Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

By the time Mac left to ferry the last soul, the sky was full of stars above. Paris wondered again if one of those bright, twinkling lights was his mother, if she'd heard his plea to take good care of the innocents Mac had delivered today.

And there had been innocents, more than a few. Pack children who hadn't chosen Chaos, other members of the pack who'd been held against their will, the human—Dylan—who had been hunted in these woods for days. He'd been lured here by his best friend, a mountain lion from the pack. Paris had lost his breath when he'd first delved into his memories, nearly drowning from the tidal wave of betrayal Dylan had felt. He couldn't imagine Kai or Jason ever doing such a thing, but Dylan hadn't imagined his best friend would either. They'd been closer than blood, but then his friend's blind allegiance to Chaos, his fear of Nature's evolving world, had turned him against Dylan. Through Dylan's unbelieving human eyes, Paris had watched as his friend had stood next to the giant by the altar and, with his own claws, torn Dylan's heart from his chest. As Dylan's last breath escaped, as the bond he'd shared with his friend well and truly severed, the giant had lost control of the magic and burned everything and everyone to the ground. Paris didn't think the timing was a coincidence.

Nor did he think it a coincidence that Mac's violet eyes were dim and his flying off-kilter when he eventually returned. Liam took up position on his wing and guided him to Paris's shoulder. He landed, and it was like a blast chiller flipping on beside Paris, frigid air blanketing his cheek. The raven was shivering too, cold all the way to his talons. Paris needed to get him back to the cabin, ASAP.

Kneeling, he dug two sets of clothes out of his pack, placing the jeans and sweater on the ground next to Liam and the extra sweats in a pile for Mac. He'd intended them for himself, but Mac needed them more right now. "Shift and change," he told the giant black bird on his shoulder. "I'll tell Jenn and Abigail we're finished."

It was a testament to Mac's exhaustion that he didn't argue, that he simply hopped off Paris's shoulder and onto the pile of jersey material without protest. Paris crossed the large singed circle to where Jenn stood sentry over Abigail, who was scooping ashes into bowls they'd fashioned from pieces of tree bark outside the burn zone.

"I need to get Mac back to the cabin."

Abigail twisted to glance up at him. "Are all the souls gone?"

Paris nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion in his own bones, in his head that had been a virtual drive-thru the past twelve hours as they'd sorted who and which direction souls would travel, what each soul deserved. "That's all of them."

"I couldn't feel them," Abigail said as she stood. "But you and Mac and Liam could." She handed the bowl to Jenn then pulled him into her arms. "Thank you."

He hugged her back. "Thank you for keeping me alive all those months. And we will catch the giant who did this to your people." He had a mural to paint, as soon as he got back to the cabin and got Mac buried under a mountain of blankets. "You're good here?" he asked. "Safe?"

"I can stay," Liam said, rejoining them in human form.

Jenn shook her head. "You need to rest too, but you also need to get this one"—she tilted her head toward Paris—"and Mac back down the mountain in one piece. Leave the rest of the birds. We'll text when we get home."

Paris was still learning about the team Mac spoke of often, still sorting out the hierarchy, but he surmised Adam was at the top and Jenn close by, given how easily she issued orders and how quickly Liam acquiesced. She was all business. Was she the her they spoke of? In any event, Paris was caught off guard when the gruff leader likewise drew him into a hug. "Thank you for doing this for her." The embrace was stiff and awkward but the words sincere, and despite the awful day, Paris couldn't hide his smile. He liked Abigail a lot, and Jenn clearly loved her and would do anything for her.

The coyote had another message for him. "Adam needs Mac," she said. "And she's not done with him yet either. We're trusting you."

So she wasn't Jenn, and Paris didn't think Jenn was referring to Abigail either. Nor did he think he'd ever been trusted with something so important. It scared him but also filled him with pride, something that had been in short supply during his relatively short life. He intended to keep earning it.

"I've got him."

"What do you need?" Mac asked, even as Paris, shoulder under his, hauled him through the cabin door.

Between the full-body shivers, chattering teeth, and cold, clammy skin, Mac had deteriorated more with each passing mile on the drive back to the cabin. Concern for him at fever pitch, Paris guided the raven across the room and lowered him onto the end of the bed. "I need you to lie down and go to sleep."

"Paris—"

"And leave your clothes on," he ordered, borrowing some of Jenn's authority. "You're freezing."

"It's normal."

"I don't think it is." He held up the sheets and blankets for Mac. "You're overworked, like you were that morning after guiding Icarus and Adam."

"He's not wrong," Liam said as he closed the cabin door behind them. "About any of it. Go to sleep, brother. I'll keep an eye on Paris."

Mac's answering glare gave Paris a measure of comfort, as did his acquiescence, the exhausted reaper finally crawling under the covers. By the time Paris was back with another blanket to throw over him, he was snoring. With Mac tucked in and warm, Paris closed his eyes to recenter himself, breathing in the scents of life in the cabin—the vases full of wildflowers, the bread he'd made yesterday, the lingering scent of fresh paint.

"You should sleep too," Liam said from where he was crouched in front of the fire, stoking it back to life.

Paris righted his head and flexed his fingers. "I need to paint while the giant is fresh in my head. I don't want to forget any details." This giant looked nothing like the one who'd taken him. He was big, bulky, and bald, and there were more things to distinguish him. Hazel eyes that weren't quite the same size, eyelashes so thick they looked kohl-lined, a birthmark in front of one ear, a tattoo inside one wrist.

He grabbed his paints and brushes and the wooden platter he'd repurposed as a palette and stood in front of the freshly repainted wall, close to the light of the fire.

Liam appeared at his side a couple minutes later. "Here," he said, offering Paris a mug of steaming tea. "For your stomach. I know that drive wasn't easy on you." Liam, bless him, had sped down the mountain so fast Paris's stomach was left somewhere back there on the winding road.

"I wouldn't have told you to slow down, no matter how sick I felt."

"I know." He glanced Mac's direction as he lowered onto the couch, the concern in his gaze the same that thrummed through Paris. "Thank you for that and for helping him. He couldn't have done that today without you."

"Or without you."

"I wish he'd let me do more."

"I know," Paris said, parroting Liam's earlier response. He swiped his brush through the brown and green paint and started the mural with the giant's eyes. "Your aura is pure indigo. Empathy, according to the witches."

"You can read auras?" Back to Liam, Paris couldn't see his eyes, but by the tone of his voice, he bet they were wide.

"It started with Mac's, then today I could see Abigail's, and now yours. I've been working with the witches to understand what I'm seeing. Still not sure on the who or the why yet."

He worked more on the outline of the giant's face—a larger than average forehead, a square, clean-shaven jaw, a crooked nose that had been broken multiple times. The silence was comfortable, Liam's presence familiar, but conversation helped keep the fear at bay. "Can there be two reapers at once?" Paris asked.

"Everyone in our family can sense the souls."

Paris glanced over his shoulder. "About five minutes into the trek, I started hearing the voices and a split second later, you Kraa 'ed." His attempt to mimic their call drew a welcome chuckle out of Liam.

"I heard them too," he said, but then sobered, gaze straying again to where Mac was curled on his side in bed. "We can all sense them because both our parents were reapers. Our mother was the reaper for her tribe, our father from his Celtic ancestors' clan, but when they mated, the lines were joined, and there can only be one reaper from a line who crosses between the planes. I watch and learn and do what I can to help on this one whenever he'll let me."

"It'll be you next?" Paris asked as he turned back to the wall.

"If he doesn't outlive me."

"He can't give it up?"

"He can. Our parents did. But he won't."

Paris wasn't sure that was quite right. Not with the regret and duty that colored so much of Mac's aura. "Or he doesn't know how."

Liam hummed in reply, contemplating it seemed. His silence stretched on so long that Paris assumed he'd fallen asleep, until the couch cushions squeaked again sometime later, Liam rising to stoke the fire. "Is he okay?"

"He's exhausted—and exhausting," Paris said with a smile as he tinkered with the almost leaf-like collection of freckles behind the giant's ear. "But I don't think he knows any other way to be." Liam's answering laugh was warm and affectionate. "Am I wrong?"

"You're not, but he's different with you. Since you."

"If I can use that to make him sleep, then let's count it a win."

"It's going to get tougher," Liam said as he stood beside Paris in front of the wall. "Especially with the Rift anniversary in a few days. I need you— we need you—to keep helping him. He lets you, more than he lets any of us." The urgency in his voice made Paris pause mid-brushstroke and glance in his direction. And was nearly blinded by the pure indigo aura that radiated out of him. "Keep making him sleep. Make him talk too, when he needs that. Too many people, too many souls depend on him."

Paris nodded, for all their sakes and his own, because if the tugging in his chest today each time he dove into a vision, each time Mac came and went between the planes was any indication, Paris's soul depended on Mac too.