Page 67 of All Her Ghosts

Bas almost smiles, trying hard to hope.

“What do you think, old man? Can you make it fifty feet without your guts falling out?”

“There’s no point,” Cain wheezes. My living ears only hear half of every word; the hell-born thing inside of me picks out the rest.

“Shut up,” Bas whispers, heaving him up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “There is to me.”

I lead the way, the head of a haunted procession, the whole time feeling Cain’s soul struggling like a trapped bird in his cage of flesh, battering against his ribs, aching, seeking rest. Tears burn in my eyes, freeze on my cheeks. My palms ache, torn between the horrified memory of souls extinguishing and the longing to do worse, humanity colliding with my residues of godhood.

These government men, these awful soldiers, don’t matter.Cainmatters. He matters so much a harvest god would resist his own purpose to save this one human man. Matters so much Death herself would erase the souls that hurt him.

And meanwhile, far away and safe somewhere, my selfish human mother goes about her life without guilt, without consequence. When shecausedthis. So much suffering and for what—a daughter she only ever wanted in theory? She broke the world for me, claimed becoming a mother was the most important thing she ever did. So then, why did she never even learn totalkto me? Why doesn’t she know who Iam?

And meanwhile Cain didn’t evenwantBas—Cain just wanted the world to stop ending, the dead to quit rising—but somehow, that ended him up with a son, withlove.

And a cold ghost light trickling steadily through our fingers.

What was worth this that costsso much?

Shoulders bowed, Bas steps inside the helicopter, lowering his babynapper carefully to the floor. I follow. The pilot’s eyes dart between us, crazed and white around the rims, reaching for his gun. I stare at him, clinging hard to my human body because if I don’t—

If I break, if I scream and snap and boil the storm, I will end him, and Cain will die, and we will not have done everything we could.

“I don’t care what you have to do,” I whisper, so furious my voice cracks. “I don’t care what kind of trouble you get into. You will get this man to a hospital now.”

“No,” Cain croaks, the light guttering in his eyes. “Don’t waste this opportunity.”

Bas presses a shaking, glowing hand to his cheek. A little of his babynapper’s awareness filters back.

“Would you shut up already?” he says, the false levity in his voice falling flat. “We’re probably like ten minutes from a city. You can make it another ten minutes.”

Fueled by Bas’s light, Cain surges forward. His hand catches in his sleeve, climbs his shoulder, gripping hard. Gently, painfully gently, he closes fingers on Bas’s chin, forcing his son to look at him.

He says, “I appreciate it, kid. But I had a good run. And you—” A cough shatters him, lays him out against the wall, hiccupping blood.

Bas’s hands flare brighter. The crimson-stained hoodie smokes.

“Don’t say it,” he bites between his teeth. “Don’t you fucking waste your breath saying it.”

Cain laughs, even now, his hazy grin stained red.

“Do you need me to say it?” he breathes.

Bas’s whole body bends, shaking.

“Shut the hell up,” he gasps.

“Then I’ll tell her.” Slow and aching, Cain turns his head. His gray eyes find mine, a lighthouse seeking shore. More than half dead, he sees me—seesallof me—my ghost gripping the pilot’s neck beneath hishelmet, soul and flesh in my clenched fist and both of them bruising. He says, “You have a responsibility, Persephone. You are a weapon. Aim accordingly.”

“I’m gonna get you to a hospital,” I lie. An icicle drips from my chin, shattering on the metal floor. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Cain’s hand flutters weakly. His soul pulls at his seams, caged only by the sheer willpower of Bas’s burning hands on his arms, his chest, his shoulders bowed and trembling, forehead pressed so hard against his father’s heart.

Still, Cain tries again. With a monumental, final effort, he brings his palm up to cradle the back of Bas’s head, his skull so small in his babynapper’s big hands.

Quietly, with his final rattling breath, Cain lists off coordinates—and falls still.

Through my teeth, I tell the pilot, “Fly.”