CLAY
four months earlier
Death and I have come to a somewhat one-sided agreement. I stay as far away from him and his business as possible, or... I die. We tolerate one another for the sake of the human race. The balance between life and death is as delicate as fine-spun thread.
Death chases life with reckless abandon; nothing stands in his way. His is not a curse—like mine—that he carries as an unbearable weight upon his shoulders. His is a calling from a higher power to ensure the scales remain balanced now, and into eternity.
He is immortal.
He is inanimate.
He is everywhere.
Death is the change of seasons, and the end of a storm—the last snowfall of winter and the first buds of spring. Even the beginning of a sunset signifies the death of daylight and the emergence of the night. Death picks up where life left off. Humans fear it. They’re terrified of the unknown, and of the known. They plan for it in secret, knowing it’s coming but never mentioning the word out loud.
No one will ever know how beautiful death truly is. Those final moments of a mortal’s life are filled with nothing but their hopes and dreams and their greatest regrets. It is the one single moment when they are truly selfish and selfless all at once.
When humans are not investing in life, they’re investing in death.
“Come on, I want to get there before they all leave.” My harpie, Tayah, tugs on my hand and leads me through a dark alley and into the three-storey building where the local drug addicts and homeless teens hang out. The dilapidated concrete building was once a small community centre, but after the town was overrun with gangs, street fights, and drag racing hoons, the community centre was closed down.
We head up the dimly lit, narrow stairwell to the third floor of the building where the worn industrial style grey carpet has been torn up on one side to make space for a steel drum filled with hot coals. The windows are all broken, and shards of shattered glass are littered across the floor along with discarded needles, dirty clothes and bedding, and piles of trash. Half the ceiling has caved in and the open roof makes for a mesmerising view of the night sky. Not that anyone here will ever notice.
The scent of death lingers in the air—a scent I find strangely comforting, even when I try to ignore it.
Tayah runs her fingers along the back of a cracked leather sofa then swipes away the dust before she sits.
One of the regulars, Harry, sticks a needle into the soft flesh inside his arm. Another guy I haven’t seen before holds his phone out, directing the light from his phone torch onto Harry’s vein.
Tayah whispers against my cheek, pointing to the guy with Harry. “That one.”
I take off my gloves then tuck them into the back pocket of my jeans. When I squat in front of them—avoiding a pile of discarded needles—Harry pulls the syringe from his arm and extends his hand. “Want some?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t do that shit.” I nod toward the other guy. “Who’s your mate?”
Harry cocks his head. His pupils dilate while the drugs course through his thin, scarred veins. “This is ah... it’s... Rob—Robbo.”
Tayah laughs beside me. “Fucking druggies.”
Rob Robbo leans against the wall while he pierces the syringe into his own vein.
I pull up the plastic crate and sit on it, watching him. Does he have a family? Do they care if he’s dead or alive? Most of the young ones here have no family anymore. They’ve either been kicked out of home, or they’ve left of their own accord. This is the last stop before they meet their untimely deaths. In some ways, it’s a hell of a lot better than prison where they’ll be turned into some criminal’s plaything. They’re all too young, too jaded, and too afraid to venture back into a world that’s turned its back on them one too many times.
Tayah runs her fingers over my hand, igniting my curse and causing tiny veins of blue light to glow beneath my skin. I clench my fist and reach out to Rob. He doesn’t flinch at my touch; he doesn’t react at all. They never do when they’re high on drugs and oblivious to the dangers surrounding them.
A tornado of fleeting moments plays through my mind. Each one a vivid recollection of Rob’s life. From his messed-up childhood where he was abused and beaten by his stepfather, to his suicide attempt at seventeen, and subsequent hospitalisation.
The drugs they pumped him with to ensure his happiness are the same drugs he came to depend on. His life has been one fight for survival after another.
His death, as untimely as it is, will be his salvation. It will come to him in a drug induced sleep where he’ll imagine a life without those drugs. A life free from addiction where he is loved by his family and friends. Death will take him into that dream, and for the first time in his short life, he will regret the moments he missed and wish for another chance.
That is the beauty of death. It has the power to obliterate pain and bring ultimate peace in one tiny moment of clarity.
Through my curse, some things I’ve seen have rocked me to my core. The worst by far was Bella’s past life. Even Tayah couldn’t believe the hellish torture Bella endured. Humans can be the most evil of all monsters.
Killing people, especially humans is not something I ever imagined I’d do. The arduous weight of my actions is ever present, reminding me of what I have become. Of what I am.
Tayah’s voice sends a wave of serenity washing over me. “It’s done. Two hours.”
In two, short hours his life will end. Sometimes, it’s instant, other times they don’t succumb to death until weeks, or even months after I’ve touched them. I pull back my hand and sigh as I get to my feet.
Harry’s eyes roll back and he laughs before his head lolls to the side. He’ll wake up in a few hours and realise his friend is dead. That realisation could be what drives him to seek help and get clean. It could also be his undoing.
Without turning back, I follow Tayah out of the building and head back to the dingy motel where my car is parked.
For one to live, one must die. Tayah reminds me of our unspoken mantra every time I end someone’s life. It doesn’t change anything. I never find out who is going to live instead. It could be a child; it could be Malum, the Commander of the Fray. Whoever it is, tonight, someone will get a second chance.
On the drive back to Ambrosia Valley, I recall the humans I’ve killed. Knox tells me it’s technically not killing if I’m not there at the exact time of their death. “Technicalities,” he says as though it makes what I am, okay. Of all my brothers, I’m surprised it’s him who cares the most about my emotions, since he has no care for his own... at all.
On the flip side, there have been times I’ve been able to save someone, but even that comes with torment and regret. For every life I save, someone will die. Anyone. Human or angel. Trepidation rules those moments, it’s something Tayah avoids, too. Since either one of us could be the one who dies. With my niece and nephew to worry about, the weight of what I do has grown heavier.
Mine is a true curse.
I always envied my brothers, especially Flynn. For a long time, I wished I were the one cursed by Venys. Anything would be better than being a killer—Than being the one who knows with certainty when each one of their brothers is going to die. We may be immortals, but we have limits. When removed, heads and hearts cannot regenerate.