Rising (49 page)

“So, the reapers are immortal?” asked
Ben, licking his fingers clean, completely un-phased by all this.
 
He was a strange anomaly.

“No, Ben,” said Gabe, “they can die
easily enough.”

It took a second for Gabe’s comment to
sink in.
 
It felt good that he had so
much confidence.
 
We needed it.
 
That made me think about that time I saw
those creepy shadow scouts in my living room, how they flinched away from me
when I made like I was moving toward them.

“Why do the reapers hate us so much?” I
asked.
 
“I can feel it when they look at
me.”

“Perhaps they envy what they have
lost,” suggested Homer, “they’ve lost their humanity.
 
I once saw a shadow scout being made in a
vision I had when Freya’s clan was attacked in a Celtic village.
 
A large man was transformed by a reaper, and
when he was, he seemed disoriented and confused.
 
One of the reapers grabbed him by the arm and
quickly took him away.
 
I still don’t
know exactly why.”

“Can you guess?
 
I know that you’ve given it some thought,”
said Gabe.

Homer nodded.

“As a matter of fact, I have.
 
I think that the longer the shadow scouts
live, feeding on the dark energy of the reapers, they lose more and more of
their human souls.
 
The reapers are evil
through and through, living off the murders of others.
 
Anything that comes from these creatures is
full of their malevolence.
 
I believe
that when they’re first made, they’re confused by the transformation and need
some kind of assimilation into their new existence.
 
Now, how this is done, I don’t know.”

I noticed then that Gabe was staring at
me. What I hadn’t noticed was that I was crying quietly.
 
I couldn’t help but think of Jessie, and how
wrong it was that she was doomed to live on forever, becoming more like these
wicked beasts.
 
I wondered where they’d
taken her, what they’d done to her, and if she would be there tonight when we
fought to kill them all.
 
It was so
unfair.
 
I wanted it all to go away, this
empty sadness from the loss of two loved ones—my mother now dead and my cousin
a slave to these foul demons.
 

“What if,” I said in a half-whisper,
“what if Jessie is with them tonight?”

I couldn’t even meet Homer’s gaze, but
I felt the empathy in his voice.

“She is no longer your cousin
Jessie.
 
Not anymore.”

Mel sat next to me on the end of the
sofa and touched my arm.
 
I knew what she
was going to do.
 
I almost wanted to
shrug her off, feeling like I deserved to feel the grief and pain, knowing it
was my failure that caused my mother’s death, wondering why I was the one who
lived and not Jessie.
 
But, I didn’t
shrug her away.
 
Just as she began
soothing me with her healing art, Jeremy walked through the door.
 
By the time he made it to our circle near the
window, I could feel that despair floating away somewhere.
 
It was a temporary fix, but I was glad to
feel that grief drifting away.

“What are you doing out there?” Ben
asked Jeremy as he plopped down in a chair next to him.

“I’ve been getting ready, Sunshine.”

“What’s all this?” asked Ben, pointing
to a small canvas bag attached to Jeremy’s belt that looked weighted down.

“My ammunition,” said Jeremy,
grinning.
 
“I have one for you, too,
Gabe.”

Jeremy tossed Gabe another small canvas
bag that had a loop to belt it on.
 
Gabe
opened the flap of the pouch and pulled out a shiny metal Chinese throwing
dart.

“What the—?” started Ben.

“Nice thinking,” said Homer.
 
“I was pleasantly surprised when I saw how
you managed to wield weapons with your power, Jeremy.”

“Thanks, Homer.
 
I like how much easier it is to channel my
sound vibrations through metal.”

“Hey, let me see one,” said Ben,
holding his hand out to Jeremy.

Jeremy took one out of his little bag,
apparently impressed at his stash of different shapes of pointed stars.
 
I saw the sly grin on Ben’s face just as
Jeremy passed the star to him.
 
A tiny
thread of electricity passed from Ben to Jeremy through the metal star with a
little popping noise.

“
Ow
!
 
Damn it!
 
Why’d you do that?”

Ben laughed.

“Sorry, man.
 
Just seeing if I could.”

Jeremy scowled nastily, rubbing his
hand.

“Hey, Homer, does this mean I can shock
the reapers and kill them?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied,
which made Ben slump into a pout.
 
“They
feed on electricity.
 
You’d only be
giving them power.
 
The shadow scouts,
too.
 
However, you might be able to
destroy the ash-eaters.
 
It would be
worth a try to get rid of as many of those as we can anyway.
 
They’re such cold, menacing spirits to have
floating about.”

“Yeah, that sounds way cool,” said Ben,
happy again.

“Whatever,” said Jeremy a little
bitterly.
 
“Anyway, Gabe, I thought you
might try it out for size, since I saw how well you channeled your power with
that ax last night.”

“What ax?” I asked, but was completely
ignored.

“It’s true,” said Gabe, “I was able to
aim and hit the reaper using a physical object to guide my power through.
 
That reminds me.
 
Homer, you said that you traced and saw us
fighting on the boat last night.
 
It was
a difficult fight that we almost lost with just that one reaper.
 
Why was that?”

“Well, I think it was difficult for two
reasons.
 
One reason is because you
seemed to start to doubt yourself.
 
Instead of facing the creature, you backed away.
 
It’s always more difficult to defeat this
enemy when you are the one being hunted and they have the element of surprise.
 
The second reason is simply because you were
nearly exhausted, both physically and mentally.
 
Just because we have these powers doesn’t mean we’re invincible.
 
And, while the power Melanie and I hold is an
internal ability, we will still grow fatigued after using it continuously over
a length of time or using it intensely.”

“You know, there’s something that’s
been bothering me,” said Jeremy, “how did they travel in that hurricane?
 
Did they create it?”

“Not exactly.
 
Somehow, they are able to use their energy to
control winds and storms.
 
How did they
get it?
 
I’m not sure.
 
But, I do know that their mere presence on
earth alters the atmosphere.”

“I wish we could sit one down and ask
them some questions,” said Jeremy.
 

“That would be an interesting
interview,” said Gabe.

“Yeah, like that would ever happen,
Sound Garden,” Ben said snidely to Jeremy.

“Okay. Sound Garden is a band.
 
And just for the record, that’s still not an
insult.
 
But, keep trying, Flash.
 
You might actually come up with an offensive
name for me one of these days.”

Geez.
 
Those two never stopped, and while it was usually quite entertaining, I
could feel that my nerves were on edge.
 
I sipped my coffee.
 
Homer pulled
out his violin and bow that were propped up in a case against the wall of books
behind him.
 
He always knew just what to
do.
 
Not even asking if we cared to hear
music or not, or whether we wanted to further discuss this fearful enemy we had
to face in a few hours, he started playing.
 
It was just what we needed.
 
I
suppose that was part of his gift, too.

He didn’t play a piece of classical
music this time.
 
It was an old Acadian
song that I’d heard at festivals, like at the Gumbo Cook-off and the Crawfish
Festival.
 
It started out as a slow
melody.
 
His bow moved up and down the
strings of the violin in a steady rhythm.
 
While it was slow, it wasn’t sad.
 
The song gradually began to increase in rhythm, moving into merrier
notes that made me think of happy times of my childhood.
 
I drained the last of my coffee and set the
mug down then shifted my body into a curled up position, laying my head in
Gabe’s lap.
 
Like Homer, I didn’t bother
to ask permission, even though I knew Gabe wasn’t really big on public displays
of affection.
 
He didn’t seem to mind
though.
 
We were all mesmerized by
Homer’s melody, the notes lifting and lilting across the room, taking us away
from our present reality.
 
It was the
perfect medicine, putting us all in a peaceful state of mind and body.
 
I felt Gabe’s hand combing through my hair.
 
He pulled it away from my face, exposing my
scar.
 
I didn’t care right now.
 
I closed my eyes, completely lost in Homer’s
lovely music and the gentle touch of Gabe’s hand in my hair.

19

GABE

Clara had fallen asleep.
 
I didn’t want to wake her.
 
Not yet.
 
Jeremy had gone back outside for more target practice.
 
Ben and Mel lounged in the corner, speaking
in hushed tones.
 
Homer was playing his
violin listlessly.
 
He had wandered into
some classical music.
 
This one was
familiar; something my mom used to play for her plants in the greenhouse.
 
Vivaldi, maybe?
 
I looked down at Clara, wishing she could be
this peaceful all the time.
 
Since
yesterday, I could only feel waves of anxiety pouring out of her.
 
Sometimes it felt like grief, sometimes a
slight sadness, then other times complete despair.
 
I marveled at Mel’s ability to calm her,
soothe her, when I couldn’t.
 
There was
no amount of wishing that I could do to bring back her mother and cousin.
 
I only hoped that we would all make it
through the night alive and keep the rest of our family safe on the other side
of Beau
Chêne
.
 
This made me wonder about something.

“Homer,” I interrupted.
 
He stopped and turned to me.
 
“Why did you leave Newton at Pop’s camp?”

It was obvious to me that Homer’s cat was
important to him, and I hadn’t even thought about why he left him there until
now.
 
He gave me a sort of wistful smile
that faded while he packed away his bow and violin.

“Newton is a passive fellow,” said Homer.
 
“He’ll do better away from all the noise and
ruckus here.”

“Is that the only reason?” I asked pointedly.

Homer chuckled.

“I know what you’re thinking, Gabriel.
 
That Newton would be abandoned if we all die
here, that I brought him to the cabin knowing he’d be taken care of if we
didn’t make it,” he said, raising his dark eyebrows, his only facial hair that
had no spots of gray in them.
 
“Rest at
ease, Gabriel.
 
That wasn’t my
intention.
 
And while I am not ignorant
to the fact that this is a serious trial ahead of us, I am certain that we will
succeed.
 
I have slight misgivings on us
all making it through unscathed, but we will win.
 
I have no doubts.”

At that moment, Jeremy burst in the door, a bit
out of breath with a wide-eyed look.

“It’s getting dark,” he said “and a storm is
coming.”

“Yes,” said Homer, “come, Benjamin, it’s time
for you to get started.”

I roused Clara, which didn’t take much
effort.
 
She was not in that deep of a
sleep.
 
I glanced out the wall of
windows.
 
Yes, the sky had darkened since
we’d come inside.
 
The swamp extended far
into the distance; the water’s flat surface reflecting the dark gray of the
sky.
 
A wind was moving from the south,
sending short ripples in our direction.
 
The cypress trees dappling the marshy water waved their fingers of moss,
like ghosts saying farewell.