Being a Reaper had its advantages.
Scrambling to my feet, I left Parker where he lay and staggered to the door, smacking my shoulder on the doorjamb on the way out. I managed to catch a glimpse of Jackson; the door to the stairwell closed behind him as he tried to head off the necromancer who’d taken the elevator down. There was no way I’d make it down the stairs in my condition. Waiting for the elevator would take too long. That left me with one option.
The Midnight Express.
The Midnight Express was what Reapers liked to call the doorways. When a Reaper needed to make a quick exit and jump from here to Hell in a hurry, they used the doorways. We all had keys. One skeleton key and a copy of the Guide to Collecting Souls handbook were standard issue on a Reaper’s first day. The doorways were sort of a portal system that turned any regular interior door into an access point for headquarters, creating a fast way for newbies to drop off their souls or pick up new case files, but senior ranking Reapers like me could ride the Midnight Express from collection to collection. Personally, I preferred my car. Cooper didn’t leave me with a hangover and motion sickness that rivaled a textbook case of salmonella.
Not to mention it took longer to get from point A to point B and that meant I was topside and away from Big A longer.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pulled out the key, still shiny and new. I may not have used it, but I never left home without it. Fingers gripped tight around the key, I staggered over to the coat closet and held onto the doorknob. With a deep breath, I yanked open the door and slipped into the darkness. Hell’s highway was a scorched, barren wasteland. There was nothing on either side of the road but the dry, blistering winds that stirred up sand. Stand in one place long enough and any exposed skin would be scraped raw. Reapers who used the Midnight Express learned early on that there was one direction. Forward. You kept your head down and followed the highway.
Only a handful could use the doorways to go back.
The latch had no more clicked into place when the door closed before I was turning the knob again, but when the door opened it wasn’t to Parker’s apartment. It was the lobby.
“Ma’am?” Ramirez jumped up from his seat behind his desk. “Did Parker attack you? Do you need an ambulance? You don’t look so good. Detective?”
“You really know how to talk to the ladies, don’t you, Ramirez?” I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass windows, confirmation that I looked as haggard as I felt. “Did my partner come this way?”
Ramirez pointed toward the doors, his head cocked to one side. The security guard scratched his beard, no doubt trying to work out how I’d managed to come from the short hallway that ended in the janitorial closet rather than the stairs or elevator. I kept walking, not bothering with an explanation since he wouldn’t remember anything anyway. Without breaking stride, I pushed the glass door open and walked outside.
Hours passed for me at the Belladonna’s peak, but it had been a matter of minutes for everyone else. Jackson chased after the necro, but after taking the stairs he was losing momentum and ground. After being poisoned and a trip on the Midnight Express, my stomach felt like it was lodged somewhere around my tonsils, but I was not letting the necromancer escape. Choking back the nausea, I broke into a sprint and matched Jackson’s pace. The Sin Eater did a quick glance to his left as I came up beside him, missing a step and stumbling a little when he realized it was me.
“Angelica.” Panting, Jackson huffed out my name between deeps pulls of air as he struggled to keep his breathing under control. “You’re…”
“I’m fine.” In truth, I was anything but fine, and if we weren’t in the middle of running down a necromancer Jackson would have smelled the lie.
Lingering numbness in my legs and toes made for an awkward stride, but I refused to let it slow me down, still keeping pace with Jackson. We both wanted him, bad. And that was before I upped the stakes with Apollyon. The need to bring him in, to stop him from stealing any more innocent souls was what kept me on my feet. Revenge for the belladonna and subsequent hallucinations kept my feet moving enough to pass Jackson and close in further on the necro.
The necromancer hesitated when he came up to the boxwood hedge lining the perimeter of the parking lot. The split second it took for him to weight the option of trying to go over or through the bushes was enough to put him within our reach. Arm outstretched, my fingertips grazed the back of his trench coat a split second before the rest of my body caught up with me and I plowed into him, sending us both tumbling into the boxwoods. Landing on top of him, I managed to recover first, but he didn’t stay down for long.
My knees tightened against his sides as he tried to buck me off. I leaned forward, pressing my forearm against his throat and put as much weight into it as I could spare without giving him the opportunity to get up. The necromancer managed to get in a couple punches to the side, one of them hard enough to break at least one of my ribs. He should have passed out from the pressure on his throat and the lack of oxygen, but he was still swinging, catching me with a close right hand against the side of my head that had me seeing stars long enough to lighten the pressure on his neck and give him the opportunity he needed.
Or so he thought.
Jackson reached into the bushes, yanking the necromancer out before he could overtake me and make his escape. I emerged from the shrubs, leaves and branches sticking out of my hair every which way, to find the Sin Eater going toe to toe with the necro, and it looked like the necro was winning. If I didn’t know better I would have thought the necromancer was a demon. He sure as hell fought like one.
A quick glint of light, and then another. The streetlights reflected off something metal. The necro had a blade. Jackson doubled over, blood soaking through his shirt where his hand was pressed against his left side. The necromancer drew back, wielding his knife like a shiv in a prison yard, he stabbed Jackson twice more before I landed on his back sending us both tumbling to the ground. The necro lost his grip on the knife upon impact, dropping it just out of reach. We rolled, landing next to the boxwoods again, this time with the necromancer on top. He hammered my side with more punches, zeroing in on the spot where he’d already broken a rib. Too many blows like that and I’d have a punctured lung.
Clawing at the grass, I reached for the knife, my fingernail catching the edge of the hilt. Just a little more, I almost had it. My shoulder threatened to pop as I over extended my arm trying to reach the blade. Satisfaction filled my body when my hand finally closed around the leather-wrapped grip, but it was short lived. The necromancer saw it, clamping one hand and then the other down on my arm. He yanked my arm, slamming it on the ground repeatedly in an attempt to knock the knife loose. To do that he had to shift his weight, giving up full mount and opening a small window of opportunity for me. Using what energy I had left, I bucked and rolled to the right, scrambling to take top. Still holding the knife, I held it against his throat, hard enough to draw blood so he knew I was serious.
But the necro had one last trick up his sleeve.
Blood is power and I’d just opened the font. The necromancer began to chant in some archaic language I didn’t recognize. Small tremors rocked the ground as he woke whatever dead lay beneath us. The building wasn’t built on an ancient burial mound, but that didn’t matter. Nature was a cycle of life and death and there was plenty of death in the earth underneath us. Beaks of zombie birds pecked their way free of the dirt and grass covering their tiny corpses. Rats and mice, some with bits of fur and flesh still hanging on their bones pushed their way out of the ground or from under the bushes. Like something out of a nightmarish cartoon, the necromancer sent a wave of reanimated forest animals to attack us.
“Jackson?” I screamed the Sin Eater’s name, still holding the knife against the necromancer’s throat. “Jackson, are you okay?” If the answer was no, or there was no answer at all, what I was about to do would be that much easier.
The Sin Eater’s reply came in a jumble of curse
words, all of them aimed at the creatures crawling and gnawing all over him. A wave of relief washed through me at the sound of his voice, momentarily wavering my resolve, but the rats chomping on my ankles reaffirmed my commitment. So did the rest of the creepy, crawly dead things. The necro wasn’t going to stop. Whatever the details were of the deal he’d struck with the ninth level demon, the payoff had to be huge.
But if I played my last card right, he’d never get the chance to see it.
“Big A, I hope you’re paying attention.” Without the skilled precision of a surgeon, or hell, a butcher for that matter, I willed my hand to be steady and pressed the blade further into the necromancer’s neck. Far enough to open a steady stream of blood, but not enough to cut a major artery. I hoped. “Blood is power, right?” I leaned in close, the smell of blood hitting me as I whispered in his ear. “But it’s finite too. We can only afford to lose so much before we die.”
The necro looked like a koi in a pond, his mouth opening and closing, eyes slightly bulged with fear. His fist clenched as his tried to tap one last burst of power.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I wagged a finger in his face, discouraging him from using the energy and wasting his blood. “You might want to focus on your breathing, slowing your heart rate. You know, shit like that. I’m giving you a choice, necro. Apply pressure to the wound and live or try to raise more of the dead and find yourself in their company for all eternity.”
The necro released his magic, and the pressure in the air dissipated faster than a summer storm. His hands clamped down on his neck. A small gush of blood leaked through his fingers before he managed to get enough pressure to slow the bleeding. Eyes widening, a look of shock mixed with fear settled on the necro’s face, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. Even without seeing the reflection in his eyes, I knew who stood behind me.
Apollyon, beautiful to look at but still able to strike fear into the hearts of men.
“Hello, daughter.”
For once I didn’t correct Big A. The look on the necromancer’s face was worth it and said a lot. He didn’t know me, just that I was in the way and if he was going to hold up his end of the deal with the demon, he needed me out of the picture. Coming face to face with the devil was enough to make anyone see the error of their ways.
“I’ll take it from here.” Apollyon held out his hand, an offer to help me to my feet. Any other time, I’d have refused, but there was a demon trying to form a coup and if they succeeded I could wind up someone else’s property, so I took my place at Big A’s side.
Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t.
Big A gave me an appraising look before something akin to pride settled on his face. He cleared his throat, the mask of indifference he wore firmly back in place. “Why don’t you go tend to your injuries, while I tend to this.”
“Wait, the souls.” Jackson avoided stepping on the mounds of furry dead, his shirt wadded up against his side to stave off the bleeding from the stab wounds. “Does he have them?”
“Ah, yes, the souls of the children. I’d almost forgotten.” The Prince of Lies had just told a doozy. He never forgot, especially when it involved souls. With a dramatic sigh, he reached down and grabbed the necromancer, holding him up so that Jackson could search his pockets for a jar or jars containing souls of the innocent.
Jackson came up empty handed, a look of disappointment on his face. I rested a hand on his arm, an insignificant gesture of comfort considering the souls we’d failed to recover belonged to children.
“Fret not, Angelica. He has them.” Apollyon drew in a deep breath, almost tasting the air as he pulled it in. “I can smell them on him. Where are the lost souls, Ethan Walker?”
Ethan Walker. The necromancer had a name, a name that would forever live in infamy. Ethan’s eyes cast downward at the mention of his name.
“Yes, Ethan, I know your name and soon I’ll know your secrets.” Big A nodded toward Jackson. “Check his shoes.”
“His shoes?” Jackson scoffed, but raised his hands in appeasement when Apollyon gave him the death glare. Running his hands along the sides of the boots to check for any sort of hidden compartment on the outside, Jackson pulled the motorcycle boots off. In the process, the heel slid to the side revealing a small vial hidden inside. Without hesitation, Jackson took the vial and slipped it into his coat pocket for safekeeping.
“You kept them in the heel of your boot?” The flush of anger warmed my cheeks. “In your boot? You’re just walking around like that, with them trapped in there? What if it broke? You’re lucky Big A is in charge of your transport. If it were up to me, I’d stop on every single one of the nine levels of Hell before taking you in.”
“Now that you mention it, I do love the scenic route.” Big A laughed, tightening his grip on Ethan Walker before they made their descent. “You upheld your end of the agreement. Our contact is complete, but if you want my advice—”
“I don’t.” I cut him off before he could say something I’d regret.
“Very well. I want you to keep looking into GlobalCom. Were the children payment for their rise to power or a warning from the demon for them to keep silent? See what you can turn up here while Ethan and I get better acquainted.” Big A wasn’t big on formal goodbyes. He preferred to pop in and out of my existence unannounced. The last thing I saw before he did his disappearing act again was Ethan Walker’s mouth hung open in a silent scream. Knowing firsthand what hell awaited him, I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
Having met the terms of the contract, keeping my freedom and earning the right to date a Sin Eater no less, I should have felt relieved. I didn’t. What I felt was overwhelmed. I was moving up in the Underworld. Big A assigned me to GlobalCom and with it the demon making moves against him. He expected results and I would be reporting directly to him. For once, the thought of working with Apollyon didn’t scare me because the prospect of someone not only being crazy enough to go up against Big A, but actually succeeding was terrifying.
And someone still needed to pay for what happened to those kids. Starting with their parents.
“I should get this to the Order.” Jackson gave his pocket a little pat, breaking the awkward silence that settled between us after Apollyon left with the necro.
Was the allure of the forbidden fruit and the thrill of the chase what ignited the spark? The fire already snuffed out without those two things to keep it alive?
“Yeah, I need to call this in.” I reached into my back pocket for my cellphone, before remembering I hadn’t replaced it yet. Glancing toward the lobby and Ramirez lingering by the door, I wasn’t looking forward to calling in from the landline at his desk. I also needed to pay a visit to the spirit walker. The one who put me on GlobalCom’s trail in the first place and the only child of a board member to survive the necromancer. Something else I wasn’t looking forward to.
“Here.” Jackson handed me his phone. “As entertaining as it would be to watch you call from the front desk, save yourself the headache.” He waved off my thanks. “Hold on to it. It’ll save me the trouble of tracking you down when I get back.”
“You never had trouble tracking me down before.” I dialed the number for DSA, holding the phone away from my ear when the hold music blared through the speaker.
“After seeing you work, I’m pretty sure you could disappear. I wouldn’t find you unless you wanted me to.” Jackson closed the distance between us, wincing a little when the movement aggravated his wounds.
I stood on tiptoe, saving him from bending down, and kissed him. “I want you to.”
A DSA agent came on the line ruining the moment. The timing had Big A’s name written all over it. Jackson took that as his cue to leave with promises of dinner upon his return. I just hoped he kept them.
“DSA, state your purpose and passcode.” The voice squawked over the cellphone, pulling my attention from the Sin Eater walking away back to the civilian security staring at me from
inside the building and the piles of dead animals littering the grass outside it.
“I need a cleanup on aisle five. Passcode, Rumpelstiltskin.”
The End
A note from the author-
I hope you enjoyed the first half of Angelica’s story. Part two, So Shall I Reap will be released later this year. To find out more about my other series, new releases or fun book news be sure to sign up for my newsletter. https://mailchi.mp/rachelrawlings/rachels-books
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Rawlings was born and raised in the Baltimore Metropolitan area. Her family, originally from Rhode Island, spent summers in New England sparking her fascination with Salem, MA. She has been writing fictional stories and poems since middle school, but it wasn't until 2009 that she found the inspiration to create her heroine Maurin Kincaide and complete her first full length novel, The Morrigna.
When she isn't writing Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy or about her psychic detective, Rachel can often be found with her nose buried in a good book. An avid reader of Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, Horror and Steampunk herself, Rachel founded Hallowread- an interactive convention for both authors and fans of those genres. She still lives in Maryland with her husband and three children.
Want to find out about new releases, appearances and more? Be sure to check out Rachel’s website www.rachelrawlings.com .
LYNXED
CATHERINE BANKS
Lynxed by Catherine Banks © 2018 Catherine Banks
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Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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