“Since I am on vacation,” he said, his voice back to its normal timbre, “this death,yourdeath, would require my direct attention. I find I do not wish to cancel my vacation early to guide your soul beyond this place of rest. Therefore…”
He leaned toward me and bent at the waist, a tower of force, of infinite power. A god and more than a god. Older than a god.Original.
“Therefore,” he repeated, “I deny your current condition. I am not life, but I do not grant you death.” He straightened. “Return, soul. Return to living. Return, spirit. Return to life. Breathe and live and love. Fulfill your destiny among the living, the unalive, the gods and deities, all.”
He drew his scythe forward, planting the wooden snath into the ground in front of him. I expected him to strike me, but the weapon morphed so that the snath became a string, and the arched blade turned into a bright yellow kite.
There was no breeze I could feel, but the kite rose into the air.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It is a Delta kite,” he said, as if that was the important thing I needed to know. “It is excellent in uncertain winds. Easy for beginners. Hold the line. Yes. Exactly. And the reel. There. Adequate. Now. Return. Andremember.”
A wind kicked, swirling and rolling like ocean currents, bringing with it the smell of fir trees, salt air, and summer rain on hot pavement. The kite jerked, buffeted by the wind. I corrected it, my hands automatically trying to steady the little yellow wing’s swoop and tremble.
The wind grew stronger; the kite soared higher and higher, until the reel was nearly empty of line. I tugged, trying to bring the kite down, closer to the ground, away from the wild storm building.
The kite stuttered and dove.
I reeled in the line, but couldn’t wind the string fast enough. Childhood reflexes kicked in. I ran, trying to keep tension between me and the kite, trying to keep it flying.
One step, two, three—
—and my boot hit pavement, smooth and black. Momentum kept me running, my lungs working like I was coming down out of a sprint. I inhaled the scent of oak leaves and grass, and beyond that, a thicker blend of automobile oil, rust, and strangely, caramel.
I put the brakes on and blinked hard. The kite was gone, Death was gone.
The pain radiating from my ankle, cramping in my calves and shoulders, and the pounding of my heart and head indicated that yes, I was uncomfortably alive.
I had no idea where I was.
The road was actually a drive, almost too narrow for a car. A farmhouse sat half an acre off at the end of the drive. The house had two stories, with dormers above and a porch below. It needed a new paint job, but otherwise seemed sturdy enough.
Behind me was a barn big enough for two stalls, split wood fencing edging the field. When the breeze shifted, I got a noseful of the distinct smell of chickens.
“Hey!” a woman’s voice called out.
I squinted at the figure waving her hand on the farmhouse porch.
“You’re late!”
I, stupidly, looked behind me, as if there were someone else she was waving at.
“You, Brogan. I’m talking to you.”
“Eunice?”
Her cackle was all I needed to know I’d guessed right.
Then a familiar bark filled the air and Lorde, our big fluffy dog, barreled out of the house and down the road toward me. I still had the dagger in my hand and quickly stowed it into my waistband.
I knelt and got an armful of wriggling, whining, happy, licking dog.
“Hey, girl,” I said, burying my face in her fur and breathing in her familiar smell. “Hey, sweet girl. Is Lu here too? And Abbi?”
Lorde stopped wiggling and let me lean on her, her soft panting the sound of home.
“Get on up here,” Eunice called. “You have made a mess of things. We need to iron it all out.”
