Page 36 of Reaper’s Curse

“You don’t look good,” young me said, stepping up against the cage and wrapping my small hands around the bars.

Caged me tried to laugh, one filled with bitter sarcasm, but the only sound I emitted was a gurgle of spittle and blood. With a cough, I expelled the phlegm, holding my gut against the ache. Pulling myself to a partial sit, I leaned against the back wall of bars. “Neither do I feel so good.”

Young me blinked. Twice. “Are you dying?”

“Quite possibly.” The older me let my head drop in a weak and unfinished nod.

Sixty-six years, trapped in the citadel, unable to complete my mission, and this…this had to be just punishment for my failure―first husk death.

“Is that why you’re so pasty-looking?”

“No.” Older me glanced at the shaking hand I rested upon my bent knee. “My mother made me this way.”

Silence fell as boy me appeared to consider the answer given. My young lips torqued to the side, and my gaze slipped over the trapped, ailing being―the other part of me.

“I’m dying,” young me added with a shrug. “That’s why my dad let me go with him to see the infected citadel where he found you. Because even if my dad doesn’t say the words, I know he doesn’t expect me to reach a proper reaper age where I’ll see such things: the dead, the marked for death, the dead that won’t die.”

Yes. The state of the citadel citizens was quite curious and had been so for many decades.

Older me dragged my gaze over the child standing on the opposite side of the bars. I was already aware of his (my) condition. Had smelled the coming death when I’d first laid eyes upon the kid a few days prior, back in the citadel.

I surveyed the space that was now my prison. Was I still in the citadel? Or had they moved me? I couldn’t recall.

A scuff of a small boot on the cement floor brought my attention back to my younger version.

“Are you scared of what awaits you on the other side?” older me asked.

“Not really,” young me replied. “It’s natural, right? All part of the cycle of things. So how bad can it really be?”

Caged me nodded. The boy spoke better than many adults. Thanatos would no doubt welcome the child with a gentle embrace.

“My mom is, though. She’s really scared. That’s why my dad brought me with him. I also think that’s why he captured you. And that.” Boy me pointed to another cage in which a flying monster careened uncontrollably against its prison walls.

Young me flinched and shuddered, both at the existence of the beast and its actions.

Young me then pressed my face to the bars and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry for how he hurt you.”

Hurt indeed. Caged me had been subjected to countless probing and experimentation.

I considered the boy. The element of the boy’s fatal condition was a rare gene, the result of a compatibility issue farther back in the bloodline. Often carried in a dormant state for generations. The young Chace―boy me―standing before caged me would be the victim finally claimed.

Shame. The kid seemed rather well-spoken for his age.

Older me leaned against the cold cage siding. Let the metal bite into my skin. “Did your father find what he was looking for?”

Young me frowned, shook my head, and dropped my gaze. “I don’t think so. He seemed pretty mad. And my mom…” In a flurry of lashes, my younger me’s attention snapped back to the version of me trapped in a cage. “She cries a lot. Like…a lot, a lot.”

“But you…” I raised my chin, indicating my younger self. “You’re brave.” I narrowed my gaze and studied my younger eyes, saw what I was searching for. “And smart. That’s a fine combination, brave and smart.”

“I’m a Badden,” child me proclaimed with thick pride. “We’re naturally brave and smart. Plus…” I shrugged. “I take a lot of lessons.”

Wounded and trapped, older me shifted against the wall of bars, wincing from the discomfort, and angled my body slightly closer to my younger version. “I’m impressed. With all your bravery and your intelligence regarding the cycle of things,” I said, “you appear to handle the prospect of change better than I. So young, and yet… You truly have any trepidation in check?”

My boyish mouth pulled straight then pressed downward at the edges. “I guess I am a little bit scared, but not so much.” Child me sighed. “Kind of like I get afraid on super stormy nights, but it always ends up sunny and bright in the end.”

Wise kid indeed.

“But you don’t want to make your mom sad? Or disappoint your dad?”