Chapter Forty-Six
Millie
M y knees buckle and I drop to the ground in a heap. The world is still bleached white. The light seems to have stripped me of everything—where I was, where Jackson was. As the light throbs, a shadow passes across my eyes. I look up, squinting into the harsh light, and then slowly as the white fades and I can focus, I see him. Those dark robes, blacker than night. Trapped within the folds of the fabric, stars blaze like he carries the universe across his body. His face, a skin-stripped skull, and though I can't make out any life behind the blackness of his sockets, I can feel the heaviness of his soul, the gravity of the Grim Reaper.
He holds out his hand for me, and I stare at it hard. An icy chill runs through me. A chill that has less to do with the temperature of the room and more with the absence of anything in him that holds warmth or life. His hand is all bone. It creaks as his fingers curl before me. A large silver ring—Jackson's ring—adorns one finger. Out of confusion more than fear, I put my hand in his. I feel the stony bone, the oddly smooth surface, and I try not to flinch. He pulls me to my feet, and suddenly I'm looking around a room.
I'm standing in the atrium of Scythe, with its matte black walls and gleaming marble floor, all staggering pillars and that towering statue, all in one piece. It’s as if nothing had ever happened. I feel the warming weight of an arm come across my shoulder and Jackson looks down at me—that beat-skipping smile, his nighttime hair dipping into his eyes, his clothes once again clean and free of grime and blood. I feel his heartbeat, that familiar feeling so wanted and so welcome as I’m pressed against him.
Lingering in a circle, with Death in the centre, like some kind of omen of … well, death, stand Thomas, Lucius, Jeanette, and Atropos, all peering around, shocked and surprised to find themselves here. Atropos's eyes widen and then narrow sharply into rage and horror as she slowly realises she's lost. Death is back. Her lips quiver and that anger melts away, leaving just sadness in its place, but only for a moment. Then the rage returns like a necessity. She needs it like breathing. She launches herself at Death, but he holds up a bony hand. And she stops before she reaches him, frozen to the spot. Unable to move. Her mouth fixed into a perfect 'O'.
She screeches, and it's an animal, guttural sound dragged from the bottom of her soul. From thousands of years of pain and rage and frustration.
“No! You have everything! You take everything! I wanted what was mine. Just what was mine, what I deserved. After all these years …”
Death lets her go, and she slips to the ground. Her fingers claw at the gleaming ground; her head held low as pained cries escape her lips. I look away. I don't want to feel anything for her, but my stomach tightens regardless. She faked my death, used me to trick Jackson into ending the Grim Reaper and tormenting the world. But it was to free her from a prison, an eternal gilded cage from which she could observe life but never live it for herself. Death says nothing, which is somehow more terrible than any words he could use. She continues to shriek at the ground but then finally falls limp. Her plan had failed. She had failed.
Jackson takes his arm away—I miss it instantly—and he walks to the centre. Death doesn't move. It's strange seeing them together. I see nothing that connects them, but I can feel it. Somehow, something in the way they both stand, in the way they look down at her, unfeeling but also full of emotion.
“Everything you did is undone; everything you did is put right.” Jackson drops to his knees and moves close, and Atropos hisses. His face turns strangely soft, sympathetic. He looks back to Death, and I realise Death may not be uttering a word, but Jackson seems to understand him just fine. “You're being sent back to your sisters. They're waiting for you. Not sure they're happy you planned all this without them …”
Atropos looks up at him, and snarls before the life seems to drop out of her once again. Her head hangs low, her lank hair almost touching the ground.
“What happens … what happens to Thomas?” Lucius speaks up, looking at Jackson.
Thomas doesn't look like he cares either way what happens to him. As if everything he felt, over a century of grief and rage, had shattered him into pieces. Jackson swallows, moving towards Thomas, his eyes pained.
“I'm sorry, Thomas. He won't undo it.” Jackson turns to look at Death, a mixture of frustration and anger lining his face. “I …”
“Don't …” Thomas whispers, his eyes slowly looking up from the ground and meeting Jackson's gaze. “Not exactly in your best interest for him to undo it, is it?” His voice isn't bitter, just defeated and very, very sad.
“Doesn't mean I wouldn't have done it because I would have.”
“He should burn. He should feel what I feel!” Thomas spits out, his eyes full of boiling tears.
Death doesn't speak, and he doesn't move. He is ancient and awful, endless and horrifying. I feel that cold again, that icy emptiness creeping over my body, freezing my blood as it travels through my veins. Jackson's eyes close as Death looks back at Thomas, who is shaking, his eyes pleading, but I see no flicker in those empty sockets.
“He says … he says it's time for you to retire, Thomas.”
“What?” Lucius cries. “No. He doesn't, he doesn't deserve this. He didn't mean to do it.”
Jackson sighs, moving closer to Thomas, grabbing him roughly by the neck and pulling him close in a brotherly embrace, before pulling sharply away. Pained is etched on both their features. Jackson breathes in deeply, and I see him rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.
“You betrayed Scythe, you betrayed the plan. You schemed and used fear and violence to take control of Scythe. You plotted against Death, you followed him, you lured him into a trap, and you used the sands of Hypnos to keep him trapped in his human body for months, setting up your plan. And you plotted against me, against your friends.”
Jackson swallows. And I can't help it. I move to his side. I can feel the struggle, and he nods lightly as I touch his arm, moving close to him.
“It was never about you, Jackson … not really … I'm sorry.” Thomas turns to Death, his eyes dark and then a twisted smirk appears on his face. “Wasn't much of a revenge, but putting you in that hospital bed, keeping you there, felt damn good, you hypocritical bastard.”
Death doesn't move, doesn't make a single sound. Stars die, worlds collapse in that silence. He lifts his arm; the scythe rising with it. And then it's there, a door. Thomas's door.
Thomas closes his eyes as the door shoots open and a gust of wind pulls him towards it. I see it on his face. He won't fight this. He doesn't want to. He looks at Jackson and then at Lucius. Their faces mirror the horror of the other. Lucius surges forward, but Jeanette puts a hand on his chest, shaking her head. He goes weak, his hands going to his face as she wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.
I take a step back, letting the three of them have their moment. Thomas's lips tighten, and he nods at Jackson and Lucius before drifting towards the door. His clothes and hair lift off the ground, dragged into the power of the door. As he reaches it, he turns to look at Jackson and Lucius.
“For what it's worth, I wish it could have been different. For both of us.”
Jackson frowns, his lips parting, but before he can respond, Thomas walks through. It slams loudly behind him and disappears in a blinding flash.
I walk to Jackson, locking my fingers with his, and he looks down at me, exhaustion clinging to his features, his skin stripped of its usual warmth. He flinches, and I know Death is talking through him again. Jackson kisses my forehead and walks towards Atropos, who is watching us all curiously, a sneer across her face. Her manic eyes burn as she looks up from the ground.
“You'll be punished for your actions and sent back to the island. You have all eternity to think about what you've done.”
“And what have I done?” she mutters, her voice as sharp as a Keres screech. “I planted an idea in a grieving boy's mind.” She shrugs. “He did the rest. He hunted down Death, imprisoned him in his mortal flesh. He took command of Scythe …”
“With the army you gave him.”
She shrugs again. “He set a path for you to follow, which you did. I couldn't have made you reap Death, and neither could he.”
Jackson glares at her but then turns back to Death. Something passes between them, and Jackson flinches. His gaze turns dark as it returns to Atropos.
“I'll be punished. Don't worry about that. I know what's coming for me, but you knew what you were doing. You knew exactly what I'd do the moment you had Thomas fake Millie's death.”
Atropos's face splits open, her grin wide with violence and then the world stills, falls silent except for the roar in my ears and my heart splintering in my chest.
“Oh, little nephew. That's why it was so perfect, why I knew it was time for me to act. I saw it all, saw your love bloom, saw what was to come …”
Venom spills from her lips, a smile of such malevolence. A smile bathed in poison.
“I had nothing to fake. It was always fated for Millie to die.”