Chapter 15: Chapter 15

S Ø R E N

HE HAD NEVER quite seen anything like it before. The interior of the once modern style apartment was arguably that of a vintage pagan cottage located in the middle of an enchanted forest. A variety of curing ingredients hung from the wooden beams lodged just below the ceiling, and the scent of death and rosemary was thick in the air.

“I’m a wizard,” Finnigan offered in explanation as the Reapers took it all in. “As I’m sure Hermes must have mentioned.”

“I didn’t realise that those actually existed,” Savannah bluntly muttered. “Is it like modern aesthetic witchcraft —with cards, charms and chants and that? Not actual physical magic?”

“I am not a wizard by birth,” chuckled the eccentric host as he adjusted his glasses. “I have studied magic for a number of years. I believe that we who do not inherit abilities like those of the gods can draw it from within us. From our very souls.”

“Then why doesn’t everyone have magic now?” the redhead scoffed.

“Savannah,” Søren clipped.

“No, no, I encourage questions,” Mr Magik sighed. “And that is a very valid one, young lady. I can answer it two ways: first, a majority of humans have evolved to declare such archaic practices to be obsolete in our modern society. They have no interest in the supernatural or even spiritual. Second, I learned under the guidance of my mentor that magic is a thing you must yearn for more than anything. Nothing will take root if you do not make it the centre of your existence.”

Søren gave his trainee a wary glance. Would that explain the man’s skin? What had he given of himself in exchange for power?

“…I take it that you did just that,” Søren breathed, slowly eyeing what he assumed to be a workshop.

Finnigan nodded. “I was mostly toying with charms and chants as a teenager —as you mentioned, girl,” he addressed the trainee. “But one day, I meant to summon the goddess Iris. Instead, a handmaid to the Olympians came through, alerting me that Iris was otherwise engaged. She was curious, though, about why I had done it. I spoke to this maiden for quite some time afterwards, and she kept visiting me of her own accord. She is the one who gave me a deeper understanding —gave me a drive.”

“Is this the boss that Hermes mentioned?” Savannah asked nervously.

The wizard laughed just as uneasily, his expression hiding some sort of lingering pain. “I do not think that ‘boss’ is the appropriate title. She was a guide; a friend. She taught me and even gave me, a mere mortal, a scintilla of her magical power. And then she was a lover, but I do prefer to forget that,” he muttered more to himself, frowning in thought as he shuffled to the kitchenette. “One should never mix business with pleasure.”

Søren was tempted to agree with that notion. After falling for his father’s business partner’s daughter and facing the consequence of death; and having fallen for a fellow Grim Reaper; he was now sure that he had learned his lesson. Nothing good came from love —not for him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Søren then spoke up to dispel his lingering thoughts, “What exactly are you?”

The wizard paused, his stance shifting to that of a person with something to hide. “…I am immortal, in a sense,” he murmured. “It…happened about five years ago. I was not meant to die. My soul was cleaved, but because of the Olympian magic within it, I rejected death. I am a dead man walking.”

“That’s why you’re red and wispy sometimes,” Savannah realised.

“You two can see that as well?” Mr Magik grimaced. “Is it because you are Grim Reapers?”

“Likely,” Søren huffed. Then his eyes narrowed as he realised something. “…You are not supposed to be alive,” he said. “Have you been hiding from Death and his minions all of this time?”

“No,” Mr Magik answered, almost as confused as the Reapers. “No one seems to know except for Hermes and…her.”

“Hermes wouldn’t reveal something like this unless he wanted something from our Boss,” Søren mused. “That’s why he’s been quiet.”

Savannah drew a sudden breath. “That’s why he told us to come here,” she hissed. “You were reaped too early.”

Finnigan’s eyes widened, and the mistiness of him amplified in a short burst, leaking into the air. The Reaper in training was correct.

“Is it just magic that is keeping you tethered?” Søren inquired.

“Yes,” the wizard admitted. “You would be the only other beings besides the gods who can see this —the part of me that is still spirit. To mortals, I look human, as I was before. But I have already grown tired of…forever. I am searching for a permanent solution, but so far I’ve gotten nowhere.”

Dying again was clearly not an option.

His expression then darkened, as though he were attempting to be threatening. The wispy ends of him flared out like the tails of snakes; like living shadows. “You…you two are not going to report this, are you?” he asked them in a low, careful voice. “Because I can assure you, I am very prepared to keep this a secret even if it means burning your souls.”

The Reapers tensed. Savannah’s hand curled around the handle of her sword, but she did not dare to draw the blade. Søren shook his head at her subtly, trying to communicate his thoughts.

Clearly, mortals could not contain magic well.

“We swear upon the River Styx,” Søren said to the wizard calmly, raising his free hand slightly as reassurance. “We will not report you. We still require your aid, Mr Magik.”

“Why should I trust your word?”

Søren glanced at Savannah. She inhaled deeply. “Because our situation is similar. A soul has been reaped ahead of its time. What we do about it now effects our fates,” she wisely kept it vague.

Finnigan paused. Perhaps he dealt with betrayal on the regular, and had become accustomed to the need to silence those who turned on him. His defences remained erect, even though he visibly loosened and let out a sigh of relief. “All right. I will do my best to help.”

Even with that conformation, Søren suddenly got the terrifying feeling that they were fortunate to still be standing where they were.

Mr Magik began to busy himself at his main table littered with books, herbs and crystal beakers. Some were full of translucent liquid that looked like they had bottled whole galaxies, while others stored preserved plants and weeds. The research of half a lifetime compiled into one space; Søren thought it was impressive that he could sift through it so efficiently.

The Reapers stood stiffly by the door; arms folded and jaws clenched as they had not relaxed completely —just as the immortal was, the two were on cautious alert. Anything could happen to cause a snap.

“…So, um, Mr Magik,” Søren went on as casually as he could manage. “About our request…can you really warp time?”

“Well. There are laws in place —” he began dubiously.

“The Titan Lord Kronos is currently imprisoned,” the Trainer reminded him. “There is nothing that he can do to you.”

The wizard chuckled uncertainly. “That is not what I meant. I was warned that fraternising with time had…unpredictable consequences. It is not a fixed thing that can simply be removed.”

“What we need is the perception of an event to be altered,” Søren informed him. “We can’t erase it —we know that.”

“What is the original timeline?” he frowned.

“The soul is reaped, and we will be reaped as punishment,” Savannah clipped, keeping it short. It was not as though she would willingly reveal the details of what happened, after all. Yet as Søren thought about it, nothing was preventing Finnigan Michael Magik from concluding whatever he wished with the information given. The wizard might even know that his trainee had been the one to reap the soul.

If he had realised it, he showed no resentment towards her. Given what had happened to him, Søren did not think he would be so cooperative with a Grim Reaper who had unlawfully taken a life.

“If it is your wish and intention to bring this person back to life or prevent their death, I should not do that,” the wizard warned darkly.

‘Should not’, Søren noted. Not ‘cannot’.

So, the cursed immortal was very capable of such.

“No,” Savannah said firmly. “That is most definitely not the goal.”

Mr Magik frowned deeply, as though her words struck a nerve too deep. “…That is disappointing, to an extent,” he murmured. “Though I am sure that you have your reasons. I can’t judge your motives. But if I may know, what is it that you want to do when you get to the past?”

Savannah looked at her Trainer. They had not actually discussed the matter. They knew that they could not stop her from killing the bastard. That would rupture the timeline and make a mess of everything else. Instead what they needed was a way to make it seem as though the mortal had been set to die. To make it seem as though it was not an accident. Søren would have to fabricate a fake list for the day with the mortal’s name included. It would be more difficult to uniform the hard copy information rather than digital, but he trusted his hacking skills enough to make it believable.

The Trainer explained this to Finnigan —and he certainly was not thrilled about it. He grumbled and muttered to himself in irritation, but agreed that it would indeed be an understandable course of action.

And so he got to work, grinding up all of the necessary ingredients for the spell which he would be using. Søren glanced at his trainee to see how she was handling herself —as it turned out, she was anxious. She tried not to show it, but it was noticeable. What if they did not succeed, and what if they were reaped in the end anyway?

Søren leaned back against the wall and sighed. They were certainly going to long lengths to rectify the incident. He knew how terribly Savannah’s mistake would reflect on his reputation —but he wondered if that was the reason for which he was seeking the help of a psychotic immortal wizard with a connection to the divine world.

Savannah had expressed it earlier that she would have preferred to die and pass on. But when Søren looked at her now, stiff and biting on the nail of her thumb, it was obvious that the thought of death frightened her. She did not want to die —not the way it would now come.

“Are you two sure that you know what you are doing?” Mr Magik asked when his preparations were complete. His veins were glowing red softly beneath the surface of his skin, and the range of the wisps had widened.

“Yes,” Søren said, despite Savannah’s wary glance in response.

“All right,” Finnigan sighed. “You will be pulled back when you utter the word ‘finite’. Do not say it until you wish to return. Now, as I send you, concentrate hard on the place and time to which you want to go, and keep your consciousness rooted in that. Do not slip or think of anything else —I have some theories about what would happen if you do, including becoming forever lost in a sea of nothingness.”

The two nodded vigorously, and agreed on a time and destination.

The wizard then muttered something beneath his breath that was written in the book beside him, before gathering a little of the potion he had made in his hand and holding it out towards the Reapers. And then he blew.

Blue mist swirled from his palm and into the air, slowly enveloping Søren and Savannah. They marvelled at it for a moment. The amount then seemed to increase dramatically in a matter of seconds, and soon they were surrounded by a blue vortex; whipping and snagging at their clothes with winds that only picked up in speed. Before long, Søren’s eyes could not remain open.

His grip tightened on his crossbow, before he suddenly felt a hand fly for his, desperately gripping his fingers. Unfazed, he chose to keep Savannah’s hand there —if only to provide encouragement and reassurance.

New York. Home. My apartment. Yesterday evening, he told himself over and over, and he could only believe that his trainee was chanting the same.

✠

Søren opened his eyes to the glare of neon signs on the side of a busy street.

Then he heard Savannah gasp beside him, before her hand jerked out of his as she staggered forward, disorientated. The Trainer glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief to know that the spell might have worked —but they could not be sure without checking the date. He did not want to think it, but this could have been a trick; a simple teleportation spell, since it had also been evening when they arrived at Mr Magik’s apartment.

“I did not think that would take this much of a toll,” Savannah rasped.

“The timeline may be rejecting our presence,” Søren suggested.

“Or maybe I’m just not used to all of this magical displacement. You seem to be just fine.”

She was wrong. On the outside, he seemed fine. Though inwardly, even he felt a nauseating tug within him —like something was not right.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have time to waste. Let’s check where and when we are,” he said, walking down the sidewalk towards an intersection.

It turned out that they were a few blocks away from the apartment building. Savannah breathed harshly through her nose as they walked, either deep in thought or attempting to mentally prepare herself for what they were about to do.

Søren was doing something similar; and he was admittedly a lot calmer than he had been before, but he was glad to see that his trainee was finally taking

this seriously.

Perhaps Finnigan’s dilemma had had a hand in revealing some of the consequences. At least to Søren’s knowledge, thank the gods that Savannah’s ex-boyfriend had not been tampering with the divine and magic —otherwise the Reapers would have a much larger problem on their hands.

“Hey,” his trainee eventually said in a careful and quiet voice, looking across at the opposite side of the road. “When you were out yesterday…I had a run in with the Chainsaw Guy.”

Søren frowned, not following. “The —who?”

“Oh,” she quipped, before shaking her head and laughing. “I mean Melchior. I just call him the Chainsaw Guy…in my head…” she added quietly, lowering

her voice.

The Trainer could not resist the smirk of amusement which then broke out on his face, before he realised who she was talking about. “…Melchior,” he said slowly, not hiding the urge to sigh.

Savannah nodded. “He asked me if you were back yet.”

“Because he cares?” Søren snorted, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” she answered defensively. “All he asked was if you were back yet. That’s all. He came up to the door and knocked, which startled Phee-Phee. He set your potted fern on fire,” she added flippantly.

“He what?” Søren growled, clenching his fists. “Savannah. I thought I told you to look after that demon properly.”

She shrank away sheepishly. “Let’s not focus on that now,” she insisted. “The point is, why did Melchior ask for you? He didn’t exactly come across as the caring type.”

“He’s…he’s not,” sighed the Trainer. “Not really. And I think I knew that even before I asked him out.”

Savannah did a double take in utter disbelief. “Wait. You’re the one who asked him out? And he said yes?”

“Yes,” Søren pouted, “Why does that seem so hard to believe?”

She gave him a self-explanatory look.

“Okay,” he sighed in defeat. “So maybe it took a little persuasion since he would never publicly date a man. But he still agreed, with a few conditions. And we were happy in secret I guess; for quite some time.”

She looked at the Trainer, expecting him to continue, but that was where Søren wanted to end the conversation.

“…And?” she prompted.

“And what?”

“What happened to you guys?”

The Reaper shrugged, but inside he was irked. He did not want to have a conversation about his ex-boyfriend any more than Savannah would not want to talk about her own. “…We broke up,” Søren said bluntly. Then he stopped walking. “Here we are.”

The trainee sighed and looked up with him, before they headed for the side of the building. Søren searched for the security ID button, before pressing it and prompting the face scan screen to pop up.

It quickly approved, before the tiles began to shift.

Søren then beckoned Savannah to the front doors. They ran through the lobby, with no one seeming to notice them, before making their way to the elevator. The Trainer pressed the button to the second floor, and they waited impatiently while tapping their shoes. Savannah glanced up towards the ceiling and sighed loudly as though she wanted to say something.

“What is it,” Søren sighed at her indecisiveness.

“Nothing!” she immediately defended herself, shaking her head.

“Oh, really,” he smirked as the elevator bell rung, and the doors opened to the second floor. They marched out and headed for number eight, before the two paused at the door and glanced at each other wearily. The same apprehension that Søren felt reflected itself in Savannah’s gold eyes, but his hand still moved to open the door.

“…I hope that you didn’t lock it,” the redhead surprisingly voiced Søren’s own concern, but the door opened easily and seemed to beckon them inside. It was empty. Completely silent.

“We must have already left,” his trainee murmured, marching inside. “Which means we don’t have much time.”

“Right,” Søren agreed, setting his crossbow down in the living room.

The Reapers then got to work in the computer room.

After activating Angelina, Søren began writing out the codes needed to disable the Reapers Organisation’s cyber security defences, allowing him to slip

inside undetected.

“How many times have you hacked into HQ?” Savannah frowned, noting how quick and efficient the Trainer had been.

“This…wouldn’t be the first time,” he confessed nonchalantly. “That being said, the other times were for petty reasons. This is the first time I am using it for criminal purposes.”

“You make us sound like convicts —Jesus,” she cringed.

Søren completely ignored her statement.

“Okay, I have found the lists for Manhattan, New York. April 21st, 2019,” he then announced. “And…it’s this one. Bingo.”

He pulled them all into Documents to edit them, spreading each official duplicate over every monitor. “So, what was his name again?” he asked.

“…Aaron Finnick Carter,” growled the redhead.

Søren typed his name at the end of a pre-existing list.

They both gasped as the name disappeared right off of the screen like a cloud of dust in a light breeze. Søren typed it in again. And again it blew away. He did it over and over, even as dread began to consume his confidence.

“What the…?” he frowned. It was like magic.

“Let me try,” Savannah insisted, nudging him aside.

It did not make the slightest difference. She typed the name over and over, her fingers stabbing the keyboard as though pressure might make it stick. It was not working —the timeline was rejecting the change. But Søren’s trainee refused to believe that. The Trainer said her name, trying to get her to stop and calm down, but she shook him off.

She kept typing until her hands finally moved from the computer, still jabbing at the air, and several drops of water splashed onto the desk.

“…Savannah,” Søren said quietly.

“He tricked us,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “I’m going to die.”

“You don’t know that for certain —”

“He knew that we couldn’t change the past like this, but he still let us go,” she continued, raising her voice. “Those stupid fucking laws —he wasn’t talking about getting into trouble with the gods. Maybe he was referring to the laws of time itself.”

“We don’t know if he knew that this would happen,” Søren said gravely. “What if this was all down to chance? What if this timeline just doesn’t want us here, changing it?”

As though time were its own, separate and sentient entity.

“Then Fate says I should die,” Savannah hissed, her brows furrowing. “…This was all a waste of time. I’m so sorry, Søren.”

“No, it wasn’t a waste,” he insisted. “We wouldn’t have known if we hadn’t tried, right? And we still have to deal with Mr Magik. If he knew we wouldn’t be able to change anything, why would he send us on a fool’s errand? There’s got to be something that we’re missing.”

The redhead frowned. “Mr Magik mentioned that he was searching for a cure to his immortality,” she murmured. “What if this is just an experiment to him? If he had known, or if he had left it to chance, what could he possibly gain from our failure?”

Søren drew a breath in realisation. “…Rage.”

“What?”

“Rage must be a running theme for untimely reaping —or so he would think. If we failed, no matter the means, he could be counting on bitter and petty rage to attempt to reap his soul once again.”

“But it won’t work,” Savannah pointed out. “Not with the magic binding him. I mean…didn’t he already try? Isn’t that why he’s in this mess now?”

“I think that he’s desperate enough not to give a single solitary shit,” Søren scoffed. “It must be well worth the risk to him.”

“Then…let’s go back,” the trainee mumbled. “Even if it means accepting death, even if it makes me a killer. And let’s agree not to give Mr Magik what he wants.” She straightened her jacket, her expression blank and unreadable. “…He deserves to live with his own consequences.”

Søren’s eyes narrowed as he stood up and grabbed hold of her arm. “Hey,” he said firmly. “I have as much responsibility for this whole mess as you do. I’m supposed to be your Trainer —I should have handled it better. I should have stopped you in time.”

“You are not the one who killed Aaron,” Savannah deadpanned.

“No,” he admitted, “But I am not letting you face Death alone.”

She looked up at him properly, her eyes pink and her irises a more vibrant gold. “You shouldn’t change the past —instead, you should learn from it. Our chance might be gone, but, if you go, then I will go with you.”

Savannah blinked in astonishment. Perhaps no one ever said something like that to her before, Søren mused. Had she not known of such loyalty? Judging by the slightly sceptical undertone in her expression, she had not.

But she did not argue. She then mumbled, “…Okay.”

As though it was the most casual offer in the world.

She did not need to say anything more, however. Søren knew that there were some forms of apology and gratitude there, that she could not voice aloud.

After he had logged off and deactivated Angelina the two solemnly left the computer room. Søren grabbed his crossbow from the sofa before he solemnly offered his trainee his hand. “Finite?”

She drew a deep, empty breath. “Finite.”