Rise (Reaper's Redemption Book 3)

by Thea Atkinson

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  Bio

  Pay it Forward

  Reaper's Redemption

  Rise

  Copyright 2017 Thea Atkinson

  Published by Thea Atkinson

  Edited by Laura Kingsley

  Cover art by gwendolyn1.deviantart.com

  Stock photography/art for the series from:

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  shelldevil.deviantart.com

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  aledjonesstocknart.deviantart.com

  Typography by Thea Atkinson

  All rights reserved. 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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THANKS for READING

  If you enjoy escaping into realms that are Earthlike but still a world away, TEXT thetribe to 1-678-506-7543

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  CHAPTER 1

  I was having that dream again. You know the one: where your teeth fall out or lose their tight grip on your gums and you have that terrifying sense you've done something awful to make them drop from your mouth like pebbles. You should have been more attentive. You should have done something long before it came to this. Flossed more. Brushed more.

  Yeah. That one.

  I knew I was dreaming, though, which was a bonus. I didn't get that gut-wrenching nausea at thinking I was going to be toothless for the rest of my days. Instead, I just eased awake pleasantly, like someone was stroking my cheek. Much better, I decided, than feeling like I'd swallowed my molars.

  I felt that pleasant fog for several moments, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon that somehow floated into my consciousness until I realized someone was actually stroking my cheek.

  With the reflexes of a drunken cat, I scrambled from my bed and fell twice before I was able to keep to my feet. Whoever it was--whatever it was--I wasn't about to let it get the jump on me. I spun around in the darkness of my room, groping with my hands for the light switch and finding it in one blinding shot of light.

  No one was there. At least not visible to my naked eye. The fragrance of cinnamon still clung to the air, though, and I heard the distinctive scraping of tree branches against the cedar shingles on the outside of the house. Maybe it was all a part of my dream and I'd only just thought someone was running the backs of their fingers against my cheek. I'd certainly been under a good deal of stress the last weeks. It wasn't impossible that I would mistake a dream touch for reality, not after the things I'd seen.

  But it felt so darn real.

  I dropped to the edge of the comfy chair by the door in cautious relief, but the tension in my shoulders refused to relax. I'd been a Nathelium for less than six weeks, but I'd already encountered a doppelgänger, an incubus, a goddess, and a fallen angel. Not to mention the Angel of Death, of course. Couldn't forget that guy. He was the reason I was a reaper for the supernatural entities of the world in the first place, and because of him and all those creatures, I couldn't take the dark silence for granted. Not ever again.

  I now knew there could be things in the shadows. And I knew seeming solitude might never again mean that I was actually alone. It wasn't just creepy, it was downright invasive. I hated that I couldn't trust the evidence of my senses anymore. It made me edgy to think at any given moment something might be lurking just on the other side of my perception.

  I blinked into the shadowed corners, my ears catching the sound of an owl hooting from somewhere down the hall. That sound made me smile. Normally, an owl would be calling out from its perch somewhere outside, but this had come from Sarah's room. It was a soft, questioning call, kind of like a tuft of cattails catching on the breeze because the bird in question was still only a couple of weeks old and didn't have all the vocal strength it needed to flat out screech. At least that's what I told myself.

  I knew nothing about birds, and my supposition was feeble at best. It was just that I didn't want to think about any other reason why the chick might have such a harsh, whispering call. Certainly not because of the moment weeks earlier when, during a necromancy ritual, its fluffy little neck had been broken, leaving it deader than a squashed spider beneath a terrified boot.

  One might actually think if they believed in witchcraft rituals in the first place, that my foster sister, Sarah, a necromancer, would've been the one to bring the little thing back to life, but no. She had been the one who had taken it. The soft and dusty musical note came from the fledgling's throat because of the other creature that slept quietly down the hall in the same room. The baby Nicki. The infant demigod of unknown age who had been with us for all of two weeks who had apparently taken a shine to the owl and somehow resurrected it as a playmate.

  All nice and neatly complicated.

  Best a girl didn't think about those things in the wee hours of the night if she wanted to catch a few winks; it was enough to drive a regular person to the brink of madness let alone a reaper.

  Suffice to say that was the least strange thing that happened to me over the last month, and exactly the reason for my tentative wariness as I perched on my chair, studying each shadow that couldn't be dispelled by the overhead light.

  It was just nerves. No one was there. I blew a long sigh out through tight lips and reached for the light switch, wondering the same thing I had since I'd been a kid: if I could reach the bed before the light went out. It had been a game all those years ago, but at 17, very nearly 18, it felt very much like a survival mechanism.

  I didn't make it before the light died, of course, but the covers were still warm. I snuggled down into the blankets, pulling the edge up to my nose, leaving just enough of my nostrils to the air that I could breathe. I stared out into the darkness and willed myself to sleep. The clock on my bureau showed 2:15 a.m. Something about that time bothered me. Hadn't Sarah and I done a ritual around this time? Some sort of sacred hour, she'd said.

  When the touch came again, my back went cold with terror. I choked on a scream. This time I didn't stumble out of bed like a drunk. This time, I leapt up on both feet, clinging to the wall as I pressed against my headboard. Some brave reaction for a Nathelium. If it was anything even remotely threatening, it would know exactly how terrifying I could be.

  Like, not at all.

  "Who the hell is there?" I said.

  Nothing. I relaxed ever so slightly, daring to think I might not be in actual danger. I'd actually felt a touch like that before and I had a feeling I knew exactly who it was.

  No doubt Azrael finally de
cided to show himself after these last weeks of silence. I couldn't imagine why he was visiting, since I hadn't reaped any otherworldly creatures since I'd seen him last, and truthfully, the last one he had come to collect was that very same young demigod down the hall. I'd defied the Angel of Death over it, actually. No doubt he'd been sulking over the last fortnight.

  "She's still breathing, so you can't collect her, " I said to the room, aiming for the middle of it in the hopes that would be where he would materialize. "So either show yourself or leave."

  The words helped me swallow down the discomforting feeling I always got over Nicki, as though I was missing something critical about her I should have known but was too dumb to get.

  My fingers tightened on the headboard as I waited for his answer. I expected at any moment to smell that candy floss and caramel that always clung to the Angel of Death. He was able to manipulate so much of the world around him to his own desires, I wondered if he coated his essence with that pleasant fragrance to keep his reapers enthralled of him, or if it was truly his regular fragrance. Whatever the truth was, I anticipated the smell in spite of my reluctance to see him again.

  My fingers trailed to my cheek where I could still feel the remnants of that gentle but terrifyingly unexpected touch. I didn't want to see him. Not really. Seeing him would only mean something awful. It would mean I was going to have to reap something again.

  I should have known things had been too quiet on the supernatural front lately. Almost too quiet. I might have expected him to come sniffing around to gloat after Sarah's family of sorcerers had found her and left their calling card on our step. I wouldn't have put it past him to hang around expecting at any moment to be able to collect up the necromancer he had wanted me to reap so badly.

  "I won't let you have Nicki," I said, telling myself that if my visitor was something other than Azrael, it would have shown itself by now, so no doubt it was the Angel of Death and if I was so inclined, I could ease away from the wall. Somehow, my fingers didn't get the memo. They were still frozen to the headboard.

  "If you found some loophole to collect her, you better be prepared to fight for her," I said, aiming my face at the corner shadow.

  A bravado I hoped he couldn't see through it.

  I did manage to reach for my cell phone, though. With a trembling thumb, I swiped across the screen to find the flashlight app. With my breath caught in my throat, I shone it out into the middle of my room.

  I wasn't sure why I was disappointed at first to see a portly looking man instead of the magnificent Azrael standing there in the wash of cell phone light. He had thick jowls and a sandy coloured comb-over that barely disguised the brown liver spots on the top of his pate. When he smiled, I could see that his two front teeth were missing.

  I should have been shocked, but instead I just found myself wondering what kind of incubus would look like that. Then I realized it couldn't be a love demon. He was far too plain looking and I was feeling no desire to get any closer.

  "What are you?" I demanded.

  "Warren," he said.

  "What in the heck is a Warren?"

  "Not what," he said. "Who."

  He didn't seem threatening. That, at least, was a good sign. Good enough that it made me a little irritable.

  "Well, Warren, are you here to tell me that my bedroom is now some sort of open house for every hobgoblin in Dyre?"

  He looked offended at the word hobgoblin.

  "I am most definitely not a hobgoblin," he grumbled. "They are ugly little things. And have absolutely no couth."

  "And you do?" I said, sucking the back of my teeth in disdain. "Most mannerly folks don't just show up in a girl's bedroom in the middle of the night without an invitation."

  I was already feeling a lot less threatened. It was hard to feel scared of a portly thing with liver spots and a Hello Kitty T-shirt that showed a very hairy, very round stomach, even if he was supernatural.

  That sense of safety changed the instant his hand dug up beneath that T-shirt. Reflex made me dive for the covers again and I was already scrambling for the bottom of the bed, thinking that I could dig my way out from the bottom and run down the hall long before he could point whatever he had in his hand at me. Some Nathelium.

  By the time I poked a hole through the burrow of sheets and blankets, I could see that the entire room was bathed in some sort of sparkling light. Warren held a tinkling, prism kind of wand over his head and it was making those liver spots pulse.

  He crooked a finger at me, beckoning me from my hiding space. I crawled onto the floor and then pushed myself to my feet, standing three feet away from him, but close enough to the door that I could bolt.

  "I'm not here to hurt you," he said.

  "Then stuff your weapon, mister," I said, looking pointedly at the wand. I wasn't nearly as naive as I had been.

  His bushy brow furrowed as he glanced at the wand. "This isn't a weapon," he said, but he shrugged and slipped it back up beneath his shirt. Where he stowed it, I didn't want to imagine. I had an unsettling image of two large and hairy man boobs gripping the shaft of the wand and I shivered. A shaft of light glowed out from beneath the shirt and somehow magnified itself. It was no darker in the room than it had been before he'd stuffed the wand beneath his shirt.

  "I'm a tooth fairy," he drawled as though I should have known it from the start. "Very old. Nearly the first, actually." His shoulders squared off importantly. I got the feeling he felt pretty proud of that. At least it explained why I had dreamt of losing my teeth.

  "You're about ten years too late, Warren."

  He rolled his eyes at me. "Your teeth were too soft to be of any value. I ground them up for my garden because I couldn't even sell them to the Dark Bazaar for a few magic beans. And if you're worried about your adult teeth, don't bother. There's no power in them. Too easy to come by and far too dirty."

  I lifted my brow, interested to hear he'd known that my baby teeth had been in bad shape. I wasn't quite mollified, however.

  "You don't look very fairy-ish," I said.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and his belly rounded out over his sweat pants. He used it as a kind of shelf to rest his elbows.

  "It's called fae," he said. "And no, I don't. Not at the moment, regrettably enough."

  He looked down at the Hello Kitty logo and sighed hard enough to make his jowls shake. "It's the best I could do under the circumstances."

  Whatever circumstances he meant, I didn't care to know. I reached for the light switch on the wall and he followed the path of my hand with his eyes.

  "Don't you like my light, Ayla?" he said.

  "Let's just say I find it unnerving."

  "Fair enough." He reached beneath his T-shirt and snuffed out the end as though it were a candle flame with the cup of his hand. Things were black in the room for a long moment before I could reach the switch.

  When light flooded the room, he was already sitting on the edge of my bed.

  "Damn," I said, impressed at his speed, and he smiled, showing that gap again.

  The owl hooted from down the hall with a short questioning note. It seemed to catch his attention because he startled and let out a loud fart. I backed away, not sure what that might mean.

  My legs butted up against the chair by the door and I fell into it. Now that the tension was gone, I realized my ears were buzzing. I stuck a finger in one of them and wiggled it around, sighing audibly enough to get his attention.

  "So, Warren," I said. "Do you want to tell me why you're here, if you don't want my teeth?"

  I was aware I sounded impatient and scolding but it was nearly three am for heaven's sake and now that I knew he wasn't planning to hurt me, use me, or collect anything, I wanted him gone.

  He bolted upright from the bed and landed at my feet before I could jump out of the way in surprise. He knelt in front of me with his head bowed. I could see each liver spot beneath his comb-over. Five of them, I thought absently. Then he mumbled something I c
ouldn't quite catch and I had to ask him to repeat himself.

  He lifted his face to catch my eye. I could see within the black depths oh his a spark of purple.

  "I want you to kill me," he said.

  CHAPTER 2

  "Kill you?" I said, aghast at the flat out statement as though he truly expected me to make some martial arts judo cut through his proffered neck as if it was a block of wood. "I'm not a murderer."

  That he was even there, asking such a thing from me was enough to push me to my feet. I stumbled past him, pushing him out of the way with an almost absent hand because I couldn't think of anything more than that I needed to get away. I was left standing in front of one of my mother's posters of Alice in Chains, staring at it with my arms crossed over my chest. I could hear him behind me rustling his hands through the carpet.

  I worried my lip with my teeth. So this was going to be what my life was now. Supernatural things popping in at me when I least expected it. Trying to kill me, trying to get killed. I had other things to worry about. Things that I should be worried about the way any teenager did. Dances. Graduating. Boyfriends and the like. That damn infernal hooting down the hall, even.

  I swung around, angry at his intrusion and insinuation that I had nothing better to do than seek out and destroy otherworldly creatures. He wasn't looking at me at all, just scuffing his way across the carpet toward me.

  "What do you think this is anyway," I demanded and for one second, he lifted his gaze to mine and the way his eyes sparked with purple light, made me even angrier. "Some sort of spa for supernatural suicide tourists?"

  "You're Nathelium," he said with a bluntness that made my stomach sink. "It's what you do."

  Nathelium. An entity tasked with collecting the essence of a dying supernatural, and he was right. It was my duty. It was what I was supposed to do. That didn't mean I had to like it. Besides: if I did reap Warren, it would mean Azrael would come. And I wasn't sure I was ready to see him yet.