by Riley Archer
They appeared to be blubbering drunk, giggling and falling over one another. I watched with mild annoyance. They didn’t notice me until they both met the hardwood floor.
I stood before them, slapping the flat part of the weapon against my palm. I stopped when I realized I probably looked like a fluffy dominatrix.
They sobered up fast.
“Ah, um,” the girl said as they wobbled to their feet. She had chopped white-blond hair, neon-blue eyeshadow straight from the nineties, and an outfit with fishnet sleeves that was fit for a rave.
“Boo.” The guy tilted his head. He was a little over six feet tall, skinny, and he wore a simple black shirt with a faded denim vest over it. His tan arms were nothing less than a canvas; intricately woven artwork curled around his wrist and branched under his sleeves. One of his ears was lined with dangling earrings while the other had a single black stud. His nose had a small loop. “He rented out the place.”
“Or stick-up-his-ass Atlas finally got himself some. She could be his type.” The blonde scanned me from head to toe. “Or anyone’s type, really.”
I raised my eyebrows and ran a hand down the creamy robe. Sounded like it was doing me favors, but I pushed the flattery down and crossed my arms. “Who are you?”
Tatted boy pinched his lip in concentration. “Stick-up-his-ass At-las. Stick-up-his-asst-las.” He giggled, and his friend slapped his arm.
“Ash.” The blonde held up a stamped hand. Her pale forearm shimmered with glitter.
They’d definitely been partying.
“Ellis.” I mimicked the gesture and then remembered my ID said Ellie. My undercover skills needed serious attention. “Ellie for short.”
“Jose,” the guy said with a noncommittal wave. “Ash Mash, we need a new place to crash.”
“How’d you get in?” I knew I’d locked the door.
“Um, we knew someone who got to stay here once. He made a copy of the key. We paid handsomely for it. Can you blame us? RC gives us rat-infested closets to live in, and this palace is always empty.” Ash gave me a pointed look. “Well, usually always.”
RC. Reaper Collective. They were reapers.
“IDs?” I asked.
They grumbled as they pulled them out of places I wished I hadn’t seen. I leaned in to see the chips, but I was careful not to lean too close.
“What about the guy who made the copy of the key? Does he stay here too?”
“Gone. Abyss gone.” Jose’s expression was solemn but not surprised. Not devastated. Reaper death wasn’t anything new to them.
“I see. Well, I don’t mind if you stay here tonight.” I didn’t want to be responsible for them getting eaten by a Glitch with a midnight craving. “But Atlas will be here in the morning.”
Ash did a few happy, wobbly jumps. “So,” she cooed once she settled down.
I answered her question with a hand in the air before she could spit it out. “I get the master bedroom.”
She scrunched her nose in a pout, and I closed the sliding wooden doors. Even if the haunting of my death gave me the night off, I wouldn’t sleep well. Not tonight, not with unknown reapers snoring away in the other room. But I could use contacts who were used to navigating the physical world. Throwing them out on their sparkly asses sure wouldn’t put me on their good side.
I stumbled out of the room, expecting two hungover reapers but instead was greeted by Atlas with his arms sprawled out over the sofa. He was freakishly early. He smiled at what was probably a rat’s nest on top of my head, and I realized he probably got kicks out of being the most unruffled person in a room. Total power play.
“Have a good night’s rest?”
“Yes, thank you.” I dropped into the leather seat across from him.
He slid a jumbo mug toward me. On a coaster, of course. It was black coffee, and it smelled divine. Definitely French press.
I got the sense he was buttering me up, and I resented it, truly, but I wasn’t proud enough to turn away a cup of joe with soft brown foam on top.
Atlas watched me, and I figured I was right about what I had grasped of him. He was the kind of person who had a handle on silence and was used to commanding it. I met his eye until I placed the mug on the immaculate glass table, right beside the coaster.
He went a little rigid, and the sick part inside me that enjoyed pissing people off warmed up. It was a bad habit, and the more control that someone had over my life—half-life, second life, whatever—the better it felt. Maybe that was why I had been murdered.
Just kidding. I hadn’t been a fire poker until someone suffocated me.
“So,” Atlas said, tearing his eyes from the mug and settling back into the cushions.
“So …” I thrummed my nails against the small portion of thigh exposed beneath the robe.
Atlas’s focus shifted to my bare skin for a fragment of a second, so fast that it almost didn’t happen.
Hmm …
He flicked invisible lint from his suit. “Is the apartment to your liking?”
“Better than I could have hoped for.” I warmed my hands against the coffee mug and took another sip. This time, I set it down on the coaster. Maybe it was shambles for a peace offering, but it was something.
“I’m glad you find the place hospitable. Now, before we get into the rest of the arrangements, we should cover the basics.” Atlas went into a lengthy monologue about safety, Reaper Collective protocols, and further mind-numbing details. There were bits about checking in, never interfering with another reaper’s objective …
I did my best to look interested, but sleep injected itself into my eyelids and made them all droopy. If he wanted prompt attention, he should have come at a more reasonable hour. Or at the very least, given me time to change into actual clothes.
Man, he’s still talking?
“I’m sure you’re curious about guests, and the answer is limited and temporary. Treat this place like a respected rental. Keep in mind the delicate nature of your placement here, and we won’t have a problem.”
That snapped me awake. Did he mean I could invite boys over? My inner tween practically had a giggle fit.
I tilted my head toward the bar. “The ninja blade beneath the counter was a nice touch.”
“Ah, that. Keep it. There are some other items I’d like to pass along that you might find useful.” Atlas lifted the couch cushion he was sitting on, neatly unzipped the underlying fabric, and exposed a matte safe with an electronic finger pad on top.
I guessed the placement of the safe was more original than behind a painting but less practical. Maybe he wasn’t familiar with the concept of a pull-out couch. He waved me over and seized control of my pointer finger while he programmed the safe to recognize me.
Inside was an array of weapons, an iPhone, a burner phone, fake licenses, a passport, and an address book. It was a modest black ops arsenal that also made me feel like I was in the Witness Protection Program. It was cool as all get-out.
Atlas spotted the stars in my eyes. “This could prove dangerous, Ellis. I don’t want you to be misinformed about that. But if you play it safe and do everything I told you, you should come out of this unscathed and with a nice bonus to boot.”
So, basically, what he was saying was that I should have been paying more attention to his lecture.
I nodded like a bobblehead.
“I’ll remember to start with the word bonus next time.” Atlas smirked and passed me a slip of paper. “This one isn’t too risky, so it’s a good place to start. It’s out in the open, so it’ll be easy for you to blend in. All relevant phone numbers are programmed into your phone. I’ll be texting your assignments from here on out, and I will let you know when I am on my way for a face-to-face check-in. Remember, if you see a Glitch, stay out of it. Your only job is to report everything you see and hear.”
I looked at the crumpled sheet.
Gerry Schneider, 65. Heart attack. 5th Ave. 5:20 p.m.
It was short and sweet. Nothing like
what I was used to. I was used to pages of background information, photos, personality excerpts, quotes—a damn Facebook profile and diary merged into one. But I guessed I didn’t need much more than this if I was just straddling the sidelines.
“What’s the burner for?” I asked, giving it a little shake.
“Nothing, most likely. Just one fail-safe of many in case we encounter an unforeseen obstacle.”
“And the passport? In what world would I need to travel to another country to hide out when I can hop an elevator to another dimension?” Or to another state, I thought but didn’t say because I didn’t want him to know those kinds of thoughts had roots in my head.
“You might need to go inside an airport. No place is immune to death.” Atlas stood and collected his jacket. “Any last questions?”
“No,” I said after a beat. But when he made it to the door, I thought of one. “Wait! Have you thought of a new title for me?”
One foot out the door, he tapped his chiseled chin. “Observer?”
Observer Kennicot? I grimaced. “Just call me Peeping Tom, why don’t you?”
He flashed a perfect smile—oh, he flossed daily—and winked. “Sounds like you’ve got it handled.”
Before I could think of a witty reply, he was gone.
I started playing with a little zappy gadget I’d decided to call a spirit taser when groans and clatters sprang from the kitchen.
5
The Peeping Tom
I was looking forward to seeing my spirit taser in action, but the sight I rushed over to was too sad and hilarious for me to seriously consider using it. Ash and Jose had fallen out of the cabinets they’d impressively pretzeled themselves into and were sprawled over the once-spotless tile. Some classy plates with golden rims had flung out with them. None were broken, but some were smeared with glitter.
My squatters were too busy stretching their legs to be adequately fearful of my looming presence. I zapped the air for fun, and they paled. I had a feeling I was really going to enjoy this thing.
My laugh was cut short as an urge to zap myself overtook my senses.
I wasn’t just a noob at being undercover. I was supremely bad at it. Prime example: day one of the gig, and two random reapers knew just about everything because I’d been nice enough to let them couch surf.
Ash mussed her greasy blonde bob with one hand and held the other out at me. Rosy streaks were evident in her hair under the kitchen’s fluorescent lighting. “Put the taser down, Elektra.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because her name is Elektra …” Ah, what the hell? It was a compliment even if she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I took turns pointing my taser at each of them. “Give me one good reason to listen to either of you.”
“Well”—Ash slowly made her way to her feet—“it sounds like you’ve got yourself on a tight leash. We can help you with that.”
Despite my adopted Elektra persona, a smug smile filled Jose’s face. “Maybe she wants to be on Atlas’s leash—”
I zapped the air again. A string of violent blue light crackled between us.
Ash pressed her tiny self against the granite countertop. Now that she was farther away from my new favorite toy, a bit of backbone straightened her out. “Okay, you can help yourself by putting that ducking thing down and letting us crash here indefinitely. Because, if you haven’t noticed, we can bring this house of cards crumbling down.”
I raised a brow. “Ducking?”
Jose shrugged. “She lost a bet.”
She slapped his arm and then pointed a metallic black nail at me. “Anyway, we can crack your cover wide open.” She used her arms to accentuate the point. “We heard everything Atlas said.”
Jose stopped rubbing his arm and pretended to snore, and I almost laughed. Almost.
“What makes you think I care? Maybe I don’t even want this assignment.” I knew it was a stretch. I was still wearing the queenly robe, for duck’s sake.
Ash snorted. Clearly, she needed to become better acquainted with my new friend Mr. Sparky. “Yeah, right. A baby Collector fresh out of the Reaper Collective farm and handed this? Please.”
She had a point, but I didn’t appreciate her attitude. I gave Mr. Sparky a loving caress.
Like a vulture, she smelled my soft spot. “C’mon. Let us stay here. And we’ll show you some tricks that make undead life a little more fun.”
Damn it, she had a good nose. I was listening but feigned disinterest. “Like what?”
“We’ll tell you all the best bars.”
Ha. My new iPhone could help me with that. “No deal.”
“Where the coolest reapers hang out.”
“Do I look like the social type?”
Ash huffed and vibrated with desperation. I mean, I got that this was a sweet pad, but what kind of place did RC stick these guys in? A sewer?
She snapped her fingers. “How to earn some real money.”
“Nah. But warmer.” I shrugged. I might have to actually buy plane tickets if I wanted to get to Alaska without leaving a trail, but that was a big ol’ trail of its own and a huge risk. Maybe I could guide her a bit. “Are taxis expensive?”
I could practically see the lightbulb shoot to life over her head. “We’ll show you what elevators you can use without getting caught!”
Bingo. “Ugh, fine,” I said, pretending she’d worn me down. I couldn’t believe how quickly that had worked. Maybe if I hadn’t died, I’d have grown up to be an interrogator. “But I want all of the above. And I still get the master bedroom.”
Jose crossed his arms and waved a tatted finger. He wore the same color polish as Ash. “Ashlyn Carter, you didn’t even tell her about the black market.”
She rolled her baby blues. “You just did. You know, if you show all your cards, the sharks are gonna come swimming, babe.” She draped a glittery arm around me. I looked at it like it was a snake. Or, you know, a rave-soaked, glitter-infested hunk of flesh. She didn’t seem to care. “So, roomie, I think we’re gonna be great friends.”
“Uh-huh. ’Cause all great friendships start with blackmail.”
5:15. I was propped against one of the endless buildings that made this congested maze of a city, a gyro in one hand and a Starbucks in the other. It was the dawn of pumpkin spice season, and I, too, had had basic vices before I died.
I was about to take another sweet, sweet sip when some dude in a leather trench coat bumped me with his elbow. My latte flew from my hand in what seemed like slow motion. All the magical insides graced the cement, and it was like I’d died a second time. All right, that was dramatic, but that spice had lit my veins and doodled visions of UGG boots into my thought clouds.
Not really, but that drink was a solid five-dollar splurge, and Atlas had only left me a fifty for pocket change. The bastard with the elbow didn’t even slow down.
“Hey, pal!” I yelled after him as he merged with a sea of suits. I kept my eye on the slick flap of his midnight hair and followed. “You owe me a PSL! That’s a pumpkin—”
Then I caught a glimpse of his back. This time, a scythe was slung over it like a massive, violent accessory. Of all the things I’d thought I might see today … a scythe magically appearing on an outfit straight out of The Matrix was not one of them. And what in all that was holy—Grims didn’t just roam around, doing the job of Collectors. Or maybe they did now that Glitches were all over the place. Either way, chances were that Grim Elbows was going to lead me to the soon-to-be-late Gerry Schneider.
I trailed him like a slinky—close, far, twist, and snap. I was right behind him. Not that he noticed. He was staring into the bustling street, his gaze so intent that he could be mistaken as a statuesque street performer.
Observe, Ellis, I told myself. I wasn’t to interfere. Observe and report.
I followed his gaze across the street, where more people walked with the urgency of someone who desperately needed a bathroom.
I was kind of wishing I had binoculars and
a sleek black sedan to surveil from. If I did, I’d feel less like a creepy lurker. I bored of staring quickly. I took one last bite of my gyro and tossed it in the trash, redirecting my focus to the immobile Grim. That scythe was weird and not just because of the outfit it was paired with; it was too clunky and dirty, like an obsolete flip phone in a world of shiny iPhones.
I was overtaken with kid-in-a-museum syndrome, the one that came with itchy fingers whenever an exhibit was labeled Do Not Touch. I reached out to graze the antiquated metal, but someone yanked me back by my hood.
Motherf—
My clenched fist hesitated just a bit when I saw Ash’s bright eyes and surprised fear. I didn’t understand how she and her lanky partner in crime could have snuck up on me.
“At least it isn’t the taser,” Jose said, glancing at my knuckles as Ash let me go.
“If that’s how you say thank you, I’m done doing you favors.” Ash raised her hands in surrender.
“What, why, and how?” I bit out, glancing between them and the solemnly punk rock Grim.
He only moved when someone was about to shoulder-check him. Why couldn’t he have been this composed when barreling down the street? I’d probably be in a better mood if I’d gotten to enjoy a second dose of caffeine.
Ash lowered her voice, though the street was full of traffic sounds and, well, just plain full. “I brought up elevators earlier, and you seemed interested. Well, abracadabra won’t get you where you want to go. You need stronger stuff than that. So, we followed you here, figuring whatever you were about to stick your nose in would suffice.”
I pointed my thumb over my shoulder. “You gonna steal that Grim’s scythe? If so, I’m in.”
A humorless chuckle left her throat. “That’s not a Grim. That’s a rogue. And if you’d touched his scythe, your soul would probably be confetti right now.”
I wasn’t familiar with the concept of rogues, but I didn’t think my friendship with Ash and Jose was ready for that revelation. I calmed myself by subtly outlining the spirit taser squeezed into my back pocket.