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“Why not? He’s amazing. I met him. He’s kind, and wise, and so gentle with everyone. Honestly, I don’t understand how his other versions, including your father, are the complete opposite of him. She’s happy, you know.”
I swallowed heavily. “I’m glad. She deserves it. What else?”
“She told me your father’s story, but you already know that.”
“Did she tell you anything that might help us retire him?”
Yolanda shook her head. “She has no idea what he’s up to, let alone how to stop him. I’m sorry.”
“But she still talks to him! Morningstar ambushed me at the Unholy Chapel today. He knew about you, and he knew you talked to my mother. She told him herself! He said he still visits her.”
“He didn’t use to, but since you dream jumped and found her, he’s been checking up on her more often. He probably pissed her off, otherwise she wouldn’t have given us away.”
“If she’s in danger because of me…”
“She’s not. Her husband would never let anything happen to her.”
I smiled. It warmed my heart to know that at least she got her happily-ever-after.
“Mila,” Yoli reached over and took my hand in hers. “I’m going to find him for you. I promise. I’m going to figure out what he wants.”
“Don’t. He’s going to eat you whole and spit you out. And I’ll never live with myself after that. Leave Morningstar to me.”
“What will you do?”
“I have no idea.”
“I want you to become a Grim Reaper. And when my time comes, at age one hundred and one, maybe you’ll come for my soul.” She laughed.
I punched her playfully in the shoulder. “You don’t want to see the face of a Violent Reaper before you die, trust me.”
But maybe she wouldn’t have to see the face of a Grim Reaper at all. I’d given Yolanda a family, an adventure, and I felt like it wasn’t enough. She deserved more. She deserved to live forever. Damn it. I’m starting to get ideas…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Time had run out. Graduation was taking place in the dining hall, which had once again been converted to suit our needs. The dais where the professor’s table stood was empty now and turned into a stage. Parents and family members were sitting around beautifully decorated tables and waited for the ceremony to start. There would be a party after.
My parents weren’t here, and neither were Sariel’s. Stepan and Lena had insisted to come, but I’d managed to convince them to stay at home with Yolanda.
“I’m nervous as it is,” I’d told them. “Trust me, this isn’t a day of joy for me. It’s more like the day I’m going to find out if I failed or not. And if I did fail, I don’t want you there to see it.”
Also, I didn’t want them here to stare into my greenish face – I was doing my best to cover the color of impending death with tons of foundation and concealer, – and see how my blue hair was falling in clumps. I looked like a zombie. No matter how much GC, Pazuzu, Sariel, Francis, and even Corri had begged me to go through with the ritual again, I’d refused. I wasn’t going to sacrifice another soul to the Great Old One. Not even if Paz brought me the most wretched soul in the world. Not even if he brought me the Devil himself. I was done feeding the monster. And if I had to rot on my feet and turn into a puddle of goo and bones, then so be it. Fine. It was either a place among the twenty-two Grim Reapers, or nothing.
Headmaster Colin started to call out names. Of course, we all graduated. No one ever failed Grim Reaper Academy, because only the brightest minds were accepted in the first place. The moment of truth would come later, when the headmaster would announce the new generation of Grim Reapers. Those were the first twenty-two students on the scoreboard. I was among them. But that didn’t mean anything. Not in my case.
“Klaus Severinus Hamelin. Mage. Merciful Death. Come here, please.”
Klaus stepped forward, and Headmaster Colin handed him his scythe. Only the ones who’d become Grim Reapers could have their scythes back. Standing on the stage, in my flowery dress and long, black robe, I felt uncomfortable without mine.
“Lorna Chiaramonte. Mage. Righteous Death.”
Lorna winked at me. “See you on the other side.”
“Francis Saint-Germain. Violent Death.”
It was funny how Headmaster Colin didn’t mention what Francis was. He knew, of course. But what would he have said? Revenant? Undead? Zombie? The tiny, seemingly unintentional slip went unnoticed.
“Merrit Castegny. Mage. Violent Death.”
