Chapter 14
Rancid bile swirls in my throat, choking me.
I double over, hands on my knees, swallowing. The stinging taste makes my eyes water. My legs shake. This is nothing like traveling to Aides. It’s disorienting in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Breathe,” Cary instructs.
Much easier said than done.
I cough, then force myself to take long breaths in through my nose. A minute passes before the spinning stops. When I raise my head, the world comes into clear focus.
We’re not in Santa Barbara. Or the underworld.
Nightfall coats the sky black. A city spills out before me. The roads are lined with long rows of buildings. Pubs and shops that shift from brick to white to vibrant blue. A red double-decker bus passes.
“Where are we?”
Casually, Cary says, “Soho. London.”
“London?”
My muscles tense again. How could Cary bring me here? To the city London was named after. But the longer I stare at him, the more I realize he doesn’t know. The concern in his eyes tells me he wouldn’t be that cruel if he did.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, uh…Am I allowed to be here? I don’t even have a passport.”
“No need to worry. We will not be here long.”
Above the din of music and laughter and drunken shouts, a siren blares in the distance.
“Come,” he says. “We are late.”
Down side streets, I take in windows lit by neon signs. Union Jacks flutter above awnings. Lanterns paint the faces we pass amber. Twice, I almost lose track of Cary. He moves easily through crowds like he belongs here.
I clearly don’t.
At an intersection, the mass of bodies thickens. Bright blue lights flicker on a yellow ambulance. Cary’s hand finds mine.
“Do not let go,” he says, then pulls me through the stream.
Near the front, officers shout to keep people away. Phones are pointed at a scene just beyond them. A section of the street is taped off. Paramedics whisper to each other. But Cary doesn’t lead us in that direction.
Instead, we walk to the shadows of a darkened bookstore. He lets go of my hand. “Stay here.”
“But—”
Before I can finish, he’s gone. He approaches a boy sitting outside a café several feet away.
“Did you see that?” The boy blinks at Cary, mirth gleaming in his brown eyes. He’s around my age, beige skin and thick black hair. A sharp nose to match his long jaw. “I’ve never landed that trick in my life. It was sick!”
Cary kneels to his height. “Was it?”
The boy nods eagerly. “I wish my mates could’ve seen it.”
“They left you, Hasan,” Cary says gently.
“They—” Hasan pauses, rubbing the back of his head. He frowns as his eyes roam around. “Yeah, I guess they did. We’d had a couple of pints, and they dared me to do this unbelievable trick and…” His words trail off.
Then Hasan truly looks at Cary. “Wait, you know my name?”
Cary’s lips ease into a smile. “I do. Do you know who I am?”
Biting my lip, I watch reality sink in. It hollows Hasan’s gaze. “Yeah,” he croaks, frowning. “I think I do.”
“And you know why I am here?”
Hasan’s focus jumps to the street, where a skateboard lies snapped in half. A pale white woman sobs outside her car. Officers attempt to console her. Blood stains the road garnet. Paramedics zip up a body bag.
“That’s not me, is it?”
My chest tightens at Hasan’s broken voice. The way his knee bounces anxiously.
I want to run away. I can’t watch this. Can’t handle how hard my heart is throbbing in my throat as Hasan puts it all together.
But Cary maintains a steady smile. He carefully grabs Hasan’s hand like he did mine. “It is time,” he says.
Hasan sucks in a long breath like he wasn’t afforded that chance before the car slammed into him. “Mate, I’m only eighteen. I just started uni. I was gonna do so many things,” he rants. “This isn’t fair.”
“I know,” Cary agrees. “But you lived. That is a lot. And now it is time.”
Chin lowered, Hasan whispers, “I’m scared.”
Cary tilts his head until Hasan looks him in the eyes. “I know that too.” His thumb rubs over Hasan’s knuckles. “I will walk with you. I will not leave like your friends. Okay?”
A minute ticks by before Hasan’s shoulders relax. Cary helps him to his feet. That’s when I see it. The slight glimmer surrounding Hasan’s body. A thin veil of ivory.
Squeezing his hand, Cary says, “Come on. There are so many things left for you to do.”
Over his shoulder, he meets my eyes. “Wait here. I will not be long.”
I nod, unsure of what else to do.
As Cary leads Hasan into the shadows of another street, I hug myself. It’s a cool night. October in Soho is different from Santa Barbara. There’s a bite to the air. The noises around me grow loud again, but all I hear is Hasan’s voice in my head.
I was gonna do so many things.
He was only eighteen. My age. Two years older than London was when he died.
How is that enough time to do anything with your life? How does Death decide that is all he gets?
A hand touches the back of my shoulder. I jump, then jerk around.
It’s Cary.
“Shit,” I hiss, clutching my chest.
His eyebrows rise. “Are you cold?”
“Yeah, well.” I rub my bare arms. I’m still in a T-shirt and shorts. “I didn’t plan on going overseas when I got dressed this morning. Next time I’ll check the weather.”
“Oh, you assume there will be a next time?”
I shrug.
He hums, inching forward. His palms are warm, soothing along my biceps and forearms. Soon, his hands slide back into mine. “We are not done yet.”
As we leave, I watch the ambulance drive away. “Is Hasan okay?”
Cary smiles. “He will be.”
Our next destination leaves me reeling just as much as Soho.
“Deep breath,” Cary says again, standing over me.
The moment I do, I gag. A sharp chemical odor burns my nose. I know this smell. And the overwhelmingly bright LED lights over my head. The eerie stillness of the hallway.
“We’re in a hospital,” I choke out.
“In Tokyo.”
“Japan?” I don’t know why I’m surprised.
I force myself to trail behind him. Even though my knees are weak, my hands trembling. We pass room after room. I never look inside.
At the end of the hall, a little girl sits on the shiny floor. She can’t be older than ten. Her hospital gown is pastel pink. Spread around her are stuffed animals—a floppy bear, a hugged-soft duck, a one-eyed bunny.
“Stay,” Cary starts, but I quickly cut in with “I know, I know.”
His fingers drag along the back of my hand. For a second, he looks like he doesn’t want to leave me behind. But he does.
I lean against the wall, observing.
Cary sits, crisscrossing his legs. He smiles widely. The girl pushes the bunny toward him, her face brightening after he takes it. There’s a yellow cap tied around her small head. She’s bald underneath.
I feel my chest start to crack right down the middle.
Cary lifts his hands. They begin to move in fluid motions, fingers forming letters and words. When he’s done, the girl’s face lights up and her hands move rapidly. Cary nods along. They’re speaking in sign language.
Cary knows sign language.
My lungs swell with shock.
He signs something else. From his facial expression, it looks like he’s asking her a question. The girl squeezes the duck to her chest. She nods, sadness brimming her eyes.
He gives her another smile, this one warmer, reassuring. His gaze never leaves hers as he makes the bunny hop around the floor. Tiny hands fly to her mouth as she laughs.
I fight off my own chuckle.
Soon, Cary is signing again, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. Another question, I think. She replies a little slower, her lower lip poked out. A long moment passes before he reaches out to her. There’s still slight hesitation in her pretty brown eyes.
With an exhale, she takes his hand.
Every nerve in me screams. I want to yell at him. She’s too young for this to be happening. But the second he looks at me, my voice evaporates. Dust on the wind.
“I will not be long,” Cary repeats from earlier.
He smiles at the girl. She’s pink-cheeked, even while glowing white. Slowly, he escorts her into a dark room, disappearing.
I stumble to the spot they just were. Where her stuffed animals still sit. My legs give out. I slump down the wall. Shaking, I grab the tiny duck, then pull my knees to my chest.
It’s so quiet here. So cold and empty. A house built for sadness. For grief. How can my dad stand to be in a place like this?
It’s not long before I hear footfalls. I smell the sweet earthiness of Cary. He kneels in front of me, hands resting on my knees.
I force my voice to work. “What was her name?”
“Yuri.”
“How old was she?”
“Nine.”
“How did it happen?”
He pauses. His other answers came so clinically, plainly. This time, he falters, lips almost pulled into a frown. “Brain cancer. She battled for the last three years.”
His fingers tighten on my knees.
“She loved animals. Good food. And her mom. She told me—” His voice catches. “She did not want her mom to be alone. To miss her.”
I press the duck to my chest. “What did you say to her?”
He smiles to himself. “That they will be together again.”
A numbness runs through me. From my feet to my ribs.
How does Cary know if they’ll see each other again? He’s only the ferrier. He guides souls to Aides, but Milos decides where they go after. Whether they end up in the Meadows, Elysium, or the Abyss. What happens to children like Yuri?
How much in their short life tips the scales one way or the other?
After a beat, I ask, “Could you have saved her?”
It’s crossed my mind more than once. The power he must hold as a Deathless. But the resigned look on his face says it’s not enough.
“What about Death?”
He exhales a long breath. “Unfortunately, it does not work that way. No one can change what Fate decides.”
My jaw stiffens. I stop myself from screaming. From begging him to find a way. All that power in him—in all the Deathless—and nothing can bring the dead back to life.
I put Yuri’s duck down. “How do you do it?”
“August,” he says, voice scratchy, “I do not have a choice. This is who I am.”
“She was a child, Cary.”
“I know. But it is not always like that.”
A rough laugh shakes me. “Oh, I’m sure it’s all sunshine and rainbows.”
“Sometimes,” Cary tries with a sad smile. “Not often.”