“They still carry the echo of my old energy,” I say. “They’re residual conduits of me. If I scatter them in a wide enough radius, I can anchor the barrier to myself. It’ll fuse the wards, the salt, and my power into something stronger than any of them alone.”
Nathaniel watches me with that analytical look of his, like he’s running the math in his head. “Okay,” he says finally, as if this is a perfectly normal sentence to hear in our situation.
“Let’s go get them, then,” Cassian says. “Where are they?”
“In my room,” Nathaniel replies.
“Nothing better than keeping a skeleton of your girlfriend in your closet, am I right?” Talon jokes.
Cassian gives him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re one joke away from being buried next to them.”
Talon grins wider. “Then we’d match. Couple goals.”
I roll my eyes. “Both of you, shut up. Nathaniel, get the bones alone. I need to prepare a little.”
He nods and leaves. A moment later he’s back with a small canvas bag, and he hands it to me with a careful sort of reverence. I take it and cradle it against my chest for a second, letting the weight of it settle, before I lift my gaze to the others.
“All right,” I say, softer now. “Let’s go.”
It is time to put my big girl pants on. What I am about to do is not made for an amateur. It will take speed and grace, and an almost ridiculous amount of theatrical prowess. I have to get outside and scatter my bones across the grounds before Rhea and her Grims catch on to what I am doing, and why.
Because the thing I said about purpose, about what it means to exist as a Grim Reaper, applies to Rhea too. She is at full power, just like me. And I have every reason to believe she broke out of the cycle Death put her in. She does not seem to be doing this to kill murderers so she can move on, not the way her friends do.
I think Rhea’s purpose is to help her friends move on.
That is what she said before, wasn’t it. Ever since her death, she has been helping other victims wake up from the emotionless trance and find their core again. I think that, in her mind, she was making them stronger. But in reality, she was feeding the belief that without the death of their abusers, they would never be free.
And that is why, after I seal the hospital grounds, I need to talk to her. I need to try. If she understands the whole process, maybe she will understand me too.
We get to work. The boys handle the salt, their runes, and whatever else they have going on, while I turn into a superhero. I float up, drift to the far wall that separates the inside from the outside, and take a deep breath before slipping through.
Outside, at least a few dozen crows are waiting. The girls are definitely getting impatient with us, which is all the more reason to hurry the fuck up.
I fly fast, the wind screaming past my ears as the bag of bones bumps lightly against my hip. I dart over the hospital’s shadowed grounds, and the crows scatter when I pass, their wings slicing through the air like black ribbons. Each time I drop a bone, I lace it with my power.
One goes down by the gate. Another lands near the cracked asphalt path. Two more hit the field where the ambulance shells still rest. When I loop over the roof and spot the Grim Reaper girls, I slow just a fraction and let myself smile. You know, not to seem suspicious. Then I’m gone again, up and around, scattering the last bones in a sweeping arc that outlines the entire perimeter.
I’m almost finished. One more turn and the whole task will be done.
Then she’s there.
Rhea materializes in the air ahead of me, perfectly still, her hair fanning out behind her. Power rolls off her in a steady wave that makes my stomach twist. I can tell this is a quiet cock-measuring contest to her, a way to show me she’s strong. I do not think she means it cruelly, but she also does not feel as friendly as she did in the murder van.
“Hi, Skye,” she says. “What are you doing?”
I halt mid-flight, hovering a few feet away.
Time to act.
“Ah, you know. Trying to seal the hospital off in case the wraiths get out of the Skystones,” I say. “We should have done it before we left, but things were just so… hectic back then.”
Hectic is too weak a word, but fine. I’m not going to rehash the past. Rhea threatened to kill me, and that lives in its own category of memory. We’re past that now. Right?
I search her face, trying to figure out if she thinks so too, but I can’t read her reaction.
“Don’t you think that’s wishful thinking?” she asks. “Twelve wraiths are surely stronger than your wards.”
“Perhaps,” I admit. “But we would be fools not to try.”
