Unchosen (2 page)

             
“Railroad students?” asked Rosie.

             
“To help Molly,” finished Miss Chiles.

             
“Hah!” Rosie slapped the papers onto the table. “Where’s her accuser?”

“The accuser is anonymous.”

Rosie lifted one blonde brow. “How convenient.”

“We offer a Peers Helping Peers program where students can anonymously report trouble or abuses without fear of repercussions,” said
Miss Chiles. “We received such a report. We have the purview to search any student’s room, car, or belongings. A search was made of Molly’s room, and the soul box found.”

             
“I see,” said Rosie. “So, you get an anonymous report, and you find the soul box in Molly’s room. What if the person who reported this alleged ‘magical abuse’ was the one who put the object in Molly’s room?”

             
The teachers looked at one another, and shifted in their seats. Professor Mills coughed into her hand, obviously uncomfortable with the lawyer’s scrutiny.

             
“May I remind you that this is the child who was taken—on a school-sanctioned field trip—by Russian gangsters with ties to Set supporters? She was emotionally traumatized and then imprisoned. She barely managed to escape with her life. And
you
, the stewards of this school, repay that
bravery
, that
sacrifice
with these ridiculous
accusations
!” Rosie launched her words with precision of darts hitting the bulls-eye.

             
“Molly admitted that she knew what the soul box was, and that she had used it,” said Professor Mills. Impatience crackled her tone. I got the feeling she didn’t like Rosie Knowles (or me, for that matter). I glanced at my lawyer. She didn’t seem to give a crap if anyone liked her or not.

             
“Really?” asked Rosie. “Molly said she used it?”

             
Professor Mills’ heavily penciled eyebrows dipped as she frowned.

             
“When asked if she had used the soul box,” said Dr. Riverton in his slow-as-molasses tone, “Molly nodded.”

             
“Oh? Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe her neck itched, or she tilted her head. Since she didn’t give a verbal response, it’s not relevant.”

             
“She recognized the soul box,” insisted Professor Mills. “She understands its purpose.”

             
“Shocking,” said Rosie in a droll voice. “Especially since soul boxes and their purposes are mentioned in the
History of Necromancy
textbooks used by this school. And a number of other sources available in the school’s library.
And
a plentitude of other sources that are outside Nekyia Academy’s
purview
.” She tapped the papers. “This is for you, Miss Chiles.”

             
Miss Chiles glanced down at the papers, and her eyes widened. “You’re filing a lawsuit?”

             
I gasped, and my grandparents squeezed me—either a sign of comfort or a warning to be quiet. Rosie looked over her shoulder at me and winked.

             
“Oh, yes,” said Rosie. “If you’re going to pursue unfounded anonymous accusations against my client and put her through the ringer, then I have to protect her from the emotional and physical repercussions resulting from those ill-advised actions. Obviously, she’s suffering from exhaustion—and it’s likely she has post-traumatic stress disorder.”

             
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” repeated Miss Chiles. Her gaze flicked to mine, and I swear I saw sympathy flash in her eyes. What the
what
? I got the feeling I didn’t understand even half of what was going on here.

             
“Trust me, Miss Chiles. By the time my experts are through, this academy will—”

             
“Enough.” Miss Chiles folded her hands on top of the table. “If we do not investigate Molly’s use—”

             
“
Alleged
use,” inserted Rosie.

             
“—alleged use of illegal necromancer objects, I must then assume there’s no reason to pursue legal actions against Nekyia Academy.”

             
Rosie offered a glossy smile. “Well, now. You make a good point.”

             
“It’s in everyone’s best interests if we turn the soul box over to the appropriate authorities, and consider the matter closed,” said Miss Chiles.

             
Professor Mills puffed up in her seat like a plumed bird. “I don’t think—”

             
“Which you are quite successful at, Suzette,” intoned Dr. Riverton.

             
“The discussion is over,” said Miss Chiles as Professor Mills opened her mouth yet again.

             
“Good. We’re done here.” Rosie scooped up the papers and tucked them into the briefcase. “It’s been a pleasure.” She snapped her fingers, and a business card appeared in thin air. “If you need to talk to Molly, you can call my direct line.”

She placed it carefully on the table. Then she looked each teacher in the eye, offering them a sharp, thin smile—no doubt meant to be a warning.

              Rosie spun on her heels and marched toward us. I turned with my grandparents and followed Rosie out of the suffocating room. After we entered the hallway, I felt overwhelming relief and a whole lot of confusion.

             
“How did you know?” I asked. My voice was unsteady, and my hands trembled.

             
“Miss Chiles warned us,” said Sandra.

             
“What? Why?” I asked.

“Believe us when we say she’s on your side
, darling.”

             
“Yeah. Everything’s okay, kid.” Rosie locked eyes with my grandmother. “I’ll give you a moment together, and then I’ll make sure Molly gets to her room.”

             
Sandra nodded, and Rosie withdrew a cell phone from a side pocket of her briefcase and walked down the hall.

             
“I didn’t know the soul box was illegal, I swear!” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean to get into trouble.”

             
“We know, Molly,” said Derek. “We also know you did what you had to do.”

             
“You were kidnapped, for Anubis’ sake! You were brave,” said Sandra. “And we’re proud of you.”

             
I stared at my grandmother with an open mouth. Compliments were not her strong suit. Neither was being supportive, unless you counted lectures about good manners. And nobody did.

             
She cleared her throat. “Close your mouth, dear, or you’ll catch flies.”

             
Ah. There was the grandmother I knew. I pressed my lips together. Then I asked, “Sooooo … what now?”

             
“You’ll go back to classes and to your training,” said Sandra. “And on the weekends, you will come home.”

             
“You mean, to your house?”

             
Sandra nodded. “It’s for your protection.”

             
I could think of nothing worse than leaving my awesome digs and my friends at Nekyia for the museum-like mansion and fussy company of my grandparents.

             
“Uh, I probably should stay here. Homework and … stuff.”

             
“Anything you can do here, you can do at home,” said Sandra. Her eyes looked like sapphires—hard, cold, and immutable.

             
“I can’t leave Henry,” I said (okay, I whined). “He’ll get lonely.”

             
Derek laughed, and Sandra sent him a look of exasperation. “Henry is a ghoul. He’s not—”

“
Sweetheart,” interrupted Derek. “Molly’s obviously attached to him, and she may need him.”

Sandra let out a breath. “Well, then. Of course, Henry is welcome, too,” she said. She drew me in for a tight, quick hug. “See you on Friday.”

             
“Okay,” I said.

             
“Quell your enthusiasm, dear,” she said drily. She chucked my chin. “It’s just too infectious.”

             
I laughed. Well, at least I knew where my sarcasm genes came from. I almost went in for a fist bump, but I wasn’t sure Grandma knew what that meant. She stepped away, and pretended to smooth her hair.

             
Derek brought me in for an additional hug, and I whispered, “Who is that woman? And what has she done with Sandra?”

             
He chuckled. “She’s trying, Molly. We love you.”

             
“Love you, too,” I said. It was an automatic response. I wasn’t sure how I really felt about my grandparents. We hadn’t known each other all that long. But they did have my back, and I respected that.

             
I walked with them to the end of the hall. They said good-bye and left. Rosie turned me toward the general direction of my room. As we started what would be a labyrinth of hallways and staircases, my mind raced with questions. Had Clarissa tried to screw me turning in an anonymous report about the soul box? Was she really so desperate to be named
Kebechet
, she’d throw me under the bus? Honestly, I couldn’t believe that Clarissa’s ego would let her think of me as competition. Then again … Clarissa was a ten on the bitch scale.

Rosie sighed. “Walking sucks, especially in these atrocious heels.” She stopped and turned toward me. “Let’s take a shortcut.”

              I stopped, too. “You know a shortcut?”

             
“Yep.” Rosie grinned and as I watched, glittery black tendrils squiggled up from her feet and surrounded her. When the magic dissipated, Irina stood there.

             
Panic ricocheted through me. “You!”

             
Irina grabbed my shoulders, and as I start to scream … a yawning black hole opened under our feet.

Molly’s Reaper Diary

Save Your Panic for the End of the World

WHEN YOU’RE DOING reaper stuff, it sometimes feels like the end of the world. It’s usually not. You’ll still feel like panicking about 80% of the time.

             
Look, there’s always going to be something you haven’t even thought about suddenly staring at you with red eyes and sharp teeth and oversized claws.

             
The point is to not panic. When you panic, your brain fries and your muscles freeze, and then you’re getting kicked in the teeth.

             
You know the easiest way not to panic?

             
Breathe.

             
Focus on your breathing. It sounds stupid, but it works. Once you have control of your breathing, you have control of yourself, and
then
you can think and act.

             
As a reaper, you need to keep all of your skills honed—be ready with your scythe, your magic, and your training. But if you’re hyperventilating and flailing … um, you’re going down.

             
I really want to help future reapers avoid the mistakes I’ve made. Then again, if you’re anything like me—well, you gotta do things the hard way.

             
Just try to remember the breathing thing, okay?

“Reapers don’t kill. They aren’t, as so many humans believe, ‘death incarnate.’ Reapers are conduits. Guides. Beings that help humans get to the next plane of existence. However, they cannot force the unwilling, and there are ways to prevent reapers from doing their jobs.
Spells were written by Set and given to his followers, and though Anubis sought to destroy all knowledge of binding souls to the earthly plane … he did not succeed.”

~
Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown

“Zo
mbies require exercise otherwise their muscles may stiffen up or atrophy. They need at least thirty minutes a day of stretching and walking. So, put your zombie on his leash and get him to the zombie park for fresh air and walkies!”

~Felicia Sparks, Zombie Trainer and Unlife Coach

Chapter 2

THE SCREAM CURDLED in my throat. I felt as though I was choking on the horror of the sound, unable to either let it out or swallow it down. A long moment passed before I realized I was standing on a hard surface and not falling into dark oblivion.

“Open
your eyes, stupid.”

I hadn’t realized my eyes were
closed. I opened them, and saw Irina in front of me. “Your accent is gone.” What a dumb thing to say. I guess I was still trying to get a handle on the moment.

“I’m not really Russian.”

Duh.
“You’re really Anput.”

“So, Anubis told you about me.”

“He mentioned you briefly.” I shrugged. Now that my heart rate was calming, and my knees had stopped shaking, I realized that we were in my dorm room. Being in a familiar environment within shouting range of Henry made me bold. I eyed her. “I don’t see what the big deal is about you.”

“You don’t, huh?” She smiled, but sorrow edged the tilt of her lips. Her form shimmered
. In the undulating light I saw Irina fade. The woman who stood before me now was beautiful in an ethereal, untouchable way. Her eyes, hair, and caramel skin tone matched that of my father’s. She was dressed in a white gown with gold clasps on the shoulders. Her black hair fell in a shiny black waterfall down her back. “The big deal is that I am the sister of Anubis. His twin, actually.”

His twin?
I stared at her, wide-eyed. Sudden realization sent cold zipping down my spine. So, that made Anput-Irina-Rosie …
gulp
.

She chuckled softly. “Yes, Molly, I’m your aunt.” Her expression sobered. “And yes, I’m the one who betrayed Anubis.”

Oh, crap. We were going to have that discussion now? I looked at her expression, and realized that yes, yes we were.

I sighed. 

“Catch up on your reaper history.” She waved her hand toward my bed and a huge black and gold book plopped down into the middle. It was so large and heavy, it sank into the mattress like an anvil. “There. Now you have
The Secret History of Reapers
. Written by gods and necros alike throughout history. Too many authors to even count.”

I eyed the book, feeling both curious and horrified. “Don’t you have a Cliff’s Note version?”

“Only reapers can read it. To anyone else, the pages appear blank. The book is imbued with reaper magic. You can search for specific words or particular stories just by telling the book what you want.”

“
Um. Okay. I tell the book what I want—and it gives it to me?”

“Not necessarily. Magic is strange, Molly. It’ll often give you what you need, not what you want.”

“Awesome,” I said without enthusiasm. Like I really needed more adult woo-woo-boo-boo crap. Why couldn’t people just say what they meant, or go with a simple explanation?

“Why did you betray Anubis?” I asked bluntly. “And did you kill the real Rosie Knowles?”

“I am the real Rosie Knowles,” she said. “It’s one of my own personas that I created.”

“
Yeah. You just happen to be the lawyer of my grandparents?”

“One of them. I’m a partner in the law firm they have on retainer.”

“You have weird hobbies.”

Anput laughed. “I have a lot of time on my hands. As to your other question … I made the mistake of believing in my Uncle Set and yes, I helped him. I was wrong, but by the time I figured it out, it was too late. You have to understand, Molly. Set almost won. The war took a huge toll on all planes of existence—the human world, the reaper world, the Underworld. It’s why Anubis put a tighter leash on his reapers, and why the humans were gifted with necromancy powers. There was a time on Earth when no human had any magic.”

No magic? Weird. I had always lived in a world with magic, zombies, and ghosts. It was difficult for me to fathom a world where everyone was the same, and no one had connections to the other side. Maybe life would be a lot less complicated if Anubis hadn’t given humans the abilities once only wielded by supernatural beings.

“I’ve been staying out of the way of my brother, but now our uncle is making a bid for his freedom. He may well succeed, Molly, especially if the Chosen and the
Kebechet
aren’t ready for him.”

“Hey, no pressure, right?” I offered my aunt a grim smile. “I can’t believe the fate of everyone depends on
me leading bunch of teenagers.”

Surprise flashed on Anput’s face. “There are many more Chosen. You won’t be leading a dozen of reaper wannabes against Set. You’ll lead an army made up of thousands and thousands of necromancers. Chosen all over the world have been preparing for the rise of Set for a very long time. You’re part of
the newest generation, Molly.”

“This is why communication is so important,” I said. How could I lead thousands of Chosen against a pissed-off god? I couldn’t even get the hang of Algebra. My knees wobbled. I walked to the bench positioned at the end of my bed and sat down. Emotions poured through me. Fear. Anger. Worry.
Panic.
Nausea roiled in my stomach. Oof. “Are you sure I’m the
Kebechet
?”

“Your birth was part of a prophecy uttered by
Maat herself. Anubis knew that he would sire the
Kebechet
who could defeat Set.”

I noted the “could,” which didn’t mean
Maat had predicted this fab
Kebechet
would necessarily win. Gawd. This was a conversational path I did not want to skip down with dear auntie. I mean, how many children had my god-dad sired (ew)? Did I have some half-sibs out there? More and more questions surged in my mind, so many that my head started to throb. However, there was one question that burned through all the rest vying for consideration, and I couldn’t stop from asking it.

“Why did he
pick Cynthia Briarstock?”

Anput shrugged. “Only my brother can answer that question, Molly. He must’ve had his reasons for choosing your mother.”

“Yeah. Like you had your reasons for following Set?” I was surprised to hear the bitterness in my own voice. I thought I had accepted my mother’s abandonment a long time ago. My human dad, Al, and my Nona had more than made up for anything Mom might’ve given me.

“Evil does not exist in a vacuum,” said Anput. “It’s created. Some wounds are so deep, so toxic, they never heal. Even good people can be poisoned by hurt, shame, anger, vengeance.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

Anput looked stricken, but she nodded. “Partly. I believed in the wrong person, gave my trust to a liar. I paid for it. So did Anubis. And so did this world and the next.”

I felt sorry for Anput. Anubis hadn’t said much about her, but he seemed more sad than angry when he’d mentioned her to me. I still didn’t understand her motives. While I didn’t think she was lying, I couldn’t know for sure. After all, as the reaper-teacher Irina, she pointed a gun at me, made me steal a soul, trapped me with a Russian gangster, and then took off for parts unknown. Yeah, she’d gotten me out of trouble today, but that’s only because she’d gotten me into it.

“Stay strong, Molly. Train hard. Focus. And keep faith in Anubis—and yourself.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“Have faith in me, too.”

I hated to admit it, but liked Anput. However, I didn’t trust her. She seemed to understand that, too. After all, she’d betrayed her own twin. How could she ever prove herself trustworthy again?

“See ya round, kid.” She gave a little wave. Glittering black coils of magic swirled around her like attacking pythons.

Then she was gone.

“Show-off,” I muttered.

It had been a spectacularly crazy morning. I turned around and contemplated my magnificent bed, which Henry had already made. His efficiency was scary.

Blurgh.
My brain was rebelling against entertaining any more thoughts, and exhaustion made my limbs feel heavy.

I crawled onto the bed, pushed the massive book to the side, and promptly passed out.

I
WAS PRESSED against a rock wall, my fingers digging into the craggy surface. My heart pounded in rhythm to the frenetic drumbeats echoing in the cave. Ahead, an odd purplish light flickered, throwing shadows onto the rock walls. The air stank of incense and sulfur, accompanied by a dank, otherworldly stench that clogged my throat and settled into my stomach like spoiled food.

             
“You ready, brown eyes?”

             
I looked to my left. Rath stood shoulder to shoulder with me. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his shirt torn. He was sweaty, too, and breathing hard.

             
“You’re hurt,” I said.

             
“Not my blood, Mol. Yours. You already forget kicking the asses of those guards?”

             
“What?”

             
His eyebrows dipped and he frowned. “You okay? Did you hit your head or something? I thought you just skinned your knees.”

             
I looked down. The jeans I wore were bloody and filthy, and had huge holes in the knees. “Holy crap.”

             
“Maybe you should stay here,” said Rath.

             
“No way,” I said, partly because I always wanted to do the opposite of what Rath told me, and partly because I somehow knew that I needed to face what stood in that flickering light, responding with unearthly screeches to the wild drumbeats.

“All right,” said Rath. “Suck it up, princess, and let’s go.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up, but he covered my lips with his and gave me a deep, heartfelt kiss. He pulled away, winked at me, then grabbed my hand, and we crept forward. My lips tingled, and my heart now thudded with the thrill of that unexpected kiss. I felt secure, confident, especially with the firm grip of Rath’s hand around mine.

We ran.

The scene that greeted us was surreal—and awful.

The screeching of the animal in the cage sawed its way through the primal drumming. Dark figures surrounding the cage ... humans or demons or reapers ... I didn't know. They all wore black cowls, and they all lifted their arms up in a rhythmic way that matched the
boom, boom, boom
of the ancient music. I'd never thought about evil as a taste, but here, in this place, I could feel the ache of it in my throat, feel the acidic drizzle of hate dripping into my stomach.

For a moment, I couldn't bring myself to look at the cage, or the creature within. Not just a creature, but my Great Uncle. For a moment, I lost my ability to breathe, and I stalled our progress. My feet felt glued to the floor. Rath stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. "Don't lose courage, Molly. C'mon."

I wasn't losing courage. (I didn’t have any to begin with, I was sorry to say.) I was gaining fear, and fast. I let Rath pull me along, but I didn't want to go. I didn't want to see anymore.

"It's him," said Rath. "He projects fear. It's how Set controls you, controls everyone."

"It's not affecting you," I said.

"Yeah. It is." Rath gripped my hand tighter. "I only feel brave because you're here with me."

"You mean, because I'm the daughter of a god, and that gives you security?"

"No, Molly. Because you're you. You don't give up. Especially when it comes to the people you love. That's where my faith lies. With you."

              It wasn't the right time for an "aw" moment, but I hoped that if we survived this, I would have plenty of "aw" moments with Rath. We didn't really have anyone left except each other. Okay, that wasn’t exactly fair, I know. Still, it felt that way.

             
Loss was a burden almost too heavy to bear.

             
I’d had enough of it, enough of it all. I wanted it to end. And the only way to do that, the only way to protect those who were left, was to make sure Set never, ever got out. I sucked in a deep breath, filled my lungs with the fetid air of this poisonous place, and let Rath lead me closer to the cage that imprisoned Set.

The cage was its own atrocity. Made of bones—bones of the old gods, just like
The Secret History of Reapers
had described. They looked like dinosaur bones, large and pitted, smudged with dark red goop. I shuddered. I didn’t even want to think about what that stuff was. Blech! The cage didn't really have a door--at least not one that I could see. Of course, why would something meant to be an eternal prison have a door?

The creature inside the cage screamed again. It was a terrible sound, one of longing and rage, and it zapped me right down to my soul. Fear was lightning in my heart, ice in my blood. But I had Rath and his faith, and I had no choice.
Kebechet.
Right. I wished the word, the idea of it, gave me more comfort, but all I really felt was utterly afraid.

Rath pulled us behind a large outcropping of black, jagged rocks.

The drumbeats and the sounds of chanting rose up, blending with the yells of Set. Set was terror personified. In Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, he looked less scary. With the head of an anteater, the horns of giraffe, and the body of a mutant dog, he was snarling and snapping and squealing. He was dressed in ragged, singed clothing. He was huge ... the biggest, most terrifying monster I'd ever seen. This wasn't a late-night horror show, though, this was real. If Set got to the earthly plane in that form—no one would survive.