“No,” Mr. Jackson says, but then looks away, unable to hold my gaze. “Well, yes and no. I can’t say that having Xavier didn’t change me. That would be a lie. But I was always for peace, Rhett. My wife, your parents, a few others on the council—we just wanted to live.”
“But your skills are in necromancy. Surely you wanted to use them,” I say.
Bingo. He flinches and I know I’ve hit on something important. Is that shame on his face?
“You’re not wrong,” he says. “Having the ability to do something and not be able to use it is hard. It doesn’t feel natural to withhold something that’s a part of you, built into your very soul. But I was willing to. For Xavier. For my wife. For peace.”
Laney laughs humorlessly. “You’re a piece of work,” she says. “You throw around the word ‘peace’ so easily, and yet you throw out a blanket request on Witches ’R Us for as many corpses as you can get your hands on.”
It’s my turn to flinch, because I hadn’t been thinking about that. About how the Sirens were killing innocent farmers in the field in order to provide corpses to the Necros.
“It wasn’t like that,” Mr. Jackson says. “Not exactly. I asked for corpses, yes.”
“To build an undead army,” I say.
He nods. “But I only asked for witches to bring in corpses that were already available—from Salem’s Revenge.”
“What did you think would happen?” I say. “Your friends went after any corpse they could find, even if that corpse happened to still be walking around with a beating heart. Do I have to spell it out for you? All your request did was encourage witches to kill more humans.”
There’s a touch of sorrow in his eyes, and I can’t help but notice how real it looks. “I was desperate,” he says. “I still am desperate. Our enemies have become far more powerful than even I expected. And they’re doing everything in their power to crush us so they can continue to carry out their plan.”
“Which is?” I ask.
He clams up suddenly, his lips pursed, as if he realizes he’s become far more loose-tongued than originally planned.
“Okay,” I say. “How about what happened during the planning for Salem’s Revenge. How did those in favor of a rebellion against the humans manage to win?”
Mr. Jackson’s eyes cloud over, as if filled with the mist of a sorrowful memory, but his lips open. “At first it was just a stalemate, but then Salem’s Return began…”
“Witches being burned…” Laney murmurs, her voice sounding faraway, perhaps because it’s the first thing out of her mouth that hasn’t been some form of an insult.
“Yes,” Mr. Jackson says. “Not all real witches, mind you. But some were. In any case, it turned the favor somewhat in support of carrying out Salem’s Revenge sooner rather than later. You and Xave were very little when the talks of rebellion were intensifying. Because your parents and I were unwilling to support the rebellion, we started getting threats from those in support.”
“So you were worried that…what? Your enemies would hurt us?”
“Yes,” he says. “Another disagreeing leader died mysteriously in a house fire. His wife and three children were there, too. Some of the biggest supporters of the rebellion were Pyros.” An empty pit cracks open in my stomach. “And then they took Xave’s mother, my wife.”
“And then?”
“Your mother.”
“My mother?” I say sharply. Having no memories of her, I’ve rarely thought of my mother. Of course, like any orphan, I’ve wondered who she was, what she looked like, whether I’ll ever see her. But over time those thoughts disappeared as fantasies.
Xavier’s father nods. No, not Xavier’s father. Mr. Jackson. Or the Reaper. Who is this man standing before me? Am I really believing any of this?
“She got caught in the middle of a gang war, staged by two rival witch gangs. Each had leaders on the committee.” His dark lips form a tight line. “They killed her.”
He keeps talking, but my mind is like a clamshell, blocking out everything except the thud of my heart and my ragged breaths, which seem to burn my lungs. I never even knew my mother, but hearing of her death seems to tear me apart from the inside out. I should feel nothing, like hearing about the death of a stranger, but I find myself aching with sadness. Can the blood-bond with one’s mother be so powerful that even years and years and miles and miles of distance can’t fully sever it?
“Rhett? Rhett?” Xave’s father—and it’s only now that I’m truly beginning to think of him as my best friend’s father, whether I want him to be or not—is trying to get my attention. My eyes snap to him—not to his eyes, but to his hand, which I realize is touching mine through the bars. Comforting me.
“I can stop,” he says. “We can discuss the rest of this another time.”
“No,” I say. “Now. What happened to my father?”
“While I was being a coward, silently grieving the death of my wife and your mother, trying not to draw the attention of our enemies, your father was trying to convince others of the truth. Of the murders. He put a huge target on his back, and the head of the council aimed every weapon she had at it.”
“They killed him,” I say.
Mr. Jackson’s nod is almost imperceptible. “But first they made an example out of him. I had the chance to speak to him while he was still a prisoner, before he disappeared and was proclaimed the victim of a terrible fire at work.”
“What did he say?” I ask, although I already know.
“To protect you,” Mr. Jackson says. “That’s all he ever wanted, was for you to live.”
“And you abandoned us to protect us,” I say.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then why did you take Xavier with you, and not me? Why did you tell him the truth about yourself, about this world, and only give me useless bits and pieces?” I draw my hand away from his, my chest heaving with anger.
“Maybe I did the wrong thing,” he says, which takes the wind right out of my angry sails. I’ve never heard Mr. Jackson admit he might be wrong. He was always so certain, so confident as to his abilities, both mental and physical. Was it all an act? “I was doing my best. Xavier is a warlock. He was needed right away. The other Necros trained him, put him right to work. We needed every body we could get.”
“And me?” I say.
“You were a human, but I loved you anyway, no matter what the others said. I knew you were strong, but I didn’t realize just how strong. I wanted to keep you away from it all. If I had told you the truth about me, you would have freaked out. You would have run away sooner than you did.”
“But you trained me. Why?”
“Just in case,” Mr. Jackson says. “If anything ever happened to me, you’d still have a chance, no matter how small. As it turns out, your chances were probably better without me.”
A fuzzy question flutters around the edges of my brain, slowly taking shape. “But you didn’t try to steer me away from going after the Necros. Why would you make me hate your own gang? You had to know I’d find out eventually.”
“It was my failsafe,” Mr. Jackson says. “If we were ever separated, at least I knew you’d try to find the Necros, which meant you’d try to find me without even knowing it.”
“And you told me exactly how to find you. Just follow the smaller groups of Necros back to the bigger group.” The puzzle is becoming clearer and clearer, but something’s still not making sense. “You said I’m valuable. A Resistor. How could you risk me being taken or killed by one of your enemies?”
I hold my breath as if everything hinges on this one question. “I didn’t know that’s what you were,” he says.
What does that mean? That if he knew what I was that he would have done things differently? “And now you just want me because I can help you? That a lowly human could help your side come out on top?”
“No,” he says, backing away slightly. “I’m just tryi
ng to keep my promise. Out there”—he motions beyond the walls of the dungeons—“there are powerful witches trying to find you. They might try to turn you to their side, or they might just find it easier to kill you, to eliminate you from the equation.”
“And why did you split me and Laney up? Put us in different cells?”
“I don’t know her. I don’t trust her. I have to protect you, no matter what.”
“Rhett,” Laney finally says. “You’re not buying this, are you? C’mon, his lies smell like horse manure, even from over here.”
I hate to admit it, but everything he’s saying makes sense. His words are answering so many questions. But still…
“If you want us to believe you, let us out of these cages.”
Mr. Jackson cringes, as if in pain. “It’s not safe yet.”
I roll my eyes. “When will it be safe?”
“When I figure out which Necros I can trust.”
“See?” Laney says, as if she’s just won an argument. “You can’t even control your own kind. This whole world is a screwed up awful place because of the witches, and you want us to believe you, to trust you?”
“All I’m asking is for you to think about what I’ve said. You’ll have more questions later. I’ll answer as many as I can, and hopefully all of them one day.”
I can’t think about it. Not now. And I can’t be thinking about Mr. Jackson as an ally, someone to make choices with, someone on my side. He’s already done too much evil; and even under a flag of peace, evil is still evil, murder is still murder.
I pull to my feet and round on him. “What you’re doing with Xave, leading him on like that—it’s cruel.”
Mr. Jackson’s dark eyebrows lift. I’ve surprised him again. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You gave him Felix to make him more pliable, less rebellious through all of this. It’s the same reason you told him I was dead.”
“Is it so wrong to give your friend happiness? That’s all I’ve ever wanted for the both of you.”
“And when this is over? Felix dumps him, is that it? What then?”
“You don’t know everything, Rhett,” he says.
“And whose fault is that?” I say, suddenly wishing we never had any of this conversation. Wishing things could go back to how they were when my parents weren’t magic-born and the Reaper was just another evil warlock.
“I loved your parents,” Mr. Jackson says. “I always will. But I won’t let her death go to waste. Do you want to meet her?”
“What?” I say, not understanding. “Do you have a picture?”
“Better,” he says. “Bring her in.”
Two warlocks step into the light, dragging a cage on wheels. I shrink back when I see the creature inside. A woman, greased dreadlock-like hair hanging in brown vines around her face, which is eyeless and noseless, with just a gaping hole for a mouth, filled with rows of pointy teeth.
“I couldn’t leave her to rot in the ground,” Mr. Jackson says, and what freaks me out the most is that he seems so serious about it, like this…thing actually makes sense to him. The creature’s hands squirm through the bars, her clawed fingers raking at the air, her sexless body writhing with pent up fury and madness.
The bile rises faster than I can choke it down and I throw up all over myself.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Long after the creature who the Reaper claimed was my mother brought back from the dead has been wheeled away, the image of her bony, naked body pollutes my mind, bringing up fresh waves of revulsion.
The smell of vomit on my soiled clothes doesn’t help either.
Laney’s been silent for a long time. She asked if I was okay. I grunted a response, and she didn’t say anything after that.
Honestly, I don’t think either of us are okay.
Eventually, I think we both drift off to sleep.
If my dreams are filled with horrible nightmares, I don’t remember them when I awake. “Laney,” I whisper to the flickering lantern-light, which never seems to go out.
“Yeah.”
“What do we do?” I ask. It’s a weird question considering the circumstances, but Laney doesn’t so much as snicker at it. She understands.
“I don’t care if he’s Xave’s father or your uncle or a god. He’s not telling us everything. We need to ditch his magged-up ass. And then we’ll find New America and find out what’s really going on.”
Instead of responding to her idea, I say, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You mean a prisoner in a cell?” she says seriously.
“No. With me. I couldn’t get through this without you and your snarky comments.”
“Good to know someone appreciates me,” she says, but I can feel a sliver of pride in her voice. And then: “Do you think Trish is okay?”
“Hex will protect her. Not that she needs it. She seems more than capable of protecting herself.”
“But they’re hunting her. She’s powerful, and the rest of her kind has been destroyed. Everyone will be after her.”
I didn’t realize Laney believed that part of what Mr. Jackson said. “We’ll find her first,” I say, although I don’t have the slightest idea how we’ll accomplish that.
“A fine pair we are,” Laney says. “My sister’s a witch who killed my witch and warlock parents. And your parents were magic-born, only when they died no one could find your father’s body, and your best friend’s father—who, oh yeah, is also a warlock—brought your mother back from the dead as some creepy monster. Oh, and don’t forget your best friend is a warlock, too, or at least thinks he is.”
“Yeah, we’re pretty messed up. We could start our own support group,” I say.
Laney laughs. “Yeah, yeah! Screwed Up Witch Families Anonymous,” Laney says.
I laugh, too, doing my best to pretend we’re back on the road, far, far away from this place. Reality swoops in almost immediately. “So you believe what Xave and Mr. Jackson are saying?”
Laney sighs, deep and blustery. “I don’t know what to think. But the Reaper seemed pretty sincere the last time.”
I nod silently, thinking.
Laney says, “What I don’t get is why he would show you your mom like that. It was obvious he was getting to you with his softer side.”
I think about it for a minute. A thought springs to mind. “I think he was showing me that he’s done with the lies. That he’s willing to lay everything on the table now. His past, his present, and his plans for the future.”
“We can use that,” Laney says.
“Yes. Yes we can,” I say.
~~~
Three days go by without visitors, and then Xave shows up. His jaw is tense, all hard lines. Unfortunately, he’s the type to hold a grudge. I waste no time on subtleties.
“Xave, I’m sorry,” I say.
His black cloak shivers slightly, as if he’s cold. He hugs himself. “I…I was angry,” he says.
“I know, and I’m really, reall—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. My eyes dart to his face, which is no longer hard and tight. In fact, it’s the opposite—soft and falling. Is that shame? “I was angry because what you said about Felix is probably true.”
I’m stunned, but I don’t say a word for fear of changing the trajectory of the conversation. Laney’s smart enough to withhold the Told you so that’s surely on the tip of her tongue.
“I’ve known for a long time that Felix was probably just helping me get acclimated, trying to ensure I didn’t do anything silly. I considered dumping him, but…”
He trails away and I can see tears glistening in his eyes. “What happened?” I say.
“Nothing,” he says, “and that’s the problem. Felix is as perfect as always. We never fight. There’s never any drama. And you know how much I love drama.”
I manage a smile, which he returns weakly. “You’ve always loved drama,” I say. “Hence your obsession with reality TV.”
“I miss it,” Xave says.<
br />
“Reality TV?”
“No…well, yes. That. But not just that. Everything. How things used to be. You know, shopping and studying and movies.”
“You hate studying,” I say.
Xavier looks at me seriously. “You wouldn’t believe how much I miss studying. I’d kill for a good biology exam.”
I laugh for the second time this week, which makes me realize this is the first normal conversation I’ve had with Xavier since I found him. No robotic voice. Just Xave. My best friend.
“How about a French final?” I say.
He screws up his face. “I don’t miss studying that much,” he says.
“Do you have any books? We could start a dungeon study group.”
I thought it was funny, but tears well up in Xavier’s eyes. Uh oh. Normal conversation over. “You know, I really am a warlock,” he says. “A really powerful one. I know, I know, it’s hard to tell just looking at me, but it’s true. I’ve raised people from the dead.”
The image of my mother-monster flashes through my head. “Like my mom?” I say.
All humor is gone from Xavier’s face. “No. Father brought her back years ago. I know it’s hard to see her like that, although I guess you never really saw her before that anyway. I know it seems heartless to bring bodies back like that, but I believe they’re still in there somewhere, the people. We’re trying to use our creations to bring about good, as weird as that sounds. And my work is much more precise than Father’s. I’m an artist. I can reanimate a corpse and make the person look almost exactly like they did before they died. Fewer mutations.”
Is he really comparing creating monsters to art? “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night,” Laney says, finally unable to hold her tongue.
I’m glad she says it, because I was about to say the same thing and I don’t want to destroy any bridges Xavier and I have built during this short conversation.
Xave ignores Laney like she’s not even there. “Did you know it takes the same number of weeks to reanimate a body as the number of years old they were when they died?”