Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

XXIV - Master (2 of 2)

I jolted up to the noise of metallic locks being unbolted. Guardedly, I jumped to my feet. A soft thud followed by Vincent's groans and cursing told me that his head banged on the floor. I totally forgot that he was leaning on me.

Intently, I listened to the faint footfalls against the pavement of the entryway, pushing the curtains slightly so I could take a peek outside. At first I thought we were being attacked, but the minute I spotted a pair of golden canine eyes and a giant foxy tail wagging in the dark, I knew it was Byron Flynn. Hurriedly, I opened the door for them while Vincent flicked the lights on.

Amyr came in first with Vladimir fast asleep over his back. Gently, the familiar laid the boy in the empty recliner, wiping the beads of sweat on his forehead. All the other familiars looked as exhausted as him but no one seemed to have sustained serious injuries. Some scratches and small wounds here and there-nothing the immortal life-force couldn't heal. Bringing up the rear, Byron Flynn limped his way in. His left front foot seemed to be fractured with the lower leg bone threatening to stick out of the skin every time it dangled from the knee joint.

I made Byron Flynn lie down and stroked his silky reddish fur in an attempt to comfort him while Rosario prepared to heal him. His big amber eyes trained on me, a low guttural whine coming from his throat. The dog was in pain.

Despite the tired look on his face, Amyr sported a big smile as he flopped beside me. "How's it going, noob? Heard from Archie you brought home a Swarth."

Not wanting to tell the story, I just shrugged and focused on Byron Flynn. A Swarth. Somehow, I felled one but it wasn't like I was proud of it. Fighting wraiths wasn't just some sport and it was just then that I came to that understanding. Lives of people depended on it-both humans and immortals. Every single time a familiar went out to battle with these wicked creatures, they were putting their lives on the line.

Dying wasn't an option. Not something to have a good laugh about. For once, I understood why Vincent vehemently refused to let me live this life.

By all means, I was aware that Amyr was just trying hard to be lighthearted about the situation but I just couldn't afford to humor him. "Is it that bad in Centralia?" I asked instead.

Amyr rubbed and flexed his neck to and fro before nodding without much enthusiasm. "Wraiths were everywhere. No idea how it happened but something's hindering the flow of souls into the Gates. The Boss had to conjure several temporary Spirit Doors to let as much soul pass to Nirvana. We couldn't stop him until he was dead beat. He's so stubborn."

"I feel your pain," I replied managing a weak smile, inadvertently glancing at Vincent.

He yawned stretching his arms. "I could use some sleep. Bad enough that I didn't get some Swarth-kicking action. It's been like five years since I've encountered one."

"I've seen two in my days," I mumbled, breaking into a weak laugh. The line made me sound like a granny.

He looked perplexed. "Swarths? Twice in a row? Now that's something. Guess you attract all sorts of weird too much. Better watch your back from now on."

I stayed up until Rosario was done healing Byron Flynn. The dog kept thrashing and growling at her while she rearranged and reattached the muscles and bones of his broken legs. I sensed that the Spanish teacher was having difficulty using her healing ability considering how weary the mission had left her. All the while, we kept our silence. Arguing would only waste more energy.

"If you're willing to train me, I'll start tomorrow," I finally said once Byron Flynn got up and curled beside me, burying his big fluffy head on my lap.