My hand disappeared through the dirt, going deeper inside until it seemed as though my arm had grown six feet longer underground. It was merely my spectral body extending into the grave, as Leticia had said would happen. Once I felt the coffin, I pushed some more and reached inside, grasping air.
At last, my spectral fingers brushed against resistance. With a gasp, I pulled back an emaciated hand, and the spirit followed, clutching at my wrist. It screeched, begging for freedom. I winced and jerked upwards, pulling it out of the spectral plane in which it was hiding. It writhed, desperate to escape my grasp. I shuddered, struggling to contain its fury and despair with my newfound power. I felt its agony as if it were my own. My stomach twisted, but I managed to banish it to where it belonged, though I was left soaked in sweat and trembling. That has been the strongest of all the practice spirits I’d taken so far, and I said so.
Mazarin smiled. “That’s because it was real.” When I gasped, she laughed. “Welcome to the world of the necromancer.”
“Necromancer?” My voice came out in a shriek that would have given the spirit competition. “A Reaper is a necromancer?” Eww. Not once, in all my lessons so far, had anyone used that word. “I’m not a pervert!”
Mazarin snickered. “Only if you’re planning to put the romance in necromancy,” she said. “I think you’re confusing it with necrophilia.”
I sank to my knees, my breath panting. I felt like I was going to be sick. It was all too much – being there, all the practice, taking on too much power, and now them springing a real spirit on me when I’d thought it was just another test.
“It was another test,” Mazarin said, reading my mind. “Necromancy means you have a connection to the dead,” she explained. “They respond to your call, and you can read their pasts, as well as foretell some of their future. As the Reaper, you can help them move on—one way or another.”
My mind reeled. It all seemed so impossible. I couldn’t do this, regardless of however many lessons I’d taken. When faced with the reality – I couldn’t be a necromancer, and especially not a Reaper. I was just ... just me. A young woman who’d barely been out of Park Depot her whole life. One who wanted to go to school, to take care of her brother. Wanted to be ...
Wanted to be with them.
“Sierra?” Mazarin’s voice cut through my inner turmoil.
I opened my mouth to speak, to lash out at her, but the words came out as a strangled sob. “I can’t do this,” I choked out. “I can’t be a necromancer! I can’t be a Reaper!”
“Why do you think that?”
“I’m nobody. I barely even know magic.”
She regarded me silently, the gathering clouds reflecting in her eyes, and I shivered.
“You’re wrong,” she murmured. “I knew it from the moment we met. You are special, Sierra.”
“But I’m not special,” I cried. I’m just someone who wanted a better life, not be a tool for some ancient magic.”
Her lips tightened. “A tool?” She stared down at me, her eyes hard. “You’re not a tool, Sierra. You’re a weapon.”
“A weapon?”
An oddly proud yet sad smile spread across her lips. “You are the key, the last of the Reapers.”
I trembled at the implications, my mind rebelling against this new knowledge. “I can’t be.”
“You already are.”
My thoughts raced, trying to make sense of everything. I had no idea what to think. “I don’t want to be a weapon.”
“Why not?” she asked, her tone almost bored. “You’re the last Reaper, Sierra. Our last chance to protect our world. There’s nothing you can do about that.”
I turned away from her. “Why is it so important that I believe this?”
“This is a test, Sierra. One you must pass.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“You will.” Her voice was flat, her eyes narrowed. “And if you truly want to save your loved ones, then you will accept it.”
I wasn’t sure what happened next. I’d asked a question, but my mind had gone blank. I didn’t know how I’d gotten out of the cemetery, or even how long I’d been walking. But I was alone and could feel I was headed somewhere important.
My feet stopped as the path forked. I saw two figures ahead of me. One was a woman - slender, with long black hair. Her eyes were dark and full of sadness. She stared out to the horizon, as if waiting for something.
Beside her was a man with deep auburn hair. His back was turned, and his shoulders sagged as if he carried a heavy weight. He looked over his shoulder suddenly, as if he could feel my presence.
The man and woman turned again, walking away. My heart raced, and I started running after them. “Wait!” I called out. “Please!”
They kept walking. As I drew closer, I saw tears streaking down the woman’s cheeks.
The man reached out a hand to her, but he looked away.
I stumbled to a halt. The road was gone, replaced by a vast sea stretching to the horizon. It was as if I were standing on a beach, the waves lapping at my feet.
“What are you?” I asked.
The man and woman stared back at me, mute and unmoving.
“What am I?” I asked suddenly. The words felt pulled from me, almost not my own.
The couple gazed at me for several seconds, emotions roiling behind their eyes – pity, pride, sadness, hope.
The man’s voice was weary. “You are what we were. A Reaper. But our time has passed. You must try to save the world.”
I shook my head, denying.
