Reaper's Blood (The Grimm Brotherhood Book 1)

by Kel Carpenter

  “This seems kinda Pinteresty…” Graves muttered. “Are you sure this is how it works?”

  “Yup,” Tamsin said before I could speak. “I’ve been to a couple of Witches United’s coven meetings. They totally do it like this.”

  I took that as a good sign as I turned back to the altar before me.

  “Next I have to say the Latin words while cutting my hand over the sheep. Can one of you hold the book?” I asked. My heart started to beat faster in my chest. Graves wasn’t too far off in thinking that this seemed kinda . . . informal. It was the only shot we had, though.

  Outside the moon cast a red glow over everything. Graves picked up the book and flipped through it, trying to find the page. I reached over, our fingers brushing as I turned it to the right page. He held it out for me as Tamsin handed over the kitchen knife.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to do the cutting for you?” she offered.

  “I’m sure,” I said, nodding like I was surer than I was.

  I lifted my hand over the sheep and pressed the blade of the knife to my skin.

  “Skin of my skin. Blood of my blood. I summon thee, from the grave, up above,” I said, first in English.

  My hand closed around the knife and a stinging sensation burned in my palm as the blade cut deep.

  “Cutis mea cutis. Sanguis sanguinis mei. Ego vocare te: De mortis inferno specu super eum,” I said next. Darla was right. I didn’t even need to understand Latin to know I butchered it to hell.

  I squeezed my hand harder as I sliced the knife downward.

  The edge came away red.

  Crimson welled around my fingers. Droplets fell.

  One. Two. Three.

  The flicker of the candle lights was the only sound in the room. It wasn’t until my lungs started to burn that I realized I was holding my breath. I exhaled slowly, staring hard at the stuffie.

  Nothing happened.

  “Fu—” I started, shoulders slumping.

  “I—” Graves said.

  I spun on him. “God help you if you say I told you so right now. I’m still holding a knife.”

  His lips snapped shut, and he lifted his hands in surrender.

  “Salem,” Tamsin said softly, resting her hand on my shoulder.

  I shook my head, not wanting to hear it. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted this to work until we—until I—failed.

  “The blood is never going to come out,” I muttered, my frustration tripling at the realization. Leaning over, I reached for the stuffed sheep.

  Before I made contact, its mouth opened and it let out a plaintive, “Baaaaaaaaaaaaa.”

  I screamed, jumping back and falling into Graves.

  “Holy shit,” Tamsin breathed as the sheep started walking toward our feet.

  Graves’ arm was banded tight across my hips, holding my body into his. If I wasn’t in the middle of freaking the fuck out, I might have enjoyed being pressed up against him.

  “Sh-Shepard?” I whispered, my hand outstretched once more.

  “Baaaaaad Salem.”

  “Bad?” I asked, annoyance swiftly replacing my surprise. “I summoned you back so that I can find out who murdered you and make them pay. How is that bad?”

  Even though I was talking to a crocheted sheep, it was like no time at all had passed since I’d spoken with my brother. It had always been like this between us. We were closer than any two people on earth, but we bickered like two old biddies. There was nothing we couldn’t fight about.

  “Salem goooooo.”

  I frowned. “Shep, why are you talking like that?”

  “What do you mean?” Graves asked, speaking directly into my ear, his voice low and deep. The feel of his breath washing over my neck made me shiver, reminding me I was still leaning against him. More than a little unwillingly, I untangled myself from his hold. Another time, another place—hell, another guy—I might have said fuck it all and explored the feelings unfurling inside of me. But things were complicated enough as it was.

  “Salem?” Tamsin pressed.

  Remembering the others couldn’t hear my twin because they couldn’t see or speak to ghosts, I explained. “He’s not talking in full sentences. He’s bleating at me and calling me bad.” I bit my lip, wondering if my botched Latin had kept my brother’s spirit from fully returning.

  The stuffie continued to move toward us, but he wasn’t making much progress as his little legs slipped and slid over the silk scarf. I snickered. He was about as graceful as a baby giraffe with one broken leg.

  “Baaaaaa,” he bleated again, the sound tugging at my chest.

  Taking pity on him, I picked him up and held him at eye level. The intelligence staring out of those plastic eyes was unnerving. “Shep, can you tell me what you remember about your death?”

  “Coooooold. Daaaaaaaark.”

  “Great, he’s defective.”

  “Defective?” Graves asked. The sheep looked from me to him, and I could have sworn it narrowed its eyes.

  “Baaaaaad Salem,” it repeated. This time I had a feeling I knew what it was talking about, but I was so not having that conversation.

  “Yeah, he’s talking like a sheep. Sort of. It’s all ‘baaaaad Salems’.” I pressed my lips together and glared at the stuffie. He was dead and unhelpful. Probably not the thing I should be thinking in that moment, but it was easy to get my priorities mixed up when he was scolding me about Graves.

  “Well, you do get in trouble a lot,” Tamsin said.

  I gave her a look. “So not helping right now.”

  “What?” she asked innocently. “I’m just saying that it’s not inaccurate.”

  I groaned, looking at the sheep. “Can you tell us who killed you?”

  Its big plastic eyes looked sad as it started to shake its little head. “Noooo Salem.”

  “Can you confirm that you were killed?” I asked it.

  Indecision warred in its expression, but then it gave the tiniest of nods.

  “He can’t tell you who murdered him,” a voice behind me said.

  I jumped, clutching the sheep to my chest.

  “What?” Tamsin asked.

  “Are you okay?” Graves followed up.

  I turned and peered out of the circle. Standing in front of the red moon was none other than my ghost stalker Not-Morticia. She stood with her hands on her hips and a nonplussed expression.

  “What do you mean he can’t tell me?” I asked her.

  “There are rules. Dead or not. Brother or not. Brought back or not—he has to follow them. The biggest one being that he can’t interfere with the living.”

  The tension left my shoulders as I broke the circle and went straight for her. The candles winked out and the sheep still clutched to my chest let out a muffled, “Baaa.”

  “You couldn’t have fucking told me that two weeks ago?” I asked her.

  She rolled her eyes. “You needed the motivation to train. Besides, you have your brother back. In some form, at least.” She shrugged, clearly not seeing the issue.

  “You have to be fucking kidding me—” I started.

  “Keep training. Be careful. I’ll be watching,” she said with a mischievous wink.

  And then she did her favorite thing. Disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  “Goddamnit,” I muttered, hanging my head.

  “Was that another ghost?” Tamsin asked.

  “Ugh,” I groused. “Yes, that was Not-Morticia.” Tamsin lifted a brow at the name. “She never told me her name, but she looks like that kid from the Addams family—”

  “Wait, wasn’t her name Wed—” Tamsin interjected.

  I scowled at the interruption and kept talking over her. “She says Shepard can’t tell me who killed him because it ‘interferes with the living’.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been helpful to say that before we bothered?” Graves asked.

  “You’re preaching to the fucking choir,” I said, setting Shep the sheep on the bed. “I’m beginning to think
the ghosts want something, but no one is saying what. They keep showing up at weird times and disappearing before they really tell me much of anything.”

  Graves sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “So let me sum this up. You can see and talk to ghosts, but they won’t tell you anything. You summoned your brother’s soul back, and he’s now possessing a stuffed animal, but he can’t tell you anything either.”

  “Yup,” I said, leaning against the dresser and crossing my arms.

  “So basically we know nothing.”

  “Welcome to the club,” I told him with a mock-sweet smile. “Feels great to be in the dark, doesn’t it?”

  “Now, now, children,” Tamsin said, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled deeply. “As delicious as this weird foreplay game you two play smells, there’s no need to get into a pissing match.”

  Both Graves and I glared at her.

  “Baaaaaaa,” Shep protested, not appreciating the succubus’ comment either.

  Tasmin grinned. “What? It’s true.”

  “Stop sniffing us,” I said.

  She shrugged, not at all apologetic. “Can’t help my nature.”

  I groaned. “So what do we do now?” I asked Graves.

  His arms were crossed, and he was staring at the floor, his expression distant. “We are not going to do anything. You’re going to stay here and stay out of the way while I go back to the Gamma Rho house and see if there are any new leads on our wolf.”

  “You know there aren’t,” I said, more than a little angry he was trying to bench me again. “You guys have been searching for weeks and haven’t discovered a damn thing. We can’t keep dicking around. Dom could sic his werewolf on someone else.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you Dom isn’t behind this?” Graves said, pinning me with an icy stare.

  I took a step toward him. “Just because you don’t want to admit your friend might be a murderer doesn’t make it untrue.”

  “And just because you say he is doesn’t make it true either,” he said, his jaw tight.

  “Alright, that’s it,” Tamsin said, stepping between us with her hands out. Her pupils were blown wide, the black replacing all other color. “Everybody just relax.”

  The anger seeped out of me before she finished speaking, my body feeling like I’d just swallowed a couple of Xanax. The frost left Graves’ eyes, and his jaw slackened. He looked completely stoned.

  “I’m calling a timeout,” Tamsin said. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere. Salem, sweetie, you’re still bleeding, so let’s go get you cleaned up. Graves, why don’t you go home and rub one out. Maybe you’ll feel better. We can regroup tomorrow.”

  There was a flicker in Graves’ eye as if his will was trying to reassert itself, but even he wasn’t totally immune to Tamsin’s succubus mojo. He’s going to make her pay for this later, I thought in a dreamy haze.

  I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye before she dragged me into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind us, leaving Graves and my brother the stuffed animal alone in the other room.

  When Tamsin turned to face me, her eyes were normal once more, but I was still out of it. She shook her head, giving me a small smile. “Sorry about that, but you two are impossible and somebody had to play referee. Now, where do you keep the first-aid kit?”

  13

  Ghosted

  Aye. Graves.

  Yoooooo, Graves.

  Dude, why aren’t you answering?

  We’re supposed to be training today. Where are you?

  Graves? Dickhead? Bane of my undead existence?

  Torturer extraordinaire?

  After the sixth text in three days that went unanswered, I slipped my phone in my back pocket and went into the bathroom to get ready.

  “Saaaaalem,” Shep the Sheep called out.

  I squinted at him, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Don’t you ever sleep?” I grumbled, walking across my room and flipping the bathroom light on.

  “Noooo,” he answered.

  “Huh, guess that makes sense given you’re dead and all.” The sheep glowered at me from my bed as I began working my fingers through my pink tangles. “What? Too insensitive?”

  The stuffie nodded. Fair enough, I suppose.

  I flipped the faucet on and splashed my face with cool water, then used the hand towel to wipe it off. Brushing my teeth and changing my clothes, I turned over the last few days in my mind again.

  Graves had bounced after the summoning, and I hadn’t seen him since. The part that was starting to weird me out was that he wasn’t answering his phone. At all. Was he ignoring me? It was possible, but didn’t seem likely. Of all the times for him to finally decide to drop off the planet, now didn’t make sense.

  He was being kinda sketch where the Grimms were concerned, though.

  Despite my repeated attempts to make him see that Dom was in cahoots with my brother’s killer, he didn’t want to believe it.

  I walked in my bedroom and shoved my feet in a pair of low boots that just came up over the hem of my skinny jeans. Leaning over, I grabbed my keys and got to my feet.

  Maybe Graves was uninterested in catching the real killer, but I’d had enough sitting around. If I couldn’t go straight to his door and ask him—I’d do the second-best thing.

  “Saaaalem!” Shep called, running across my comforter as fast as he could to catch me. Three-inch stuffed legs didn’t really lend themselves to running, and he ended up tripping and rolling over the side of the bed. Shep tumbled to the ground and kept going, landing right at my feet in a sprawl of crocheted limbs.

  “I can’t take you, dude. Even if I wanted to, the chances of someone seeing you are too high. You need to—”

  “Saaaalem,” he bleated pitifully.

  “Dude, I really shouldn’t—”

  “SAAAAALEM!” he continued in a shrill screech that tugged at my heartstrings.

  I sighed. “You know, even dead, you’re a pain in my ass.”

  But still, I picked him up and shoved him in my purse before heading out the door. I was halfway down the hallway and going straight for the door when something caught my eye. My mouth fell open as Aunt Esme walked around the counter.

  “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “What?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Oh, this?” She motioned to the monstrosity that was the astronaut suit. “It’s my beekeeping suit.”

  “Beekeeping suit?” I repeated, eyeing the veil meshing around her face and heavy white gloves. “Why do you need a beekeeping suit?”

  “To keep bees, of course,” Esme replied, completely serious.

  I shook my head. “Whatever you say, Auntie,” I said, starting for the door again

  “I’m off to check in on my hives,” she called over her shoulder as she opened one of the French doors to let herself out the back. “There’s food in the fridge. The fire extinguisher under the sink is empty, and I keep forgetting to replace it. So, if you start a fire, it’s best to call the fire department first and let them handle it instead of worrying about trying to put it out.”

  “Why’s the fire extinguisher empty?” I asked slowly.

  My aunt gave me an exaggeratedly slow shrug. “I had a little mishap in the kitchen the other day.”

  Did I even want to ask what this ‘mishap’ in the kitchen was?

  Nope. No, I did not.

  “Alright, Auntie.” Esme let herself out without even asking where I was headed off to, and I didn’t waste my good luck sticking around waiting for her to realize it.

  I was still shaking my head and chuckling under my breath when I reached the Impala. After all the changes in my world these last couple of weeks, my oddball aunt was the one constant. There was something really reassuring about that.

  Sliding in, I tossed my bag onto the passenger seat.

  “Baa!”

  “Oops, sorry,” I said, wincing as Shep popped his little stuffed head out of my purse. “Forgot you were in ther
e.”

  “Biiiiiitch.”

  I snorted as I turned the car on and started down the driveway. It was really hard to take a cursing stuffed animal seriously. If anything, it only made me want to annoy him more so he’d do it again.

  Foreigner was playing on the radio as we made our way down Mansion Lane, and my brother let out an excited bleat that I think was supposed to mean “turn it up,” so I did. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, singing along under my breath while my brother attempted to do the same.

  By the time I parked in the crumbling lot beside the Bitter Bean, my cheeks hurt from biting back a smile. As much as I wanted to laugh at his antics, I didn’t think Shep would appreciate me laughing at him. Especially when his singing—and I say that loosely because it was more like one-word exclamations—was in earnest.

  “Alright, head down until we’re inside.” The stuffie pulled his head back down into the darkness of my purse so slowly he looked like he was sinking. “You know, I think I might like you better this way,” I teased. “You’re far more entertaining.”

  His muffled insult met my ears, and I was grinning as I walked into the Bitter Bean. The coffee shop was crowded today. There were at least a dozen people scattered through the room, and all of them looked up at me when I walked in. If Graves knew I’d come here without him, he would be pissed. I don’t think going to a supernatural hangout was his idea of lying low.

  Not that I gave a shit. If he wanted to keep bossing me around, the least he could do was answer a damn text.

  Fueled by frustration, I moved to the counter, nodding at Clay.

  “Darla in?” I asked.

  He nodded, swinging the bar open for me to pass through. “She’s been expecting you.”

  My steps faltered, and tingles worked their way down my spine. Super. Not sure how to respond to that little grenade, I pushed through the beaded curtain.