Page 140 of Shades of Silver City

“Shut your Gods-damned mouth,” I growl.

“Archer,” the Reaper sing-songs. “I’m Arlo.” He places a hand on his chest and smirks at me. “Artair is our father. Archer. Arlo. Artair. You can’t tell me you don’t see the significance there. Quite adorable, really.”

“You’re not my brother.”

“Ah, but we share blood.”

Like Godric has said many times before, blood does not make brothers…but it does explain how Arlo got into my ma’s apartment.

Why has he been poking around?

My temples throb in tempo to my pounding heart. What he’s saying—no. It can’t be true. Ma said she didn’t know who my father was.

My mother wasn’t the best. She was often high, incoherent, unreliable, but she wasn’t a liar.

Turning, I trudge back toward the tunnel entrance, desperate to put some distance between Arlo and me. I need to get to Tasia.

“Your mother was offered safety here with us in the Wilds. Before and after your sister was born. She chose to keep you both in the city, knowing our plan to take it back.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” I call over my shoulder.

“Archer Acciai…you’re quick to protect half your kind, but what about the other half? The half that was here first. The half whose land the city was built atop?”

“That’s your plan? To destroy the city?” I laugh humorously.

“I don’t need to destroy the city when it’ll destroy itself.” His voice fades out as I pick up my pace.

“Go to hell, you fucker,” I mutter as I drop back into the hole.

If only Tasia could hear me now.

I start running toward the city. It’s the memory of her contagious laugh that propels me forward, desperate to find her. Protect her. And win her back.

I fear I’ve lost her. And selfishly? The fear of losing her is more terrifying than any of today’s other revelations.

"Soul-magic serves as the antithesis of death magic, acting in a manner that essentially counterbalances and neutralizes its effect.”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 34

FANTASIA

The metal door slams open, sounding like thunder in the warehouse. I jolt up from the ground to catch sight of Scathe bolting toward the enclosure.

“Scathe!” I yell, running up to the glass. He whimpers. “I know, boy. I’m okay.” I scan him, searching for any sign of injury. He’s walking fine, and there’s no matted fur or blood on him.

“How the hell did this happen?” Godric’s voice booms from the doorway.

“Are you a fucking reaper, too?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the brute.

“What?”

He’s not, the voice from earlier says into my mind.

“Get out of my head!” I shout.

Scathe whimpers, lowering his head.

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