Grief is a kind of darkness.” She whispers, her eyes fixed on me intensely. “It's like night though, dawn is always supposed to rise. You can't live perpetually in the black. That's when it alters you, morphs you. Jackson lost his mother when he was young. He would never have expected you to forgive him because he knows how you feel.”
I glare at her, not bothering to hide my impatience.
“You know, I didn't ask for any of this. I've been dragged into some… some messed up scheme for god knows what, and I'm supposed to what, just listen and smile? Do nothing whilst Jackson fixes it all?”
She looks at me, her expression blank. I lean back against the rock, frustrated. I wasn't after sympathy, but some kind of human reaction would have been nice.
“They didn't target Jackson on a whim.”
I throw a small rock across the grass, the act unsatisfying.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Her lips purse, but I'll be damned if I ask more. I suspect I'll get more riddles than answers, so I stay silent.
“Jackson's the successor. He has to be. That's the only thing that makes sense. And someone worked it out, and they want to take that from him.”
“They want to run Scythe?”
“Possibly, but they still need the Death realm to exist, for the Fates to weave … Honestly, I don't know what's happening. And Jackson's facing this alone.”
I look up at her, at the genuine concern on her face, and I feel a similar worry deep in my stomach, even if it's hidden under a steel knot of rage.
“He's not alone, though, is he? He has you; he has his friends.”
“But does he have you, Millie?” Her eyes are so piercing that I need to look away.
We fall silent. This strange limbo is more than a little unsettling. In fact, it makes me feel strange. Everything about this place feels like we're trapped in a photograph. The world is too still, too silent. Even the clouds above hang unmoving in the sky, unaffected by any wind or breeze.
“Jackson's one of my favourite people.” She smiles, fondness warming her tired features. “The moment I saw that change in him after he met you, I knew it was only going to end one way. He was going to fall for you, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to be with you.”
She frowns, lines developing between her eyebrows, and I snort.
“And I'm supposed to be grateful? That he came into my life after taking my mum from me? Letting me fall in love with him? He lied to me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “He saved your life. Knowing it would almost certainly cost him his.”
I look away, not sure how to respond. I know I should be grateful, I am, but it doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem real that I could be dead because of some plot I still don't understand. My fingers clutch at the grass under my hands.
“It doesn't change what he did.”
“Maybe not, but if you're after simplicity. If you're after rights and wrongs that fall neatly into little black-and-white boxes …”
“I won't find that with a bunch of reapers. Yeah, I'm learning that.”
She laughs again, looking at me straight in the eye.
“You won't find that anywhere, sweetheart. Life is in the grey.”
I roll my eyes and look away. I see a flash through the fog, and a door appears, attached to nothing, hovering above the grass. When it opens, a dozen Death Wardens storm out. I groan, and Jeanette sighs.
“Looks like it's showtime.” She moves forward, kneeling by my side. “Listen to me; I know you're angry, and it's been a long time since I found out about all this, but I understand, I do. But remember what's at stake here. A world with no death can't last. A world with no death means an eternity of suffering, a world doomed to collapse on itself.”
They inch closer, stomping in unison towards us. I meet Jeanette's eyes, see the fear buried under the steely resolve.
“We still don't know what's going on here. Who set this up and why? We need to be ready for anything. We need to be ready to make the decisions that Jackson can't.”
“What do you mean?”
She swallows, avoiding my eye. “I think you'll know in time.”
I nod and stand, offering Jeanette a hand to pull her up. The Death Wardens march closer, their eyes fixed on us. We don't know what's coming, but we stand and wait for it, anyway.