ASHER
I have no idea what to do. I’m not sure anyone does.
I had followed West on his quest to find Evan with Cam trailing reluctantly behind me. It wasn’t far, just past the tree of life doors of the royal suite, but I hesitate before passing through them. I try to steel myself for what I know is just beyond, but I know there is no real preparation for death. It comes as a surprise to us all, whether we want it to or not. When Mena’s hand finds mine, I feel a small margin of relief before I gather the courage to walk into that room.
I wish I hadn’t. I wish I could never see what will now be burned into my brain.
Evan is crying – no, crying isn’t the right word. She is keening, great mutilated sobs filled with enough pain to burn us all. John has plopped on the chaise, Olivia draped, unmoving across his lap, and Evan… Evan is kneeling at John’s feet, clutching her mother’s still hand. She’s begging, pleading, promising everything in the world to get her to wake up.
This burns my soul with enough fire to consume me completely if I didn’t need to stay alive for Mena. Mena’s hand squeezes mine again, and she wraps those beautiful, strong arms around me because she knows. Evan might be losing her parents, but John and Olivia are like surrogate parents for every single person in this room. They took us in when we needed saving, or were cast out, or were unloved. They saved us all. I tug her into my arms tighter and rub my tear-stained face into her hair.
“Please, mama. Please… don’t leave me,” Evan haltingly pleads, but Olivia doesn’t answer her. That’s when John reaches down, and rubs a thumb under Evan’s eye, cupping her face with his free palm.
“Daddy. Please don’t go. Please,” Evan begs.
“Evangeline, my beautiful, strong, girl. We need to leave you now,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay strong. You can lead our people back into the light. You can do this, my dear. We love you, and we trust you. You are the best gift we have ever been given.” When his hand falls from her face, Evan loses it. We all feel the loss as soon as his last breath leaves his lips, but Evan… Evan can’t deal with the horrible agony bubbling up in her.
“No. No, no, no!” she screams moving from one parent to the next, grabbing their faces to check for life. She finds none. Evan can’t hold in her phase anymore, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. When Evan can’t hold in her anger or fear or agony, things around her turn to dust. And this… this is the worst kind of hurt. The floor beneath her feet abrades away, and a swirl of dust and smoke surrounds her like a tornado. Her coal black eyes turn vacant, and the floor and furniture near her begin to crumble.
West takes action, the only one of us brave enough to go toe-to-toe with Evan when she’s lost it. “Evan. Evangeline! You have to stop! You’ll send them to hell without meaning to. They don’t deserve to go!” he screams in her face, latching onto her arm and shaking her hard enough to snap her neck. She does a long, slow blink before her eyes regain their life, and then she rips her arm from his grasp and shoves him away with one small palm. No matter how tiny Evan is, she still made that one little shove count because not only has West gone back at least five feet, the place on his shirt where her hand touched is now bare, bleeding skin.
“I release you,” she whispers, and the occupants of the room, myself included, pull in a collective gasp. “You may stay for the funeral, but afterward, you will leave this house. I never want to see your face again. If you ever truly cared for me at all, you will honor this,” her command never rising above a murmur, but West hears every word and he nods. Even when her eyes go dead, he still nods and leaves the room.
Mena tells me funerals are awful for everyone, and they are never really for the dead. ‘Funerals are for the living,’ she says.
I guess that’s true, but I still hate them.
The preparation for the funeral has been exhausting over the last twenty-four hours, and Mena, Aurelia, Rhys and myself have been handling the bulk of it. Many families needed to be called, and since Olivia and John were actually good souls, security required a little amping up since Phoenixes would be here as well.
Evan asked both Aidan and Cam to be her new Guardians. They accepted immediately, Cam faster than I thought he would. His tie to Olivia may just transfer to Evan now.
Wraiths from every corner of the earth have come, and as soon as the sun begins to set on this very long day, we can send Olivia and John to their rest. So many have gathered in the gorge at the base of the cliff where we can stay concealed from human eyes and all be in one place at one time. A few witches Aurelia know offered to do a concealment spell for the event, but Mena nixed it, saying the magic could interfere with the passage of the souls. She would know. Mena worked as a Gentry for nearly a century before her capture, working with humans as either a nurse or a mortician, helping the neutral and good pass on.
Twenty-four straight hours of contacting families, making sure Evan was safe and ensuring that my wife and her family wouldn’t be murdered, led us here, to the bottom of the gorge, in front of so many Wraith families. They stand shoulder to shoulder, women in elegant evening dresses and men in suits, the river rushing around their legs, their gowns sweeping behind them in the water. The rest fill the shore, in the sand, on the rocks, filling the ravine to the brim.
Aurelia and Mena are in Phoenix ceremonial funeral garb. Snow-white, one-shoulder, Grecian-style gowns with enough clearance for their wings. Rhys however, is not in anything that would be considered formal. Instead, he is dressed – like me – in full tactical assault gear. Black shirt under a bulletproof vest, black pants and boots, and every single weapon we can carry. Rhys’ only concession in his vest is a missing back plate so his wings can burst free if needed. We follow our wives, staying close, but assessing threats from the crowd. It also helps that Ian is at the top of the cliff with a fifty-caliber sniper rifle.
One can’t be too careful.
Aurelia and Mena phase at the same time, the twins igniting as one, blood red and bright blue wings rising in sync from their backs. Aurelia’s are remarkably smaller than Mena’s until I remember that the feathers of Aurelia’s wings have been clipped. I try to keep the horror off my face at the mutilation – something I have heard of, but never actually seen – and avert my eyes back to the crowd before looking at my wife again. I know phasing is agony for Mena, but not a single peep falls from her lips. The twins move in unison to the bodies of the dead at the funeral pyre, Aurelia at John’s side, and Mena at Olivia’s. Evan smokes in at the head of the pyre with Aidan and Cam at her back and raises her hands to speak.
She asked me for help with the eulogy, but I directed her to Ian instead. Ian, while usually the joker, gives some of the best advice for someone so young.
“My mother gave me valuable advice over the years. She told me to never settle for a horrible haircut. She said if you could get away with wearing a higher heel, do it, but never be afraid of going barefoot,” Evan chuckles before her voice breaks. “She said when I have my own ch-children; to give them twenty percent more hugs than they request and twice as many as I think they’ll need. She also taught me how to be a strong woman. She taught me how to lead, how to be diplomatic, and instructed when not be. She is the voice in my head, my guiding star, and my conscience. My father, in turn, taught me to be a strong leader. He taught me when and how to fight and when not to. He taught me how to think and how to breathe. He, along with my mother will live in my heart for the rest of my days.”
Evan nods and then bends to kiss the wrapped foreheads of her parents, tears wetting the white, gauzy fabric before she backs away. I do my best to turn off my emotions, but I feel a heaviness when I swallow, and when I see my wife barely holding herself together, the lump in my throat grows. I allow myself one lone moment to grieve before swallowing it back. Evan nods to Aurelia and Mena, and they begin the funeral rites, murmuring the ancient language that guides the souls on. They then, run their fingers over their charge’s heads to their feet, ignited the silk wrappings and stacked wood of the pyre. The twins sweep their hands over the hearts of the dead, plucking glowing white ash from their still flaming chests, take a deep breath and blow the ashes, scattering them to the beyond.
The whole of the assembly bows as one to Evan, and then all but five, travel from the gorge back to their homes. Wraiths do not believe in congregating after a funeral, they believe in solitude and reflection and mourning. Of the five that stayed, three are known to me. Voyt, Segundo, and Guillermo.
Here we go.
The two I do not know – a man and woman – assess the threat of the seven of us from their positions in the water and travel hurriedly from the gorge. Voyt approaches Evan, bowing low, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil behind him. His Guardians do not mirror him, and the slight to Evan makes both Cam and Aidan growl through their fangs. Voyt rises and gazes back at his Guardians confused and more than a little embarrassed.
“Did you know, Voyt, that my mother was being poisoned?” Evan begins, her head tilted to the side as if she’s playing a stupid blonde when she is anything but. By his expression when he whips his head back to her, the answer is no.
“No. I did not. Olivia was beloved. I cannot imagine who would do something like that,” he says.
“I can. Because I know who poisoned her,” she says before she smokes out, traveling to the backs of Segundo and Guillermo. Her tiny hands hit their backs between their shoulder blades. Both men stand stock-still, eyes wide – frozen in pain.
“Oh, Voyt,” Evan calls, and he spins in the sand of the river.
“Your Guardians had a hand in it, along with their brother, Javier.”
“And who told you that?” Voyt questions, incredulous.
“I did,” a deep male voice calls from behind Evan, and Carver walks slowly into the glow of the flames.