Chapter 32
“Are you so concerned that I’m here to attack?” he asks, amusement creasing lines on his face. “It’s hurtful. I’ve never harmed you before, even in your more … defiant moments.”
Shame turns my cheeks hot, though part of me is screaming, What do you call the last few days?
But he is technically correct. In that moment, all I can remember is the ice cream he bought me on the pier that day when I couldn’t stop crying about the woman who had fallen out of the Ferris wheel because of what I’d done to her husband.
Guilt gnaws at me, and I release the strands connecting me to Beecher and the others. I can feel their anxiety reverberating back to me now. They felt something, though they’re not sure what.
“Why are you here?” I ask, careful to make it a question and not an accusation.
“I came to congratulate you.” His voice is soft, the consonants rounded in an accent I’ve never been able to identify.
“Congratulate me for what? Surviving? Thank you for the heads-up, by the way.” Again, my tone is calm, even. I’ve learned how to not agitate him.
Death does not get angry. He goes cold, stony with silence, and then people keel over.
Once, when a box truck blew a red light as we entered the crosswalk in the city, Death looked up, and the driver collapsed over the wheel.
His truck smashed into a Kia SUV, sending it straight into the glass windows of a cafe. Six people dead in a matter of seconds.
“You should not have needed one,” Death says.
The penny drops, pieces clicking into place. “This was a test,” I breathe.
“It is a test, yes. More of a … proving ground, if you will.”
I stare at him, mouth hanging open. “You named me as your successor to see what would happen?” I ask when I’ve recovered some of my wits.
“It is not my fault,” he says, holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “You are the one who has been so resistant to my efforts to educate you. The others have children fighting to be closer, to win their favor.”
“You did this to motivate me?” I ask, stunned. “You already had someone who wanted the position. You sealed her up in a tomb.” An act that ended up drawing me to the same place.
His smile is bright, cold. “Yes, that was unfortunate. Despite my best efforts, Nova was not … a good candidate. She would not have won for me. I did not foresee that she would awaken in that way and confront you herself.” He gives an unbothered shrug. “But you acquitted yourself admirably.”
His words sink in. “Won what for you?”
He cocks his head to one side, as close as he comes to looking surprised. “It was a challenge, of course. From War.”
Nausea swirls in me. “A challenge. You mean a bet.” With Carter’s grandfather. The sire of his line. And War had, in turn, sent his spawn to keep an eye on the proceedings and sway the outcome, if possible.
Manipulation and more manipulation. For what?
Death waves a hand dismissively. “The meanings of words change over time such that—”
“You made a bet,” I say. “About me.”
“Yes, and I won. You should be proud. I am.” He reaches out as if to chuck me under the chin.
But I reel back, out of his reach.
“You succeeded, just as I knew you could.” He looks at me with genuine warmth, or as close to it as he can come. It’s like watching ancient machinery attempt to come to life, rusted parts and all.
“What was the prize?” I make myself ask.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“What did you win?” I ask. “What would you have lost if I’d failed?”
For the first time, Death appears uncomfortable. The life vanishes from his expression, leaving nothing but coldness and sharp edges. “It’s nothing. A trivial token from years past. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
Fury roars in my ears. “You think that makes it better?” I demand, anger outpacing my fear for the first time.
“People died here. Innocent people who didn’t deserve to die in that way, most of them kids.
” Lennie. Izzie, Jack, Emile, and the other Foreign Language House kids.
The guy whose car Nova stole, too. His name was Tyson.
Impatience flickers in Death’s expression. “Not so many of them. And they’re just humans. You avoided killing any spawn, except for Nova and only then because it was necessary. An admirable accomplishment in one way, perhaps, but a weakness when viewed from a different angle.”
His angle. The Old Ones’ angle.
Fuck. Him.
“Jocasta, it’s time to go. I’ll explain more. I have much to show you. Much to teach you.” He waves me toward the car.
I don’t move. If I go with him, it is possible I’d learn how to extricate myself from the claim I made on Beecher and the others. Perhaps even convince Death to renounce me as successor.
But it’s too late for all of that now.
“No,” I say. My ears are ringing with terror, but inside me, everything is cold, impenetrable.
His eyebrows go up. “No?”
“No. I’m not going with you. And you need to leave. You’re not welcome here. In my territory.”
He straightens to his full height, icy gray eyes blazing, and I’m reminded that he might well be my sire but he’s also immortal—or damn close to it—and incredibly powerful. “I beg your pardon.”
“You should. But you won’t,” I say flatly. The strands connecting me to Beecher and Carter, Devon, Shane, and Maggie all flare to life, tangling around Death. “Get out.”
He tenses as the magic works to evict him. I’m no match for him, of course. But it’s the point I’m making that matters.
“You ridiculous child. Just because you have succeeded in this small way, don’t think you have made yourself irreplaceable. I have started over and I can do it again.” He strides toward me, hand up as if to drag me into the car.
Or pull the life from me.
I stay still. “You can, but you won’t. Unless you want to go back to War and explain how you got it wrong, again,” I say. “Two defective spawn in a row.”
His eyes narrow at me.
“My guess is War might even consider that a forfeit of your ‘challenge.’”
He says nothing.
And that’s when I know I’m right.
An ugly sense of triumph fills me. He wants to play the game? Let’s play.
“You’re going to leave Beecher,” I say. “Leave me and everyone I care about alone. In exchange, you’ll get a dutiful successor. In name, at least. Otherwise, have fun eating crow for War and returning your ‘trivial token.’”
That’s the move. The only one I have. And with it, it’s entirely possible that I’ve just condemned everyone, including myself, to a very quick death.
In the old days, pre-internet, pre–Industrial Revolution, it would not have been so unusual for him to take out an entire town.
Disease would be blamed, or witchcraft. It’s harder these days, I imagine, but not impossible.
I brace myself, waiting for his reaction.
Instead, a wide smile spreads across his angular face. If anything, it makes him seem more frightening. “Very good,” he says. “Now you are acting as my child. My successor.”
Sweat trickles down my spine. I fight to keep my expression as calm, as bland as his normally is.
He eyes me speculatively, then seems to come to a decision. “I will grant you this round,” he says with a generous wave of his hand. “For your audacity. But you have not won the match, remember that.”
Remembering this moment will not be a problem; forgetting it long enough to sleep without waking up in a cold sweat will be.
“We will talk again. Soon.” Death steps back from me and then climbs into his luxury sedan.
I wait until his car vanishes around the curve by the chapel in the distance before I let myself breathe again.
White sparkles cloud my vision, and I clench my fists tight in my pockets, digging my nails into my palms, while I take deep inhales of cold sharp air.
I won. For the moment. But I’ve also just put myself on the board. I’m dabbling in the world of the Old Ones now, instead of trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. And I have no idea what I’m doing.
Yet.
The sparkles fade, my breathing evens out, and I start walking toward Hayes Hall again. I’ll just have to figure it out—how to play their game and get what I want.
Without losing myself to the Old Ones’ ancient and petty machinations in the process.
I grimace. It’s an enormous task, to say the least. But I can do it. I have to.
I am, after all, my father’s daughter.