Page 50 of Of Bone and Ash

“I told you to be careful while you're here, but we are just one week in, and you're already hurt!” Atlas bellows, startling me enough that I jump in my chair. His words ring in my ears as I stare at his angry brown eyes. Brown eyes. Not gray… brown, not gray. I repeat over and over as my throat tightens, my head ducking instinctively.

“Why do you always mess things up? It's your fault your brother doesn't want to come home,” my father bellows at me, as my small hands press to the cold marble floor beneath me. I can taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue, my eye already starting to swell from the slap I just received that sent me flying across the floor.

“I’m sorry, Father,” I whisper, keeping my head ducked so he doesn't have another excuse to hit me again.

“Call for the maid. Tell her the clumsy girl has fallen again and needs to be patched up,” Father yells at the doorman, who nods and immediately races from the ornate library. Father turns on me as I try to step back, pressing against the wall, curling in on myself as I wait for another blow. Now that he’s started, he won't stop until his anger has leveled.

“This is your fault!” he roars, striding forward with the leather belt in his hand. I tremble as I wait for the strike, keeping my eyes shut. “I told you to be careful while you were here, and you already managed to break a priceless vase gifted to me by the Siren representative!”

“I’m sorry!” I whisper, ducking my head enough that my chin touches my chest. “I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry!” I scream, raising a hand when he pulls the belt back over his head.

“Fina!” Atlas shouts, making me jerk and look up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat as I brace for his anger. Atlas watches me, his eyes moving from my clenched hands to my face, then to my neck, where I know he can see the bruises. He sighs and closes his eyes before shaking his head. “You’re scared,” he whispers, guilt filling his tone.

“No,” I rasp, my voice cracking as I try to shove the memories away, the cold sweat that’s encompassed my body making me shiver. Atlas’ shoulders sag right before he curses, his hand flying across his desk, taking the cup full of pencils and pens and sending it crashing to the ground at our sides. I suppress the urge to jump in my seat again, knowing Atlas can read me better than anyone else. With Gabe, I may have gotten away with my lie, but not Attie.

Since a young age, he’s been able to tell when I’m lying more often than not. It's one of the reasons we’ve gotten along as well as we do. Attie calls me on my bullshit. I call him on his. It's been a long, somewhat angry road we’ve traveled together, but I wouldn't change it, even if it's annoying at times like this.

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I wish I could do more to help out here and now you're hurt. Gabe is going to roast me for this,” Atlas mutters, running a hand over his face.

“What Gabe doesn't know won’t hurt him,” I whisper. Making Atlas crack a smile and look at me between his fingers before his hand drops back to his desk.

“He is technically our boss. We’re here on Fae Council orders,” Atlas points out, and I shrug.

“I’m not concerned. What’s he going to do? Fire us?” I snort, and Atlas laughs.

“Uhh, yeah. That's exactly what he’ll do.” I shrug.

“I heard you complaining to Gabe about coming here. It's not like you’ll care if you get taken off the job,” I point out.

“It was this or go to New York,” Atlas explains, and I wince. When Atlas decided to shove everyone away all those years ago, that included the man and woman he was in love with. Sol and Alice haven’t seen him in years and I know Atlas now has a lot of guilt over the situation.

“Oh,” I mutter, and Atlas nods.

“Yeah,” he grumbles and takes a deep breath. “Are you in pain? I can spell it away until the healer gets here. It won’t do anything physically, but you won't be uncomfortable as you wait?” he whispers, and I shake my head. Yeah, I’m sore as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before.

“I’m fine.”

“Alright, now that I’ve made a fool of myself. Could you please start at the beginning and tell me in detail what happened?” he asks, and I nod, leaning back in the chair to get more comfortable. It puts pressure on my back, but it helps relieve some of the pain in my right hip that I’m just starting to notice. Ten minutes of talking later, I reach across Atlas’ desk and grab the water bottle sitting there, taking several deep drinks to soothe my raw throat. Atlas is staring at me like I’ve gone insane, and I can’t stop the small smirk I give him.

“I swear I’m not lying,” I add, just to make sure he knows I’m not trying to pull a joke on him or something.

“I know,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his wheelchair. I can practically see the wheels in his mind working overtime trying to figure out who and what this guy is.

“And when you came back to yourself… you were in your bed?” he asks in confusion, and I nod. “You’re certain it wasn't a dream?” I shake my head.

“No. I thought it was. It felt off, like a really vivid dream. But when talking to this man, he implied it wasn’t. I’m not sure if we should believe that or not. But as far as I’m aware, there is no way for someone to get physically injured during dreams.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Atlas agrees and sighs, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you get his name by chance?”

I scoff and shake my head. “Didn't have time to exchange personal information between all the dead girls and fighting him off. His scythe was black,” I add, slightly jealous over his fancy blade. Lifting my hand in front of me I call on my magic, watching as the black swirls between my fingertips and the cold, heavy handle of my scythe materializes in my palm. The shining silver metal gleams, my magic casting a dark glow around the sharpened blade as I stare down at it.

“I’ve only seen you use it once before,” Atlas whispers, and I glance up, watching as my brother leans over his desk and stares at my weapon with keen interest. “It's different than Gabe’s.” I nod.

My Reaper brother’s scythe has a wider blade, sharpened in a traditional way with the ability to form a secondary blade on the other end. My scythe is longer, the blade thin and deadly sharp. Instead of a heavy design, mine holds a simple, more feminine design. I can’t produce a two-bladed scythe the way my brother can, but I do possess the magic to conjure not only a scythe, but an entire arsenal of weapons. I favor my sword, finding it easier to wield, but there’s something about carrying the scythe that just feels right.

“There hasn't really been a need for it. I only use it during training with Gabriel,” I admit, looking at the curved blade once more before letting it go, watching as the silver gleams and vanishes into thin air.

“Why didn't you tell me about all this the first time it happened?” he asks, and I shrug.

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