by Katie May
Just me and my classes.
And flight training.
Every morning, I meet up with Preston and Auston. I still have yet to use my wings to carry me higher than a few feet. The one time I held myself off the ground for more than two seconds, I ended up with a scraped knee and a sprained ankle.
Today, I’m training to become a Reaper.
It’s the start of our official mentorship, and apparently, I’ll follow Preston as he collects souls...or whatever the hell he does. Honestly, I zoned out during that part of the lesson.
Slipping out of bed, I move on quiet feet to my closet. The last thing I want to wear is the required school uniform, but I don’t have a choice. Conformity, my friends, at its finest.
I pull on the too short skirt, form-fitting blouse, socks that go up to my knees, and my Mary Jane shoes. Running a brush through my dark blonde hair, I braid it away from my face.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I try to decide if I look like a Reaper. They all have similar characteristics—skinny but lightly muscled, dark hair, and an affinity for dark clothes.
Me? I’m no pink lover, but I prefer colors over black. The only black I wore was a black sweatshirt Ocean bought me for my birthday that read, “Book Boyfriends are Better than Real Boyfriends.”
Honestly, I would make a pretty shitty Reaper. Can a soul get lost on their way to Heaven or Hell? Is that a thing? Because I can guarantee that would happen to me.
“Oh, you meant to take that soul to Heaven? Wrong place. This is Hell. Don’t you see the fires?”
Directionally challenged doesn’t even begin to describe me.
And would I have to be a people person to escort a soul? I don’t have the patience for that. Or the compassion.
Aggie mutters something in her sleep, effectively jarring me from my thoughts. I’m pretty sure she says, “Romeo, lick my muffin.”
With a sigh, I head to the dining hall.
I’m the only soul in the cafeteria at this hour, no surprise. No one is willing to sacrifice an hour of oblivion for something you don’t really need.
Still, I pile my plate high with French toast and add a bowl of oatmeal, dousing both in cinnamon and syrup. I find a table near the back and settle in with my treats, my dream replaying on a loop in my mind.
It isn’t the first time I dreamt of death in its finality, and it won’t be my last. My own death reverberates on repeat in my head...which, of course, evokes images of the girl in the river.
Is that what happens to a soul once they die?
The darkness?
The emptiness?
My stomach churns uncomfortably.
“What is a pretty girl like you doing all by yourself?” a husky voice asks in my ear. I startle, spinning around. If I was still alive, the man would’ve given me a heart attack.
“Fuck,” I curse, placing my hand over my heart. Well, where my heart is. I’m not actually sure if I have a heart in this new soul body. Sure, I feel something beating, but I’m positive the anatomy of a soul is different from a human’s.
I’m told a soul has an essence that makes them who they are. Basically, an essence is the soul of a soul. Trippy shit, am I right?
The new guy has blond hair, an impish grin, and is dressed in slacks and a jacket. I recognize him immediately...or, at the very least, a version of him.
“Do you have brothers?” I blurt out. Preston has the customary dark hair of all Reapers, while Auston has white hair, but all three men have the same facial structure and toned bodies. White blond locks highlight the azure shade of his eyes. He’s more muscular than Preston, but not as bulky as Auston. He even sort of looks like that one Demon...
At my question, his face falls before he quickly replaces it with a semi-cocky smirk.
“We don’t talk about those assholes,” he says quickly. Dismissively. It’s the same hostility I see between Preston and Auston.
The distance between them, the animosity, goes beyond sibling rivalry.
“In answer to your previous question,” I begin, redirecting the conversation. “I woke up early and decided to get some food before my first mentorship.”
“And Preston is your Reaper mentor?” he inquires, his lips curling into a sneer. Before I can comment, an exuberant smile crosses his face. He’s handsome normally, but when he smiles like that, he turns glorious. I momentarily forget how to speak, entranced by that smile. “A girl as beautiful as you shouldn’t be by yourself. Allow me to offer my services.”
“Does that line normally work for you?” I tease.
He chuckles, a deeply seductive sound. Goosebumps erupt on my arms, and my chest flushes. These brothers are going to be the second death of me.
He leans farther forward. “Are you from Russia? Because you’re making my blood rusha.”
“Oh my gosh. Stop. That’s so fucking cheesy,” I reply, swatting at his arm. His translucent arm. It’s only then that I notice his whole body seems to shimmer as if he’s coated in a glittery sheen.
A Ghost.
I expect my hand to pass through him, so I’m stunned when I touch solid skin. It’s smooth beneath my hand, unblemished. Unscarred.
I remember how Mrs. Myle’s Ghost body showed how she died—her form a constant reminder of that trauma. But Ghost dude?
Nothing. Did he die of disease? Would it be rude of me to ask?
“I’m Karston,” he says, ripping me out of my thoughts. He extends a hand, and I shake it.
“Hadley,” I respond. His smile grows, emanating from his eyes, and I smile instinctively in response. He’s gorgeous. If this is what the brothers looked like when they were alive, vaginas everywhere would’ve been hurting. My vagina? It’s flashing a neon sign announcing it as “Open For Business” and there’s a revolving door to allow all these men entrance.
Yeah, my vagina is kind of a thirsty hussy.
“So, is there a reason why all of your brothers stalk me?” I ask teasingly, and his eyes flash in alarm. He schools his features before I can question the strange reaction.
“Stalk?” he repeats nonchalantly. Another blinding smile is flashed in my direction. At this point, I need a pair of sunglasses. How can teeth be that white and shiny? How can hair be that golden? How can one male be that beautiful?
“Stalk. Follow. Stand in front of my window wearing a clown mask.” I wave a hand dismissively. “Never mind. I’m just joking. I have a...weird sense of humor.”
He chuckles, the sound eliciting full body shivers. “I know.”
“You know?”
Once more, his smile falters. Just briefly. “I mean, I can tell. From this conversation. That’s what I meant. And in answer to your question, yes, I have three brothers. Preston, Braxton, and Auston. We’re quadruplets. But again, I don’t want to talk about them, especially with someone as gorgeous as you.” Another disarming smile. Another flirtatious wink that doesn’t deter me from the awkwardness of this conversation.
I can’t tell if Karston is the sexiest flirter I have ever met or the most awkward human being known to mankind. Maybe a combination of both? He’s sexdorable. Adorexy?
We sit in companionable silence as I scarf down my oatmeal and then my French toast. One highlight of being dead is eating as much as I fucking want and not worrying about it heading straight to my ass.
“Can I walk with you?” Karston asks after I finish. It should’ve felt weird to eat while he sipped what smelled like coffee, but it wasn’t. I felt innately comfortable with the Ghost, almost as if I knew him personally.
“I mean, a beautiful guy like yourself shouldn’t be walking alone,” I retort, parroting his words back to him with a wicked grin. He grins and extends his arm for me to link mine with his. “Don’t worry, Karston. I’ll protect you.”
He snorts, but allows me to lead him out of the dining hall and into a clearing behind the academic building.
The manicured grass is already teeming with both Dearly Departeds and third year Reapers.
My heart picks up speed at the sight before me.
All of the Reapers are wearing billowing black cloaks and hoods, the fabric obscuring their features from view. In their hands are scythes. The long, copper handle leads to a keen, curved blade shining silver in the burgeoning sunlight.
“This is where I’m leaving you,” Karston murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t cry too hard, Beautiful. I know you’re going to miss me already.”
“How will I survive?” I drawl dramatically.
“Right? We only just met, Sweetheart. I might call your obsession with me stalkerish.”
“Stalkerish?” I turn towards him with an eyebrow raised mockingly. “Takes a stalker to know one.”
He cheeks turn crimson, and he quickly looks away. What the hell is that about?
“I need to go. See you later, Gorgeous.”
With a wave, he heads off in the direction of the academic building, while I walk into the clearing. I spot Layla and Aggie immediately, the former giving me a narrow-eyed stare.
“Who was that?” she inquires suspiciously.
“No one.” I don’t know why I lie. Honestly, I don’t. Maybe it’s because Layla is gorgeous, and I feel threatened. Or maybe it’s for reasons I can’t yet decode. Either way, I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot next to her.
“I would ride that boy like a one-cent pony ride at a supermarket,” Aggie whispers, staring off after Karston.
“What is wrong with you?” Layla questions very seriously. It’s a fair question, in all honesty. My theory? She was sex deprived when she was alive. Makes any sane girl horny as hell.
“Gather around, Dearly Departeds,” an older gentleman calls. He’s a professor for third-year Reapers, complete with receding hairline, dark skin, and the customary black cloak. “Today, you’re not first years. You aren’t merry souls. You’re Reapers.” His smile turns sardonic, mocking. A man on the inside of a joke. “And we’re going to teach you how to reap souls.”
Chapter 16
Hadley
We travel through a doorway.
A fucking doorway.
Honestly, I expected a portal glimmering like thousands of stars plucked straight from the sky. Am I asking too much?
Instead, we’re greeted by a nondescript door kept under lock and key inside the academic building. Dearly Departeds stand on one side of the two-person line, while the Reapers stand on the other.
Preston keeps making quips in an attempt to make me laugh. Honestly, if I have to hear one more awkward comparison between his scythe and his penis, followed by his nervous laughter, I’ll...probably jump him like a bitch in heat and pee on his leg.
Why my vagina wants to pee on him remains a mystery, but she’s always been a mysterious lady. She’s kinky like that.
And...
I need to stop thinking of my vagina as an entirely separate entity.
The professor drones on and on that the Dearly Departeds are not allowed to touch, only watch. And cue...
“That’s what she said,” Preston whispers in my ear, his hood brushing my cheek. Goosebumps erupt on my flesh when his warm breath heats my skin. I never had this reaction with a guy before. Sure, there’s been guys I liked and guys I’ve fucked, but never anyone like Preston. Never one that makes my heart pound erratically inside my chest until it feels like it’s seconds from breaking free.
He’s not the only one who makes me feel like that though. A certain white-haired Angel with penetrating eyes and high cheekbones—he who shall not be named or else my ovaries will go into overdrive—causes the same visceral reaction.
One by one, the pairs of Reapers and Dearly Departeds go through the door. My hands begin to shake, and I curl them into fists. I can’t tell if I’m anxious, excited, or a combination of the two.
Preston stealthily grabs my hand in his and squeezes. That reassuring, eloquent gesture says more than a thousand words ever could. I smile shyly up at him before staring down at our interlocked fingers.
In all honesty, Preston is everything I never wanted in a man. Don’t get me wrong. His awkwardness and clumsiness are adorable and endearing, but I assumed I would want a man with tattoos and jagged edges. The bad boy in need of taming. Preston doesn’t fit that mold, and yet I can’t deny the fluttering in my stomach like thousands of butterfly wings.
Finally, it’s our turn, and Preston reluctantly releases my hand. Or I reluctantly release his.
“Be back in six hours,” the professor instructs, glancing down at his clipboard as he crosses off our names.
The doorway, on closer inspection, is made of painted white wood with intricately carved decorations adorning the length. Through the opening, I see nothing but darkness.
A door in the middle of the room should’ve shown...well...the room beyond the frame.
Instead, this one only shows me a black hole. An abyss. A place you can get lost in and lose yourself.
My heels dig into the carpet, tiny warning bells going off in my head. Logically, I know this doorway will only take me to Earth, but I can’t help the pinpricks of fear that skate up my spine.
“It’s okay,” Preston whispers reassuringly. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I glance inconspicuously over my shoulder and catch Layla’s eyes. She stands beside an older woman with a severe frown and peppered hair cascading down her shoulders. When she sees my fear, she winks and gives me a reassuring nod of her head.
Behind her, Aggie palms her tits. I’m not sure if she’s trying to comfort me or if she’s just being Aggie in all her Aggie glory, but it assuages me. Not the tits thing, but the fact that they’ll be coming through too.
For so long, the only friend I had was Ocean. It’s a foreign sensation to know I have two strong women in my corner.
Turning back to Preston, I nod my head resolutely. “Let’s do this.”
His answering smile is glorious, revealing two dimples on his cheeks. Is it strange that I yearn to kiss them?
No kissing dimples, Hadley.
Squeezing my eyelids shut, I step through the doorway.
My stomach tightens then drops, like the feeling you get right after you crest over the peak of a rollercoaster and plummet down the track towards the Earth, but I feel fine besides that.
“You can open your eyes,” Preston states quietly, and I oblige.
My breath leaves me as I stare at my surroundings in shock, as a sort of numb quality glissades over my skin until I’m frozen.
I’m...floating. My feet hover over the grassy plains, and one glance at my arm shows a black sleeve—something I most definitely was not wearing earlier. In my hand, a scythe glistens in the sun like thousands of diamonds.
I’m a fucking Reaper.
It’s like a slap to the face. I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I’m the monster that hides in the shadows, lurks in hospital corridors, preys on unsuspecting individuals ambling the dark alleys late at night.
“Fuck,” I murmur, glancing at the robe swishing around my bare legs.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Preston inhales deeply, almost as if he can scent the flowers beneath our feet. “Being back here. Being the predator instead of the prey.”
And...that just went dark as shit.
One glance shows that we are alone. I have no idea where the other Dearly Departeds and Reapers emerged, but I’m grateful they’re not around to witness my inevitable freak-out.
I’m back on Earth.
Invisible.
With a fucking scythe in my hand like I’m some sort of serial killer.
I take a trembling step forward...actually, I don’t take a step forward. I glide forward, and I swear I feel the phantom brush of grass against my ankles. The feeling is surreal, and I’m left trembling, disoriented, and confused.
For a brief moment, staring at the cerulean sky touched with the palest pink and gold from the setting sun and the untamed grass intermingling with weeds and flowers, I allow myself to believe I’m alive. It’s a stupid fantasy, of course. I’m deader than dead. My body is deteriorating almost a dozen feet below ground, maggots feasting inside my eye sockets and gaping mouth.
Ew. Great visual.
But, for a moment, I imagine I’ll wake up in bed and make waffles with my dad, tease my mom’s newest fashion style, and then go shopping with Ocean. I’ll meet a guy, fall in love, and then start a family. My days won’t be ridden with hospital stays and sickness, and my life won’t be an endless abyss of darkness and pain.
Light.
I see a future where I’m stepping into the light.
“The first time is always the hardest,” Preston comments understandingly. His body presses against mine from behind, and his hand rests on my shoulder. He’s the only real thing on this plane, the only tangible being. The heat he emits warms me and my shriveled, cold heart.
“When you died, did it hurt? I mean, did you feel pain?” I don’t know why the question explodes from my traitorous mouth. Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic about life and all that shit. All I know for certain is that his answer is immensely important.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment, and when he does, his voice is a hushed murmur. Subdued.
“A little, but I died quickly. Unlike…” he trails off, releasing a long sigh. I chance a glance over my shoulder, struck by the pain in his eyes. It’s barely concealed behind the smile he flashes my way.
“Unlike?” I press, but he squeezes my shoulder and pushes me forward.
“Enough depressing talk. We have work to do.”
I recognize a topic change when I see one, and I concede graciously.
My fingers interlock with his as we move across the field and into what appears to be a cul-de-sac. Half of the houses are under construction, while the other half have large expanses of lawns, complete with play sets and swimming pools. Fence after fence separate each house, varying in color and thickness.
“Why are we here?” I ask Preston hesitantly. In answer, he squeezes my fingers once more.
He leads me to a house near the end of the street, which is freshly painted a shade of russet red. The front door is closed, and for a moment, I fear we’re going to break in.
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