So Shall I Reap (4 page)

Staring at the ceiling, I counted the holes in the tiles and listened to her ramble. All the while, I was trying to convince myself it was only a story. Other entities within the House of Space had conveyed tales about selected child-like Vessels. Whether you believed they were blessed or cursed with specific powers, as the twisted tale explained, they were the only beings that could wield them.
Surely, it was just daemon lore… it had to be.
I blew a few smoke rings and decided to put the cigarette out of its misery.

With thoughts drifting I was brought back momentarily and made eye contact with Rae-Lynn. “This is all fascinating, but the sun is coming up, and a different clan of Ashens works this shift during the day. If they start to wonder why I am roaming around on their time, they might think I am rogue and try to dispatch me.”

When I made a move to get up, Rae-Lynn placed her hand on my shoulder. Blinking, I tried to comprehend how fast she had moved from the other side of the bed, to end up next to me. I had not even heard her approach. My insides gurgled in protest. Overwhelmed with exhaustion and a bit vexed from feeling empty, I glared at her, realizing I had lost the chance for a burger and fries.

Rae-Lynn frowned as she used her body to stretch up the length of my torso. Her fingers intertwined through some locks of hair, pulling our faces closer together. Cupping the right side of my cheek, she used the other hand to lower my head and ear even closer to her lips. “Don’t you want to know why there’s a connection between you and Alexcia? Why it is she knows you? Can you feel the connection when you see her, touch her? Aren’t you the least bit curious?” She let go of the short locks of hair as her slim frame slid away from me. Shaking in disbelief, I wondered how an angel could get away with that kind of behavior.

“Okay, I will bite. Why?” The phrase only reminded me of how hungry I really was. The grumbling in my head now mirrored the complaints coming from hunger.

The half-angel turned with soft grace, but her eyes appeared as cold as steel. Mentally, I heard… “You will pay attention.”
She used her arms to embrace me. As an act of comfort, the feeling was unnaturally warm, which made her touch unbearable. I was becoming nauseous.

Rae-Lynn’s voice became soft and alluring. “Alexcia sees you in her dreams. She knew you would be coming for her someday but only as someone she could trust. In her mind, she remembers you as a daemon of shadow, but she is still too young to know what that entails.” The woman’s nose scrunched slightly. “I suggest we keep what you really are to ourselves, at least until she is old enough to comprehend your real job. Alexcia is ours to raise. My husband and I have that responsibility, but your role in her life is much more complex. Children born of Balance share a bond far more complicated than with another entity or Vessel. And only your unique ability to love can mold her into what she will become… if you agree.”

“I do not understand what you mean by
love
.” I spit the word out quickly so I could continue with the rest and get out of there. “But more importantly, why me? I do not have time to reap souls and read bedtime stories to an angel-child… daemon… Vessel. Whatever she is. You still have not been clear about how and why she knows me.”

Rae-Lynn stepped back and put her hands on her hips. Her smile became peaceful. “Tevin, you were once a Child-of-Balance yourself.”

My eyes flared. “You are mistaken. I am an Ashen, a reaper of death, a daemon, always have been and always will be. I have no past memory of living like that.” Using my arm and scythe to make a point, I motioned to the Vessel on the bed.

Rae-Lynn walked toward her daughter and took her hand. “All children born with Balance are required to make a choice when they reach the age of maturity. An entity representative from one of the Houses will explain how their powers could benefit in keeping the unions of their House balanced. The child then makes a choice to serve one of the three: the House of Light, Space or Time.” Cheeks flushed with impatience. She huffed. “Obviously, I’m not getting through your thick, Ashen skull.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Dear Reaper, I am trying to explain it to you. Once upon a time an entity closed in on you, offering immortality to use your talent for the good of their House. But you made the choice to trade your life for an eternal existence wrapped in death.”

Hanging my head from the weight of our conversation, it was too much to absorb on an empty stomach. The back of my cloak flowed over my body. I felt the hood weave together, covering my brow in shadow. Eyes burning with indigo cast a glow within the cloak’s hood. I urged her on. “So you are saying…”

Rae-Lynn’s hair framed her face in a cascade of fire red and sunshine gold strands. She whipped her head around to grab my attention as she latched onto my challenging glare. “I’m saying you were once like her.”

None of it made any sense. The headache was blurring my vision, along with the added confusion of the conversation. Having more questions than answers, getting pissed was predictable.

I slammed the scythe down in front of her and raised my voice. “So, what are you
really
saying, angel?”

Blinking several times to regain her composure, then for reassurance, Rae-Lynn quickly glanced at her daughter. Steeling herself, she focused on my cloaked form. “How many times do I have to explain? You really were once a Child-of-Balance. Your Vessel form died. Now as a daemon, you tend to the dead.”

Shock and denial ran through my veins. “I was never human.” The unpleasant taste of the word
human
caused a gagging sensation in my throat.

Rae-Lynn swished a thin finger back and forth in front of my face. She spoke with a hint of pity, her lips full of pout. “Once human… now daemon… forever a cursed child hiding behind death-laced lies.”

When I took his hand

It felt so familiar…

When I stole a glance

His eyes felt like strength…

When I held a breath

Seconds felt like minutes…

When I welcomed its embrace

I felt death dancing… with me.

~Alexcia

Seven twenty-three in the evening and I glared at the LED lights on the clock as my brain hummed the familiar Jeopardy tune. Struggling for time, I tripped over discarded boots, other shoes, and handbags. With eight minutes to impress,
late Lex-Cee
strikes again. Friday and Saturday nights were normally like this if work permitted. It was an extra bonus when my parents were away due to their work schedules. To fill the void of their absence, I toted a pretty crammed schedule. I excelled at making every mundane minute in my life count, the need to spread myself among two lists was a challenge. A
have to
list was scribbled in pencil and split between serving my junior year prison sentence, and my job at the local coffee house, called the Sip ’N Chug. The other list, my priority
want to
list, penned in ink, of course, for friend time or the next group social. I may not act it at times, but I managed to skip a whole grade. For me, planning was the only way to feel a sense of stability.

I stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the new silver skirt as it shimmered with the glow of the black lights. Pleased with the loosely curled strands of blond that intertwined with the cinder red ones from underneath, I checked the cascade of curls.
Good.
No sign of frizz, so I clipped each side with a comb that matched the skirt I wore. This style added emphasis to my falling mane, hopefully causing the male eye to scan and process.

A black silk blouse with a low scoop neckline tapered down to hug my thin waist. Unpainted lips curved in disgust, noticing the transparent charcoal stripes that lacked at enhancing my chest. Very few outfits helped my features, but most screamed, “She’s almost sixteen.” At least I was a solid B cup because the absence of sensual curves was depressing. That’s when the solution came to me, and a smile replaced the pout as my reflection glanced down at the tissue box.

Around my neck hung the amulet my mother told me to never take off. When my parents gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday, Mom cried while my father hooked it behind my neck. She had cupped my face, told me to keep it close because she explained it was a way to watch over me and show others how special I was.
Eesh
, whatever that meant. The memory still confused me. If my parents had purchased it, ten to one, it was probably expensive. I figured they made a big deal because they didn’t want me to lose it.

Unfortunately, the color didn’t go with my outfit, so it had to go. What could it hurt? Manicured fingers worked at the clasp as the red garnet rose took on a deep purple sheen. The rose sat perfectly within the gold-roped polygon setting. When the lock released, a quick stir of wind hit me in the face and brought with it a thick heaviness settling across my chest. Straightaway, a sad ache formed behind my eyelids, and it stung, but it wasn’t enough to ruin the evening. After clasping the chain together, the lid to my jewelry box opened, making me jump. A knot at the back of my throat made it hard to dismiss the nervous laugh. Placing the necklace into the front slot, it took on a presence making me feel as if I were closing a coffin lid. I sighed and said out loud, “This is ridiculous.” The atmosphere changed, and so did my focus when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

The blouse complemented my long, empty neckline. With my favorite smoke-black choker, it filled the space nicely. Then, I added the matching bracelets and earrings to complete the set. It was needed to make the opposite sex look up, take notice, instead of down where they lost interest with me.

My mom had always told me, “When a wandering eye catches a fancy wrapper, they only want to taste the candy. Make them see you for who you are, not for what you could be right now.”

“Freak’n, as if. Who was she kidding?” I said to no one, and my reflection laughed with me. Really, who
was
she kidding? Her closet contained almost every name brand of clothing and accessories known to woman.
Mom, thy name is vanity.
She said it was because of the dress code at her job, but I knew people were judged by first impressions.

I held a breath while I paused. “Just wait,”
I whispered to myself after making a small promise to the feature staring back. Sixteen was a transformation number. Clasping both hands together, I whispered a pre-birthday wish. The guys would drool for this killer body. Until then, I would enhance and accessorize my slight shortcomings to make up the difference.

My room was awesome if I did say so myself. Painted in midnight blue, I added to the ambiance by plastering about a hundred or so glow-in-the-dark stars I had cut out on a whim after one of my nightmares. If memory served, it had been time-consuming, but the added depth gave the room a three-dimensional feel. A black and silver ceiling fan hung in the middle of the room, and I placed three black bulbs in each smoke glass casing so the stars took on an eerie, light green glow.

A flat black makeup table with silver knobs to accent the half-length mirror stood against the wall. The top of the table, crammed with the latest powders, nail polishes, lotions and face paints, was all my meager paycheck allowed. A black four-drawer dresser with the same silver knobs served as my backup table and sat positioned next to the walk-in closet. Across from the bed, the necessities of life… a twenty-seven inch flat-screen TV and a new PS5-R station so I could keep up with the latest games the guys liked. Myspace was the ultimate place to kill time, or at least help ease anxiety from a nightmare, in case the capacity to rhyme wasn’t there. Anger worked well with the seventh installment of Call of Duty—Zombie vs. Vampires II.

On the floor next to the TV, my favorite dark purple bean bag chair sat, where I would read, write poetry, or jot down a short story. It had started as a cure but became a passion. So many of my journals had been crammed with doodles, stories, and poems. My dark side, which remained under lock and key during the day, fueled my creativity at night. The darkness seemed to know how to expose my mind all the time and was a quick fix to suppressing my altered nightlife. It was cheaper than therapy too. No one needed to know where my love for writing had originated.

Draped over the bed, at least ten outfits discarded to the
I don’t think so in a million years
pile were sliding off the dark purple crush bedspread. The rest of the clothes pooled on a fuzzy black throw rug where my dad’s Rottweiler, Gigi, claimed proprietorship rights. She was dumb but cute. Every now and then she would open an eye to inspect the next item of discarded clothing. Sniff, huff, and then lay her head back down to do what she did best. Snore.

The timer set for 7:25 p.m. on my cell buzzed, chasing away the monster named Mr. Procrastination. With five minutes left, the reflection stared back, and then twirled in front of the glass. Satisfaction brought a wicked little smile of pleasure from this latest creation. I glanced to the right as if the reflection was trying to tell me to prepare myself. Eyes widening, I took in the condition of the room and looked back at the clock with a sense of astonishment. “Wow. I did all this in twenty minutes? That’s a new record,” I said, positioning a hand on each hip to survey the damage done by tornado Lex-Cee. Mom was going to declare this area a disaster zone, but for the sake of self-discovery, I needed a new image. Time was of the essence. Besides, I’d rather have the room a mess, than me. I waved a hand in dismissal; my ride would be here soon. The plan was to clean up before anyone walked through the door anyway. In my defense, it would be faster to piece together outfits for school without even thinking. Just roll out of bed already dressed. Simple.

Tod was due any minute. He was my latest and current conquest. So far, we had survived two months, three weeks and four days, but who was counting? Tolerance was a vague character flaw, and I didn’t want to jeopardize the evening by not being on time. Being the main star of the school jocks, others waited for him, not the other way around, including me. We both had patience issues and worked on them. Besides that, he was fun to hang out with. Tod was also tall and pretty easy on the eyes.
Trust me, I don’t mind the fact my toes have to help me up to kiss him because his kisses are worth the climb.

High school would be okay if it were me, a cup a coffee, and a good book. The fact I had to interact with the masses was another story. Not that Alexcia Crystalline Stasis will ever be a card member of the popular crowd any time soon, but my fingers have the skills to stay connected. All the Preps, Socialites, Loners, Stoners, Nerds… pretty much anyone with a pulse… have me on speed dial.
Want to know where the liquid flows nonstop, and where an iPod docking system is that blares the latest tunes, then pass me a ten for a keg and follow me.

If you looked up the definition of a social butterfly, you’d see my pin-up—a red plastic cup in one hand, filled with whatever makes you feel good at the time—a smoke in the other, tongue out.
And yes, I still have my tonsils.
No one could tie me down to a specific clique, but I’ve always believed there is someone for everyone to hang out with. From the tweens who search for the right image to the ones who don’t give a crap. And I almost forgot about the
Inbetweeners
, who jumped from one extreme fad to the next.

Trust me, it’s hard to build a rapport when the lambs can’t decide which shepherd to follow.

***

The friends I have are neither sheep nor do we consider ourselves leaders. From the time we uttered the ABCs… to our first PG movie without our parents, we’ve been there for each other. I cherish them for accepting my true nature, fluttering from clique to clique. Strategically, I made my presence known, sipping the sweet nectar of information, before school, at lunch, and after school functions.
It’s how I stay in touch with the five W’s. Four of them are questions anyone needs to ask: Who, What, When… the Why is self-explanatory… because we Want to.

One of my best buds is Jake Harlin Steal, but he goes by the name Ghost because he likes being heard but not seen. His family held him back a grade when he was little. Jake would have been a senior this year, but because of his lack of maturity, he fits in well with the junior crowd. Ghost is almost a year and a half older than me and uses the age difference for leverage when I’m not listening, or he wants me to do his English homework. Jake is the lifeline when playing the game How to Make a Million Mistakes. Sometimes I wish he could be my big brother.
Now that I think about it, I guess he is… in a way.

Then there’s Demetria Kara Stuart, but we all call her Dee. She is perky, bright, and extremely high-strung. The latter is the main cause of her drastic mood swings. Dee looks tiny for her age, but heaven forbid if you piss her off. Trust me when I say, you definitely want her in your corner before a fight. Her one flaw… she’s the human version of the Peanuts cartoon character, Lucy. She analyzes everything, gives five cents worth of advice, then wants a tip. Dee has no problem handing out advice to anyone she feels is a charity case, and she just applies it to their credit. She’s our very own conscience cricket, for the most part, keeping our little clan from getting into serious trouble. When she’s not playing therapist, she rambles.
We presume she loves the sing-song lilt of her own voice.

The last introduction is for Blakely Violet Sanderson. Miss Blakely takes the cake, frosting, and all. She is gorgeous but hides behind her tomboy name. Dresses in grunge and wears dark colors to conceal her outer beauty, among other things. We are polar opposites. I’m a girl walking on the edge of life, tempted to jump, but she will do a graceful swan dive from the highest cliff without even thinking. Blakely is probably the only person close enough to me for the title
best friend
, but we don’t name brand each other. It’s only a label anyway.

***

Because of me, Blake and Ghost put up with Tod’s demeanor; whereas, Dee flat out despised the guy. She believed he suffered from a rare condition called
contagious jock itch
. It was a quirk of his. If you asked him a question he didn’t know, he would scratch the back of his head. Dee implied he might be infectious because he was always scratching the wrong head. She prayed that I was immune to stupid because he couldn’t relate to others if it wasn’t about sports and struggled to understand their point of view on things.
My friends understand how I operate which means the world to me. Supporters are very hard to come by. You hang onto them with loving claws, digging in and never letting go.

Night before last we were getting back late from a gathering by the lakes. My parents expected me to stay home on school nights. If I weren’t working at the Sip ’N Chug, the temptation angel would sit on one shoulder and convince me every time. “What the hell, you’re not even going to be out that long. Your parents are out of town, go on, have a good time.” Our night ended with the smell of burnt rubber after my mom shocked us with a text. She was almost home, my father about twenty minutes behind her. Together, my friends and I raced back to my house at two in the morning only to see both my parents’ cars in the driveway with the interior lights off. With the impression of a sporting chance, the evil angel whispered, “Maybe they went straight to bed?”
So, I snuck through my second floor bedroom window.