Unchosen (3 page)

The whole world would be destroyed.

"Look," said Rath. He pointed to a box that sat in front of the cage. The obsidian box was as big as a coffee table, and the marble sides gleamed in the dancing shadows of the fires rimming Set’s cage.

"Well, that’s not good," I said. I couldn't begin to calculate how many souls would fit into that container. Thousands. Maybe millions. Surely, Set's followers hadn't been able to fill that thing. It wouldn't be possible. Would it? I went completely still and cold. "How did they get souls for it?" I asked.

Rath glanced at me.

We heard creaking and cracking, and Set’s mournful cries turned to triumphant sounds.

The cage exploded.

Molly’s Reaper Diary

Portents, Visions, Symbols, Signs, and Dreams

A
S A REAPER-IN-TRAINING, you may have visions, déjà a vu, and nightmares. How can you tell the difference between a nightmare that’s warning you about impending doom and an embarrassing dream where you show up naked to Algebra class? Either one could be a vision of the future, but you should probably pay attention to the one that has fire, screaming, and explosions.

Symbols and signs will pop up, too—in your life and in your drea
ms. Portents are ways that the gods or other supernatural creatures (like
sheuts
, or ghosts, or whatever) try to communicate with you. I’ve never understood why someone (or something) can’t just tap you on the shoulder and say, “Look, the apocalypse will be here on Tuesday. You might want to get a helmet and a weapon. Tell your friends.”

But, no, it never works that way. The future can be told, but not written. Choices and free will mess around with outcomes, and P.S. gods aren’t too good about keeping track of time. They’re like, “Wow. The end of the world already? I thought that was last millennium.” Immortals don’t use calendars. That’s why prophecies are so vague and can have fifty different interpretations.

If you have a prophetic dream, your first response will probably be to freak out. You may wake up screaming, or gasping, or even roll off the bed and bash your face into the nightstand. Once you recover, go get some exercise and try to shake off the heebie-jeebies. I usually go for a run and keep going until my legs feel like wet noodles and my lungs feel like they’re gonna burst. Then I go eat ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

Oh, if you can’t find ice cream, don’t settle for a Popsicle. Popsicles won’t help at all.

“
Evil does not always come in supernatural forms. Humans are often capable of deeds darker than even the gods can imagine.”

~
Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown

“Believe in the gods, and they will believe in you.”

~Kelley Hartsell, Curator for the Anubis Oracle in Reno, Nevada

Chapter 3

“MISS BARTOLUCCI!” DR. ALLISON Mayfair’s voice, rife with censure, bolted me upright in my desk and scattered my worries to the corners of my fogged-out mind.

My 9 a.m. Necromancy Literature class was not my favorite, and I’d been thinking about Set and Rath and dying in cave. The nap-time nightmare hadn’t left my thoughts.
In fact, I hadn’t slept much at all last night. I was too afraid of falling back into that horrible dream.

“Am I boring you?”

“Huh? What?” My voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. I heard other students laugh as I blinked down at my notebook. I hadn’t taken any notes, unless you counted the skull with fiery eyes and scythe clenched in its teeth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clarissa Jacobs lean forward and whisper to one of her minions. They stared at me while tittering in common derision.

I looked up at Dr. Mayfair, who stood at her lectern in front of the class, her razor-gaze cutting me to ribbons. “I can only assume, Miss Bartolucci, that you were absolutely riveted by Chapter Five of J. Benjamin Parker’s
Keep Thy Soul
.”

I flinched. I hadn’t read Chapter Five. Okay, I hadn’t read any chapters of
Keep Thy Soul
. I’d tried, mind you, but it was written in the 1600s, it was all “thee’s” and “thou’s” and big words nobody used anymore. I’d given up after paragraph three.

“Um … I didn’t understand it,” I said.

“Ah. Then perhaps you’ll take a moment to listen to my thoughts about the devious Lord Manning and his innocent ward, Sally Wright.”

Embarrassment knotted my throat, and I nodded. My face felt flushed, like someone had taken a blowtorch to my skin. I heard Clarissa snicker, and I tamped down my urge to punch her in the face. Instead, I put my pen against paper and dutifully prepared to write actual notes.

“The author used Miss Wright as an example of magical purity,” continued Dr. Mayfair. “Can someone tell me what Lord Manning represented?”

Clarissa’s hand shot up, and Dr. Mayfair gifted her with a rare smile. “Yes, Clarissa?”

My nemesis pushed a silky red tress behind her ear, offered us less studious peons an arrogant smile, and said, “Lord Manning is the representation of corrupted magic.”

“Ah! Exactly.”

Clarissa swung around and gave me a smarmy grin. I put my hand under the desk and wiggled my fingers until she looked at them.

I flipped her off.

She glared at me, and returned to her note-taking. And I returned to my skull doodle, adding a jaunty pirate hat while Dr. Mayfair droned on about necromancy gone awry in fifteenth century England.

Mercifully, end-of-class bells chimed, and we all scooted from our seats. I threw my notebook and pen into my bag, lobbed it over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Miss Bartolucci. A word, please.”

Crap.
I look longingly at the doorway, escape mere steps away, and then I dutifully turned around. “Yes, Dr. Mayfair?”

“You’re a bright girl, Molly. I know not everyone is as enthusiastic about necro lit as I am, but this is a core class required for graduation. Paying attention to details will benefit you—not only in this class, but in other areas as well.”

“Okay,” I said. She lifted a brow, so I added, “I’ll pay closer attention from now on. Promise.”

Dr. Mayfair looked at me, and I got the feeling she was trying to convey something more important than understanding metaphors written by authors long dead. In fact, she held my gaze for so long, I started to feel uneasy. “Is there something else, Dr. Mayfair?” I asked.

Dr. Mayfair blinked, as though she hadn’t realized just how hard she’d been staring at me. She pulled back a little and placed her pale hand on desk’s edge. I noticed that her fingers trembled.

“Did you know they made a movie about
Keep Thy Soul
?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I believe it came out in 1942. The film is black and white, and three hours long. They modernized the language, of course, but it’s still a fair representation of Parker’s excellent novel.” She straightened in her chair, and then waved me off. “Don’t be late to your next class.” She grabbed a red pen and attacked the student papers neatly stacked in front of her.

I was apparently dismissed.

I left the classroom, wondering why Dr. Mayfair let me know about the movie—
and why didn’t I think of that already
—and if I was just imagining the undertone of her “pay attention to details” message. These days, it was difficult to have a conversation without searching for hidden meanings and secret messages. Yep. Just another fab component of being the daughter of Anubis.

I LANDED ON my backside, and pain edged up my spine. I thought about climbing to my feet and letting Rath pummel me some more, but I was too tired.

“What’s the matter, brown eyes? You quittin’?”

“Yeah,” I said. Sweat dripped down my neck. We’d been training for more than hour, and with another hour to go for my “independent study” class, I figured I could take a breather. Plus, I didn’t want to get up.

To my surprise Rath lay down on his back beside me, close enough so that the tip of his fingers touched mine.

“You thinking about him?”

Him.
Rick Widdenstock. First crush. First kiss. First soul. I had screwed up so bad. “Yeah. I guess so,” I said.

The guilt was still there, but those feelings for Rick? I didn’t know. We hadn’t been together long enough to have a real relationship. I had changed so much from the girl who had wanted Rick. And at the end? Rick’s feelings hadn’t compelled him to stay close to me. I had done that with my reaper magic—without even knowing it. He was my thrall, not my boyfriend.

Rath said nothing, and the silence between us was as thick as poisoned honey.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” he said, his voice gruff.

I rolled onto my side and propped my head up, so that I faced Rath. He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

“I feel awful about everything I put him through … and sure, there’s grief there, too.” I struggled with how to express what I felt—jeez, I needed one of Dr. Mayfair’s metaphors. “I can’t say my heart wanted Rick then, much less now.”

Rath glanced at me. “Yeah? What does your heart want?”

You.
I licked my lips, drawing Rath’s attention to my mouth. Something sharp and electric zigzagged through me. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that I liked him. I thought that maybe I should tell him about the dream, but … well, it didn’t feel like a good idea. And it really didn’t feel like a good idea to go all
I heart you Sooooo much
on him, either.

“I don’t know what I want,” I said. “Not yet, anyway. I’m still trying to figure it all out.”

His gaze warmed, and a smile tugged his lips. “I’ll be here when you do.” He rolled to his feet, and then gestured at me to c’mon. “Let’s go, brown eyes. You really need to practice your tuck and rolls.”

I groaned. Tuck and rolls were my least favorite move. It
had taken forever for me to learn how to do one from a standing position, and half the time, I still face-planted.

I climbed to my feet.

“Don’t give me the puppy-dog look,” he said.

I jutted out my lip and pretended to sniffle.

“Lame,” he said, stifling laughter. He made his expression serious, but he couldn’t quite extinguish the twinkle in his eyes. “Ten in a row, brown eyes. Go!”

“MEETING,” SNAPPED CLARISSA. She and her two favorite minions stood in front me, blocking me from moving forward with my tray of food. Over her shoulder, I looked longingly at the lunch table where all my friends sat. I could see them staring me. Barbie lifted her hands in a WTF gesture, and all I could do was shake my head.

Every day this week, Clarissa had pulled last-minute meeting bullcrap. Since Clarissa had a leadership position in the society, she liked to throw her weight around—especially at me. I couldn’t explain to my friends why I was even talking to wicked bitch of the west, so I told them we’d been assigned as lab partners for a science project.

“Another lunchtime meeting?” I asked. “What’s on the agenda today? Make-up tips? Shoe advice? Why red is the color of evil?”

Clarissa rolled her eyes and tossed her red hair. “Well, I’m sorry the business of the Nekros Society is screwing up your social life. You could always quit, Molly. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about little things like saving the world.”

Her minions giggled.

I looked at them. “Don’t you hav
e an appointment with the 1980s … you know, to give those dresses back?”

Their expressions went
as hard as stone. Accusing someone in Clarissa’s circle of bad fashion was akin to declaring war. They both smoothed their stripped dresses with the triangular shoulder pads. Their hair was slicked and braided into long ropes. They were almost twin-like, except one was short and blonde and the other tall and brunette. The blonde lifted her finger and I saw a thin line of glittery black magic sprout from her nail, coiling like a pet snake around her hand. She hissed at me, raising that finger, but Clarissa grabbed her arm.

“Knock it off,” demanded Clarissa. “You want to get sanctioned? You know the rules. No reaper magic outside of training.”

Oh, sure. Like Clarissa was all about following the rules, even though the first day I met her, she used her magic to trip me and humiliate me.

“Every member has been called to the temple.”
Clarissa’s smile was thin, and as shiny as a blade. “Daddy has an announcement.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I maneuvered around her and the evil twins, and hurried to the table
where my friends waited for me.

Barbie, who was dressed in black lace and striped leggings, glared at me. The kohl around her eyes was extra heavy and she wore scarlet red lipstick. “What the hell did her highness want this time? Does she need help clipping her talons?”

“It’s that stupid lab thing,” I said. “I can’t stay for lunch.”

“Shocker,” said Barbie. She looked down and contemplated her ketchup-bathed French fries. “Have fun with your new BFF.”

Argh! It seemed I’d been spending most of my time feeling bad—and right now was no exception. I hated ditching my friends, and I really hated lying to them.

“You still up for tonight?” asked Autumn.

“My room is your room,” I said. “Movie night is on.”

“My dad brought home snake jerky from Cambodia,” said Daniel. As usual, he wore his special sunglasses. As an
ib heka
, he could see a person’s true worth. It was a rare necro power and one that had to be used carefully. He was the only dude in our friend zone—sorta the Eeyore of our group.

“Uh, no,” said Trina. Trina was dark as cocoa with long silky black hair that fell past her shoulders. She wore her favorite color: pink. Today, it was a shimmery white tank with pink polka dots tucked into skinny pink jeans. “If you bring that crap to movie night, I
will
cut you.”

We all laughed.

Daniel shrugged. “It’s good,” he said. “You’re missing out.”

Autumn threw a balled-up napkin at him, which bounced off Daniel’s head and landed in Barbie’s messy fries. She sighed and flicked the napkin off her food. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I gotta go.” I looked down at my supreme nachos, and mourned the loss of cheesy calories. “Anybody want my—”

“Girl, you know I want those.” Trina lifted her hands in a “gimme” gesture. I handed Trina my tray, and she wasted no time digging in to my lunch.

“See you tonight,” I said.

Everyone said bye, and I trudged out of the cafeteria, pissed at Clarissa for the umpteenth time since I’d been at Nekyia. Not only was she ruining my social life (what little I had these days), but I just knew she’d been the one to plant the soul box in my dorm room. She had the number-one motive: get rid of her competition.

The temple was near the school, but it was underground and could only be accessed if you knew the way to the entrance and if you knew the magic passwords to open the carved stone door.

The secret headquarters of the Nekros Society had been built at the same time as the school, except the temple was created inside a natural cavern. The temple was covered in wall reliefs that told the stories of Anubis and his reapers.

Getting to the temple meant going outside, entering the woods, and walking downhill on a path most people used to go down to the lake. About halfway down this path, I veered off and continued to a small hillside. Hidden by illusionary magic, I walked through what appeared to be a pile of brush and fallen trees. Then I pushed on the hidden door and uttered the magical password.

The rock-carved staircase was lit by blue-flamed torches.
As I descended, I heard conversations rumbling and shoes scuffing as restless teens awaited the great Mac Jacobs’ “announcement” in the main area of the temple.