‘You’re a reaper. You don’t need a weapon.’
I stared at him. ‘You mean … I could reap his soul?’
‘That is what reapers do.’
I couldn’t get my head around it. Everything was happening so fast. One minute I was dead, then alive, and then dead again. I needed to think it through, but no amount of time would make this experience seem sensible. I’d fallen into a nightmare where to escape I would have to reap the soul of the monster who’d murdered me and two others.
I took a deep breath. ‘What do I have to do?’
Grimm came forward and this time I didn’t flinch as his bony fingers hovered below my neck. ‘To draw out a soul you must place one hand here and the other on your necklace. You will feel heat as the soul responds to your touch.’
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Grimm stepped back. ‘There’ll be no more second chances.’
I glared at him, hating him for putting me through this, hating myself for wanting to live so badly I let him do it.
He came at me again, skeletal hands grabbing my neck. But this time I did not scream. Rage towards Grimm filled me, burning away the cold as I took the first breath of my new life.
I launched myself at the monster that had killed me twice.
He stood beside the overturned magazine stand, his back to me. I gripped the necklace in one hand and reached for him with the other. He was taller than me so I aimed high, latching on to the base of his neck.
The second I touched him the necklace started to pulse, giving off heat. Warmth bloomed below my hand and it increased as his soul responded to my call. He spun around, eyes wide, and slumped to his knees in front of me, mouth open in a silent scream. His back arched, like a man who’d received an electric shock, and his body shook violently. Dribble fell from his mouth and his eyes bulged as I pulled my hand away and drew the soul out of his body.
I wanted to stop, I really did. I came so close to breaking the connection, letting his soul slip from my fingers. It dangled in the air in front of me, an entrancing bubble of light, with a core the size of an orange, like a tiny sun. A thin ribbon of light stretched from the soul to the body, anchoring it in place.
I started to release my grip on the necklace but then a wave of intense pleasure hit me. Every nerve ending in my body feasted on the power of his soul, a drunken orgy of sensation. I laughed and skipped out of the way as his body crumbled to the floor. Then I reached out and cupped his soul in both hands, severing its connection with his body.
Pain lashed me, fire-tipped claws tearing into my flesh. I shrieked and collapsed to the floor, twisting and contorting as I sought to relieve the torment. But nothing helped. It was like being burned alive and flayed all at the same time. Then it stopped. Shudders wracked my body and I curled into a foetal position until the tremors ceased.
I got to my knees, the killer’s soul still clutched in my hands. Its light grew dim, blackened around the edges, and my first instinct was to toss it away. But another part of me remembered the ecstasy that had overwhelmed me when I had ripped it out of his body, and my fingers tightened around it.
My legs shook as I got to my feet. I looked out the service station window. Grimm stood on the other side, the Underworld at his back.
‘Did I …did I do it wrong?’
‘That was a perfect extraction.’
‘But the pain? I thought I was going to die.’
‘The punishment for reaping a soul before its due date is severe, but killing you would serve no purpose.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would you punish me? You told me to do it.’
‘I said you could do it, not that you should. Now you have a total of two thousand souls to reap before I can release you from your contract.’
‘Two thousand souls?’ I shook my head. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Novice reapers are given a quota of one thousand souls to start with and the penalty for an unauthorised reaping is also one thousand.’
‘You never said anything about a soul quota or penalties.’
‘You never asked. But you did promise to honour your obligation as reaper. You have one week to find Ash for me. Fail and I’ll revoke your resurrection and offer the job to the next person to die. You can still fill your quota if you’re dead. Give me that soul. Any legitimate souls you reap can be stored in your necklace, until it is time for you to hand them over.’
Numb, unable to process how stupid I had been, I handed the soul through the window into the Underworld and watched as it drifted from my hand to Grimm’s. His face lit up with unseemly delight when he touched it, eyes rolling back in his head, body shuddering with pleasure. He started to moan and my stomach heaved. I fell to my knees and threw up on the floor.
Stomach empty, hollow, I wiped my mouth with the back of one hand, holding back tears when I spotted my keys among the wreckage of the magazine stand. I scooped them up and pulled myself to my feet. I stumbled out of the service station, unlocked my car and slid inside.
I cried; my whole body shaking as emotion after emotion rocked me. Disgust for the pleasure Grimm had evidently experienced when he’d taken the soul from me, shame because my body ached to feel it again. I flushed, trembling, a low moan escaping my lips. Would it be the same if I tasted another forbidden soul? Oh god, how could I even think of doing it again?
The roar of a truck, speeding past on the highway, shook my Corolla and broke me out of my misery. I couldn’t stay here. Sooner or later another customer would pull into the service station and I did not want to be there when they did. I couldn’t explain to myself what had happened; trying to make the police understand would be hopeless.
I put the key in the ignition, started the car and then headed for home, desperately wanting to be in familiar surrounds. I needed a hot shower to wash away the filth attached to every particle of my body. Then I wanted to crawl into bed, hug my pillow, and cry myself to sleep.
As I drove, one hand crept up to my neck, touching the necklace Grimm had placed there. It weighed heavy on my throat, rising and falling with every breath I took. My breathing sped up and I gripped the steering wheel, hands shaking.
I pulled over two blocks from home and put both hands around the chain, wrenching it downwards, the links digging into my flesh. My fingers searched for a clasp, but couldn’t find one. The chain encircled my neck so closely I had no hope of getting it off over my head and the links were too strong for me to break.
I snarled and let go. I’d get rid of it as soon as I could find a pair of side-cutters. Logan would have some in the toolbox he carried in the back of his Holden. I’d call him as soon as I got home. He’d know what to do.
Thinking about Logan, the way his mouth curled when he smiled and the mesmerising dimples in both cheeks, lightened my heart. While I wasn’t ready to dance for joy, a tiny kernel of optimism started to burn in my belly.
There had to be a way to break Grimm’s control, and I would find it. I couldn’t trust him. He would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. I had to be as ruthless. I would find this Ash and work as a reaper for now, even if the thought of taking another soul made me nauseous. I didn’t have the luxury of being squeamish, not if I wanted to live.
But I would never stop looking for a way to be free.
Chapter 4
I pulled into the driveway of the flat I shared with my best friend, Sarah, parking behind her VW. Our flat was one half of a low-block brick building backing onto sporting fields. Older than we were, with dubious plumbing that clunked during the night, Sarah and I had called it home for almost a year and the tightness in my chest eased as I took in the glow of the porch light.
My hands had finally stopped shaking. Logan’s Holden was parked at the kerb and the sight of it prompted a smile that wobbled at the edges. The clock in the dash read half past eight. Normally I would stay at the university library until nine on a Thursday and Logan caught up with his mates. But I didn’t care why
he’d decided to show up on a night I wouldn’t be home until late. I just wanted to run inside and have him wrap his arms around me. My nightmare was over. I was home.
It would be hard, telling Sarah and Logan what had happened, but I had to do it. I couldn’t go through this alone.
I grabbed my phone and got out of the car, locking up out of habit. Then I stopped for a moment, listening to the chattering of the bats in the mango trees behind the flat as I forced my thoughts to follow a coherent pattern. The familiar night sounds soothed me as I took the few steps to the door of the flat. I would sound crazy, talking about zombies, reapers and the Underworld, but there had to be a way to make them believe me.
With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped inside.
An ad played on the television, volume muted as models spruiked a new brand of shampoo, but neither Sarah nor Logan were in the tiny lounge or the dining area. I tossed my phone and keys on the coffee table next to Logan’s before poking my head into the kitchen. An empty bottle of wine sat beside several cans of beer on the bench.
I could hear music coming from down the hall, past my room and the bathroom. Sarah’s door was partially open, the room beyond dark. I crept down the hallway, steps slowing as I drew closer. Over the music I could hear heavy breathing and the soft murmur of familiar voices. My stomach churned as I struggled to think up a reasonable excuse for Logan being in Sarah’s bedroom.
One hand gripped my hateful necklace, the other stretched towards the door, ready to announce my presence as I peered through the gap. The curtains were open, allowing the full moon to shine on Sarah’s bed and the naked figures with their limbs entwined.
Heat swamped me, a layer of sweat coating my skin. I shrieked, the hand I had lifted to knock on the door slamming it back against the wall. Two heads swivelled to stare at me, eyes wide with shock.
I didn’t stop to see any more, I ran down the hallway into the lounge and started pacing.
‘This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.’ The litany did nothing to soothe my nerves or blank out the image of my boyfriend in bed with my best friend
‘Ty, it’s not what you think.’
‘Not what I think?’ I screeched out the words, spinning around to face Logan as he stumbled into the room. One hand held his shirt, the other fumbled to do up the button on his jeans.
‘You were screwing my best friend. How can it not be what I think?’
‘You don’t understand. It just happened. It didn’t mean anything.’
I threw my head back and blinked hard to dispel tears as I stared at the ceiling. I would not let him see me cry.
‘Ty, please, let me explain. It wasn’t my fault. She came on to me.’
The skin on my face went tight, so tight I feared it would crack. ‘Get out. Get out and don’t ever come back.’
I scooped up his keys and phone and threw them at him, grimacing when he plucked them out of the air. When I picked up the television remote and threw it at his head he ducked and bolted for the door. I didn’t move until I heard the roar of the engine and the screech of his tyres as he pulled away from the kerb. Then I stepped into the hall. Sarah’s door was closed, a thin strip of light visible underneath, and I could no longer hear music.
My heart pounded as I marched down the hall and wrenched the door open.
Sarah froze, caught halfway through making her bed. Her eyes skittered passed me, searching for a way out.
I didn’t give her one, not in any way appeased by the redness of her eyes. So what if she’d been crying. With the night I was having, her attack of the guilts and the beseeching look in her eyes didn’t cut it.
‘How long have you been sleeping with my boyfriend?’
‘No, it wasn’t like that. I don’t even know how this happened. It was an accident.’ Sarah clutched her pillow in front of her. I wanted to rip it out of her arms and beat her over the head with it.
I gave a brittle laugh. ‘Tripping over a hose is an accident. Falling down stairs is an accident. Having sex with your best friend’s boyfriend is not an accident.’
Sarah dropped the pillow and stumbled forward, tears streaming down her face. ‘Tyler, please don’t be mad at me. He just turned up, with a six pack and a bottle of wine, saying he needed to talk to someone. He said you cared more about becoming a journalist than being with him. I tried to tell him it wasn’t true, but he wouldn’t believe me. He got really upset and I gave him a hug, to comfort him. The next thing I know he’s kissing me and it got out of hand. I swear, I was just about to push him away when you walked in.’
‘You were doing a hell of a lot more than kissing.’
‘He kept topping up my glass. I drank a whole bottle. I didn’t want to have sex with him.’
I couldn’t face her anymore. ‘Get out.’
‘What?’
‘I want you out of here. Get dressed and go.’
‘You can’t kick me out. This is my home too.’
‘Yeah, we signed a lease agreement saying we’d share the flat. I don’t recall Logan being part of the deal.’
‘But I’ve been drinking.’
I gripped my necklace in one hand and it warmed beneath my fingers. My other hand clenched into a fist, the knowledge I could reap Sarah’s soul if I wanted sending a wave of shivers down my back. But she was right. I couldn’t make her drive under the influence of alcohol. That didn’t mean I had to look at her though.
‘I have had a shitty night and finding you in bed with my boyfriend has topped it off. I am going to have a shower and I do not want to see you when I get out.’ I straightened my spine and stormed out of her room and into my own. It took a moment before I could relax my fingers and let go of the necklace. I tossed aside my pillow to grab my pyjamas and then raced across the hall and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I leaned over the basin, running cold water and splashing my face. Then I gazed into the mirror above the vanity.
The necklace dominated my sight. A death head rested below the hollow of my throat, suspended on black wings. The skull grinned at me and I shuddered.
I tore my eyes away and pulled open the vanity’s top drawer. It was cluttered with hair ties, combs and brushes. I pushed them all aside, searching for the nail clippers. I scooped them up and attacked the chain, sawing at the link above the left wing. The clippers slid straight off, the pointed end digging into the flesh of my palm.
‘Damn it.’ I clamped the clippers down again, and again, but nothing I did made any impression on the chain. I tossed the clippers back in the drawer and twisted off the ring I wore on the middle finger of my right hand. The diamond solitaire had belonged to my mother.
With the stone facing outward, I scraped along the surface of one wing. Not even a scratch.
I put the ring back on and turned away from the hateful sight in the mirror before stripping off, dumping the silk dress on the floor. Then I turned the shower on full and stepped under the hot spray, allowing the water to stream over me. I stood with my face upturned, wishing I could wash all the bad memories away. Life was never that simple but getting clean helped.
I washed every inch of my body, scrubbing and rinsing so many times my skin tingled all over, red and sensitised. Then I started in on my hair, determined to shampoo away any trace of death. Finally, waterlogged, wrinkled and feeling decades older, I turned off the shower. My arms were impossibly heavy as I dried my body and wrapped my dripping hair in a towel. My eyes were as heavy as my arms. I wouldn’t last long enough to dry my hair. So I slipped my pyjamas on and headed for my bedroom.
Not bothering to turn on the light, I crawled into bed and huddled in a ball. Images from the service station crowded me, the terrified faces of the truck driver and the owner, but I pushed them back. I couldn’t deal with it. My body shut down, leaving me limp and lifeless, like a figure made of play dough. I closed my eyes and let a fresh rain of tears wash me away.
I sat up in bed, panting as I stared into the
darkness, heart pounding. I searched the shadows, filled with the horrible sensation when you know you’ve overslept and were late for something important. But the alarm clock on my bedside table said it was just after four am.
I shivered and reached for the covers. The towel had fallen off during my sleep and damp hair coated my shoulders, adding to my misery. But the thick quilt did nothing to warm me and I still had the urge to get up and go somewhere. It built inside of me, making it impossible to stay still. I got out of bed, the movement jostling the necklace Grimm had given me.
I gasped.
The necklace was icy against my collarbone. The rest of me shuddered in sympathy. The cold radiated out from the necklace, almost burning me with its intensity as the need to get moving grew even stronger. I don’t know how, but I knew I had no time to get dressed. I had to be somewhere, fast.
Barefoot, I raced into the lounge and scooped my keys up off the coffee table. I barely remembered to lock the front door behind me as I exited the flat. I scrambled into my Corolla and stuffed the key into the ignition. I shook all over, brain struggling to keep up with my actions, sure I was going crazy. I chomped down on my bottom lip, the pain helping to ground me as I pulled away down the street, allowing the sensations wracking me to guide me in the right direction.
The pull of the necklace strengthened as I drove towards the bridge connecting the two halves of Easton. A chain of ice around my throat, the necklace expanded, choking me, freezing each breath as it emerged from my lips. It became painful to swallow. Was I dying? Was Grimm punishing me again for breaking a rule I had no knowledge of?
With each jagged breath clawing at my throat, I reached the end of the bridge and took a left into the business district. Two blocks down and I turned off the mall and onto the side street leading to the river, making a right into Riverview Drive. The nightclubs in this section of town were closed, the area dingy and grey without the colour and noise of drunken patrons. I left the neglected party scene behind and entered an industrial area.
Lost Reaper Page 2