Rogue Reaper

by Riley Archer

Mom, I mouthed so quietly that I hoped Atlas didn’t hear.

  I touched the thick curve of glass, and it zinged like static electricity against my fingers.

  Purplish shadows swirled inside the ball, but as they cleared, the image of a woman sitting inside a cell formed. Her dark waves were silver at the root and tied back. Weary lines creased around her eyes and mouth. No smile. This was the same woman from my photo.

  She was in some kind of bleak prison; a small window was carved out where the ceiling and wall met, and beyond it was more swirling shadows. This thing wasn’t going to tell me where she was, only that it wasn’t a good place.

  I could have stared for hours at this sad woman who’d given me up in an attempt to save me, but the vision erased with a whoosh of smoke.

  Atlas’s minty breath curled a venomous whisper in my ear. “It’s in your power to keep her safe.”

  22

  The Therapy Group

  I wondered what Atlas would think if I tripped down the opulent stairwell. I’d greet his beloved guests in total disarray, all the work he’d put into making me into his gothic, unreachable princess—er, Priestess—totally ruined.

  My feet seemed to like the idea. The delicate stiletto heel veered sideways, but a firm grip held me steady. He wasn’t going to let any shenanigans slide. His digging fingers were a warning.

  We passed the bend of the stairwell and gained a direct view of the landing. Classical music was a backdrop to clinking glasses and forced conversation. The open foyer had been transformed into a stuffy greeting hall. Waiters and waitresses in ties shuffled around with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes.

  There weren’t too many guests, about ten to fifteen, but this didn’t seem like an intimate dinner. It was a damn reception.

  Atlas pressed the small of my back, forcing my posture to near perfection. All eyes turned to us. Some shone like waxing moons, some were red as blood, some appeared human with a hint of otherworldliness in their depths. Some grazed me too appreciatively, and others seethed strict judgment. Most of them had grouped into small cliques of similar dress, but a few stragglers lingered solo. Oh, and the sexy top-hat-wearing-asshat incubus was one of the loners. He tipped his chin when he caught me looking at him.

  Play nice, Ellis, I told myself on repeat.

  My investors were an eclectic group, but they had one thing in common. They radiated confidence and authority. Who the hell are they?

  “This is Ellis Kennicot, the Glitch Wielder we’ve long-awaited.”

  As if he could hear my thoughts, Atlas got right to introductions, his hand never leaving its place on my back. I wished he had chosen for me to wear something thick, so I couldn’t feel his possessive contact through the breaks in fabric. He led me to a red-eyed vampire trio—I supposed they often traveled in threes—who wore vintage dress clothes that smelled like an ancient thrift store. Atlas referred to them as the heads of the Vampiric Alliance; their names were Alistair Zinsmeister and Sage and Brendon Percival. I got the idea that Alistair and Brendon were an item while Sage and Brendon were siblings with matching ashy hair and dainty noses.

  Then we approached a gruffer group, one whose members hadn’t bothered with formalwear.

  The beefiest one grinned at me, his eyes glossy with something like mania. “Good to see you again. You clean up nice.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Do I …”

  When his friends’ eyes lit up with a yellowish glow, I didn’t bother finishing my question. These were the wolves that had boxed me in. And eaten the suicide squad.

  Yuck.

  “A few members of the Black Claw pack.” Atlas nodded at the beefy carnivore and wrapped his hand to my waist.

  Yuck tenfold. I clenched my teeth and forced a smile.

  “Derek is on the board of the Alpha Coalition.”

  Right. Like I really cared what this meathead did as a pastime. I knew he gnawed on carcasses, and that was already too much. Werewolf stomachs must have been strong since half of their recent meals had gone out by some kind of poison.

  My next introduction was to a series of witches, each representing different factions of magical practice. Blah, blah, blah.

  Nellie, the tiny conjurer whose squeaky voice had me calling her Nasal Nellie in my head, said, “There could be a better showing of support from the arcane, but witches can be elitist. You must be careful who you talk to at AA.”

  I pivoted to Atlas. “Am I an alcoholic and a Glitch Wielder?”

  “Arcana Association, not Alcoholics Anonymous,” he whispered.

  Another organization? What was this, a party for supernatural socialites?

  As if he could sense my wavering mood, Atlas steered me into the dining hall and addressed his guests, “Let’s continue our discussion over dinner, shall we?”

  I stumbled into the fanciest room I’d ever been in. The long oak table was decorated with fine china and way too many utensils for a single meal, no matter how many courses there were. Creature beings high on self-importance—or brute strength, in the case of the wolves—filed in and took their seats.

  If this didn’t qualify as elitist, I didn’t think I wanted to ever, ever attend an AA meeting.

  Atlas and I sat at the head of the table. Our chairs were raised and embellished. Look at me, sitting tall on a foodie throne.

  Idle chatter and whispers abounded while the first course was served by a small horde of waiters. The glistening body of a Cornish hen, surrounded by greens, was placed in front of me. The server bumped into my shoulder as she passed, but it was almost nothing. My attention was glued to the meat and the savory steam wafting into my nostrils. My mouth watered. I was ravenous, but I couldn’t stop imagining those dead bodies being carted off into the woods to be devoured. Werewolves weren’t technically human, I didn’t think, but the whole thing had a cannibalistic air about it.

  Sitting beside my killer, who had made it clear he had the hots for me just before touting me around like his black magic girlfriend, must have made me queasy. I needed to shake it off.

  Wine was poured, and I didn’t care how much it resembled blood. I reached for my freshly filled chalice, and the server bumped me again. The tide of irritation inside me caught another wave. I couldn’t believe Atlas had hired someone so clumsy—

  Ew, the snobbery is contagious!

  I glanced guiltily at the graceless girl, and she winked at me.

  My jaw almost dropped, but I held it in place. Ashlyn Carter had either ditched her scheming reaper gig to become a shitty server for the dark arts, or she was up to something. Her hair was free of its usual spunky color as she headed back into the kitchen.

  Oh, and there was Jose, trailing a few feet behind. I thought I saw a minor bruise on his face, possibly from my tossed shoe.

  Excitement and dread knotted in my stomach. I had been off base, thinking Tanaka had killed me, so I guessed his minions were off the hook too. But they’d deceived me. I didn’t like it. And Tanaka’s motivations were still up in the air.

  If they had a plan to get me the hell out of Dodge, it’d better be a good one. My mother’s life was at stake. And a lot of other innocent lives too, if the current crowd was any indication.

  “So, Cameron …” Alistair set down his goblet. The vampires’ plates remained empty, which led me to believe whatever they were drinking wasn’t wine. “I know this is a night to celebrate new beginnings, but while we’re all here, why not demonstrate that we’ve made a good bet?”

  “That she’s worth the risk,” a shifter across the table echoed.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of shifter she was exactly, but the werewolves seemed to have a problem with her. She toyed with the sharpest of the dinner knives, the pointy end aimed at them.

  “Her looks alone won’t bring Reaper Collective to its knees,” an elemental mage with wild curls added. He looked too young to be at the table and too wild to trust. He grinned. “Even if she could bring me to mine.”

  Th
ey probably couldn’t see it behind all the fancy cutlery, but Atlas balled his napkin in his fist. “Another comment like that, Nathaniel, and it won’t be her that brings you to your knees.”

  “Mixing business and pleasure, Atlas?” Nathaniel said happily, his temper apparently as unruly as his chestnut curls.

  One of the werewolves sighed. “We’ve seen her do it. It’s a little sloppy but getting better.”

  How nice. My trial sessions had an audience. Judgy ones.

  “Your requests are duly noted. At the end of our meal and discussion, Ellis will prove she is who she claims.” I was about to say I hadn’t claimed squat, but Atlas gripped my knee and squeezed. “Proof is important to her.”

  I inhaled slow and steady. Then I dug my knife into the entrée.

  Dinner was full of riveting discussion. Just kidding. I tried, but I could barely follow the conversation by course three.

  So, I filtered out the names and collected the context. The overall gist was that the magical world had more complex governance than the human one. Different beings had their own regulatory agencies, like the Vampiric Alliance, Alpha Coalition, Arcana Association, plus a few smaller organizations for less common shifters and fae. And each of those had their own factions. AA, for example, seemed to have dozens, each geared toward a particular brand of magic.

  And again, they all had one thing in common.

  They hated Reaper Collective. At least the representatives here did. Reaper Collective was the bossy golden child, the meanie tattletale, and these guys firmly believed that snitches got Glitches.

  Reaper Collective’s strict laws came with harsh repercussions for any mystical being who caused human death. Criminal souls were collected and detained, and the other organizations supported Reaper Collective by turning in their fugitive members.

  By the time cake was slid in front of me, I realized these were magical government rebels, and their big plan was to form their own wicked regime with me and Atlas at the pinnacle.

  I also had a feeling they met at a therapy group for those oppressed by Reaper Collective, the supernatural Big Brother. Damian would love it. If I had my burner phone on me, I’d call him right up and ask if he’d like to join us.

  Oh shit. The burner phone!

  Damian had likely bugged it, and it was identical to the one Atlas had given me in the apartment. Atlas took it from my purse, but it was probably somewhere in the manor. That must be how Ash and Jose had found me.

  Chairs were pushed back, and everyone made their way to the courtyard. A surge of panic swooped from my neck to my intestines. I regretted the heavy dessert as it soured and gave me heartburn.

  Well, it could’ve been indigestion making me sick. It also might’ve been the fact that somebody was about to die.

  23

  The Phantom Whipping

  Cold wind threatened to whip apart the lady maidens’ hard work on my head. Their bobby-pin technique held it together though.

  And if bobby pins could do it, so could I.

  I tried to be subtle as I searched the courtyard for Ash and Jose. A sense of doom had invaded my logic, and I feared the Glitch to come would rip me to shreds. Or I’d be so unimpressive that these malevolent beings did it instead, and my mom would rot in that dank cell. Atlas saw her as my pressure point, and he was right. The threat hanging over her head—real or not—made me a lot less brave.

  A witch named Alberta approached me, necklace in hand. I watched the purple-and-green stone like a snake. The last crystal necklace put on me was an evil power-absorber thing, so who knew what this one did? This one was daintier at least.

  “Fluorite for focus.” She smiled, and another gust of wind had the stone fluttering. “It will help you.”

  Atlas didn’t protest, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. I went with my gut and let her clasp it around my neck.

  Atlas clapped. The sound boomed across the turbulent night air. “Everyone, let’s get settled—”

  “Help me!” someone screamed at the top of their lungs and ran from the greenhouse. It was a twenty-something woman filled to the brim with fear. Relief spread across her face when she saw the crowd. “Oh, thank God. Please, you have to help. This crazy woman kidnapped me …” She seemed to realize the eyes watching her blinked without a care.

  It would be dangerous to show it, but I cared. The suicide squad had made their lethal choice, but this was different. I couldn’t let this woman die. I wouldn’t make a show of her spirit.

  Atlas filled his lungs with impatience. “Glinda, what’s going on?”

  Sarah and Jake stepped out onto the grass, arm in arm. They both opened their mouths, and Glinda’s crackling voice poured out. “You ran through my volunteers in a day, and I’m sick of spelling the seized subjects. It’s not realistic to make them so docile anyway.”

  She spelled some of them? To make them seem suicidal?

  Ever since the first day …

  Horror spiraled through my core. I’d stood by and watched them kill themselves. Over and over. I’d let them be murdered, only to shoot my magic at them and continue to control their will on the other side.

  Oh. Oh no.

  My luxurious dinner graced the lawn.

  I wiped my lip, my focus trained on the woman I was determined to save. The jerks shaking their heads at me could shove their bobbleheads up each other’s magical asses for all I cared.

  Spirals of red light danced from my hands and down the pathway they had formed.

  My audience quieted, but they weren’t impressed yet. They watched with intensity, thinking I was on the offense.

  Which was accurate. They were just misguided about who my target was.

  A razor-sharp pang whittled to the forefront of my mind, but I drowned it out. My red light reached the woman, who was frozen like a deer in headlights, except for her quivering lower lip.

  I’d only used this power on souls or soul-like things, so I had no idea what was about to happen. In all likelihood, I was about to piss off a bunch of powerful beings, ones who’d hopefully pined over my existence long enough to not immediately kill me. Best-case scenario was that Ash and Jose had Tanaka on speed dial and that they’d get this kidnapped woman out of here.

  I gripped the magic like two long spiritual whips. Sorry, Mom. I lashed outward.

  I was pleasantly surprised when the rows of barbarians yowled in pain and were flung to their tails.

  “Ellis,” Atlas growled. He was standing farther away, so my phantom lash had only made him stumble. Now, he shouted, “Everyone, keep your heads. Glinda, bring him out.”

  I didn’t have time to think about the mysterious him. The retaliation attacks weren’t imminent, but they were crouching down, ready to pounce. The werewolf pack bulged with fur and shredded their clothing as their slobbery new muzzles turned to me. The witches pointed palms and wands. And the vampires went for the girl. My magic thrashed at them, but they expected it this time and dodged.

  Right as Sage reached her, Atlas’s Grim-on-call swooped in and pulled her back. The vampires hissed, and so did I. She wasn’t in better hands, just more obedient ones.

  My hiss reentered my lungs as a gasp.

  Sarah and Jake wheeled out the mysterious him on a gurney. The lawn made a bumpy ride for the reaper with symbols carved into his forearm. He wasn’t quite knocked out cold, but his beautiful face struggled to stay alert, like he was slipping into his fleshy prison. His shirt was open, his bronze skin blemished by angry cuts; his defined core flexed with each struggling breath.

  I’d fantasized over that body more times than I could count, but I never imagined it like this, no matter how many times he’d scratched at my nerves. I joked about it, but I never wanted to see him hurt—except when I had thrown my heel at him. I was disappointed when that one missed its mark. But he’d been tortured, and the evidence of it sliced right through me.

  His head tilted back, and his mocha-dark stare landed on me before it went out. My hea
rt clenched.

  Otto.

  24

  The ABC Calamity

  My magical whips waned like candles in the rain. I wouldn’t let them flicker out, but I needed to wrap my head around this.

  “Why is he here?” Asking and receiving an answer was part one, plan A. And no, my planning hadn’t gotten much further than that, but it seemed like a good place to build from.

  After all, Atlas liked the sound of his voice.

  Atlas paced with one hand behind his back, the other one tapping his lips. His colleagues kept their hardened attention on me. “To keep you under control. When we caught him sneaking onto the property, I had some questioning of my own to do. Like why he’d recruited you and ultimately postponed decades of planning from coming to fruition. He’s difficult to crack.” Atlas smiled and changed direction. “Anyway, I already had an inkling from our previous conversations. You’re always so confident, but one mention of Tanaka, and you’d point your gaze to your hands. Your breath would slow. It’s subtle, Ellis, but you forget that I know you. You have significant feelings for him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I was holed up for three years. Lust happens. Hell, I even kissed you.”

  Someone snickered, and I guessed it to be Nathaniel.

  “Ah, but you can’t look at him while you say it.” Atlas glanced at Tanaka and then back at me. “Sorry to tell you this, Ellis, but he doesn’t feel the same way. He’s merely keeping a promise to one of your guardians.”

  I told myself the disappointment shaking my confidence had everything to do with this hellhole of a situation—one that seemed impossible even if Ash and Jose showed their faces—and nothing to do with what Atlas had just said. Tanaka was a crush to occupy my time. I knew he felt nothing for me. And my fake foster parents were obedient to the Necromancer Queen, who wanted me permanently dead. Atlas was toying with me.