by Allison West
Violetta stretched out in the small chair, lying across the frame, her legs dangling off the arm. "Oh, he's definitely dead. I waited until the last possible moment to reap his soul."
"Tell me more." Leila needed all the details. She may not have been there to witness the act, but living vicariously through Violetta seemed a viable option.
"King Philip publically convicted him of treason, an attempt on Mara's life and conspiring to kill you."
"He did kill me!" Leila's cheeks flushed with her fury. "He's the reason I'm dead. My father couldn't even have the decency after he executed an innocent man to admit he was wrong!"
Violetta sighed. "Yes, but King Philip won't admit fault in front of the kingdom. He can't look weak, Leila. It's nothing personal against Larkin."
"Or, he's convinced he's right." Leila was still angry.
Jasper reached onto the table, grabbing a piece of parchment. "I snatched this for you, but first, you have to promise you won't see Mara again. We've risked too much crashing parties and you two stealing the princess from the castle."
"She asked us to take her to the Blue Moon Tavern," Leila said. It hadn't even been Leila's idea!
"Either way, it doesn't matter. You can't keep visiting Mara. It will bring unwanted attention. We can't have the princess asking questions about us," Jasper said.
Leila quickly agreed. "I promise I'll stay clear of the castle." She knew he was right. "What have you got?" she asked, reaching for the paper in his hand.
"An invitation." He dropped the parchment into her hands.
Leila glanced it over. We invite you to attend the engagement party of Astin Stafford and Mara Dacre on Saturday, the 4th day of March. "You stole this?"
"Well, it wasn't exactly given to me," Jasper said. "I thought you might be happy knowing your sister is getting married."
Leila smiled weakly. "Thank you." It wasn't that she was unhappy. She felt guilty that she couldn't be there for her sister on her wedding day, just three days after Mara's twentieth birthday.
Violetta sat up, positioning her legs at the front of the chair. She stared at Wynter. "When are you going to save a soul? You have to eventually. I mean, you aren't a grim reaper any longer."
His expression was stoic. "You mean I'm not one of you anymore." He stood up, his hands balled into fists.
Leila frowned. "I don't think that's what Violetta meant." At least she hoped not. She stood, grabbing Wynter's arm. "Stay, please." She didn't want him to leave.
Begrudgingly, he sat down on the sofa with Leila. "You all had it easy becoming a reaper, with each other to guide you through it and a teacher to make sure you followed the right course."
"What about Juliana?" Violetta asked.
"I've been told by the caretaker that in time, I'll meet with Juliana and the other dark angels. I have to be capable of controlling my emotions first."
"Are you nervous?" Leila reached toward Wynter, resting a hand on his arm. She wanted him to know she was there for him, no matter what.
Wynter shook his head. "I always find the thought of seeing her unsettling."
Leila frowned. "Well, she helped you with Mara."
"Did you know that reapers and dark angels used to work together?" Violetta stood up and walked to the bookshelf at the corner of the room. Very few books graced the shelf. She retrieved the thick dark blue text The History of Reapers. "The goal was to save those souls deemed worthy. However, over a thousand years ago, reapers and dark angels went their own way. There was a tiff between the entities, like feuding families. There is still bad blood between them. No one remembers what the fight was about, or at least no one is saying, but it's been going on for so long that it's difficult to change people's minds about what they believe in."
Jasper got up from the floor and walked over to the chair Violetta was sitting on. He perched himself on the arm rest, glancing over her shoulder. "Reapers tend to work together in groups and live together in dormitories. Dark angels have a tendency toward solitude. Although in more recent years, the dark angels are beginning to follow our lead. Maybe they're changing their ways?"
Wynter sighed. "I don't care what dark angels believe. I'm not going to stop being friends with you, because they're lonesome and hostile creatures."
Leila grinned and reached for Wynter's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Good."
Chapter 32
Wynter stared at Leila as she slept soundly beside him, one arm draped across his bare chest. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Wynter carefully pried himself from her embrace.
"Wynter?" Leila muttered, half-asleep.
"I'll be right back," he said and leaned down, kissing her cheek. He pulled the covers up around her body and grabbed his shirt before backing out of her bedroom and into the hall.
"Where are you off to?" Violetta asked, startling Wynter. She'd been awake on the sofa reading a book.
"I have some business to take care of." He didn't elaborate and silently hoped she'd give him the courtesy not to ask.
"Well, you're not a reaper," Violetta said. Her feet were propped up on the couch as she lounged back, looking comfortable. "You're either planning on saving a human or visiting the dark angels." Violetta paused, glancing him over. "You're going to meet Juliana, aren't you?"
It was an easy guess, considering he'd yet to save a soul. Wynter sighed. He knew he didn't have to hide where he was going, but he still felt guilty for leaving in the middle of the night. Truth was he wasn't sure when he'd be back. He had questions and wanted answers. The refuge was the only place he knew to go.
"Not answering the question?" Violetta shook her head. "I get it. You're one of them now, but don't forget you're still one of us, in here." She tapped her chest, her hand just over her heart.
"Quit being sentimental; it's not in your nature."
"Quit being a jerk. You're going to disappoint Leila when she wakes up and finds you're gone. Eventually, the royal council is going to have to find us a suitable replacement." She glanced at the scroll on the table beside her, lighting up and glimmering, warning her of another reap. "Shit."
"I'm going to choose to ignore that statement. I'll be back." Wynter had no intention of staying with Juliana at her refuge any longer than necessary. He'd get his answers and then return to visit with Leila. Besides, until he was reassigned, he was still their professor.
"You better." Violetta sighed, shaking her head. "I've got to reap King Philip. I suggest you get back here as soon as possible. Leila might not handle the news well."
Sighing, he slipped on his shoes and put on his coat, hiding his wings as he quietly exited through the front door. It was going to be a difficult day for the undead world and Casmerelda.
From the east, the sun began to rise. It had taken Wynter longer than he thought to reach the refuge by horse. In the west, he could see snow-covered peaks, none too surprising this time of year.
Walking up the thirteen white steps, Wynter raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he could press his hand to the wood. Startled, Wynter took a step back.
Juliana grinned and glanced him over. "I'd say I didn't expect you to come, but that would be a lie. Come inside," she said and stepped aside. How long had she been expecting him?
Wynter took an anxious breath and walked inside the darkened refuge. Although the outside of the white building had paint chipping away and appeared to be abandoned, the inside was marvelous. A large chandelier lit with candles dazzled the living area along with a huge fireplace providing immense warmth. Plush, gray couches and an upholstered chair accompanied the room.
Wynter tilted his head up, noticing the twinkling flames. "How do you light all those candles?" There was no possible way to reach them naturally.
"Have you forgotten what we're capable of? We have wings, Wynter. We can't fly, but we can hover. It's exhausting and doesn't last very long. In fact, most dark angels don't even bother learning how because it hasn't proven to be a worthwhile skill."
; "You never know when you might need it."
"I've lived for a millennium, and trust me when I say, I haven't yet." Juliana motioned for Wynter to follow her down the hall. The floors were made of oak, and the walls were painted a pale blue. Words were inscribed into the wall in a language unrecognizable to Wynter.
"What's that?" he asked, stopping momentarily as his fingers grazed the paint. A flash of white cut into his vision, causing his eyes to shut and scrunch closed in protest. His pulse quickened. A sharp jolt of pain struck his forehead, and Wynter bent over, gasping. He felt sick to his stomach.
"Come, sit." Juliana rested one hand on his back and the other on his arm, guiding him in complete blindness farther down the corridor.
The pain slowly began to subside as his pulse slowed to a steady beat. "What was that?"
"You tell me," Juliana said.
Wynter rubbed his forehead, feeling the pain slowly easing away. "Are you always this cryptic?"
A bubbly laugh escaped Juliana's lips. Wynter lifted an eyebrow, surprised to hear any sound of amusement out of her. She didn't seem the type. "You had a vision."
Wynter stared at the shelves in the library, scattered with dust. Against the wall, a dark-brown leather sofa beckoned. Wynter hesitated.
"I'm not going to force you to sit, but it might help your head." Juliana nodded toward the empty couch.
After another moment, Wynter walked over and sat down, falling into the lush cushions. The sofa enveloped him, and sitting helped his head. "How'd you know I was coming to visit?"
Juliana smiled, tight-lipped. "The same way we know who is destined to die but shouldn't."
Wynter frowned. He'd read a lot of books on dark angels, but he'd never experienced any special sight or visions that the texts spoke about. "You can see the future?"
"Only bits and pieces," Juliana said. "And it's one path we see, not all paths. We have the ability to intervene, but humans still have free will; we don't necessarily know the outcome with one hundred percent certainty. We could prevent their death today, and they might still take their life tomorrow. We only meddle as far as the laws of the undead allow us. You should also know that dark angels are immortal. Don't forget that, but it doesn't mean we are any less capable of feeling the same emotions as humans or reapers. Dark angels and some grim reapers have the ability to travel between the dimensions of life and death. If a dark angel reaches the Underworld, for whatever reason, and breaks one of the rules, they will be cast out and become a fallen angel, forced to spend the rest of eternity at the asylum, in a prison on earth."
"An eternity in prison for breaking one rule?" Wynter asked. It sounded a little over the top.
Juliana walked over to the bookshelf and removed a large text. She carried it over and placed it beside Wynter on the sofa. "I suggest you study up and make sure not to make the same mistakes as your former comrades."
Wynter refused to open the book. He wasn't planning on traveling to the Underworld. "I'm here for information that I can't gather from a book. I've read everything at the asylum already." Wynter pushed the book toward Juliana. "This one included."
"Rule thirteen?" Juliana asked, awaiting his response.
"You're going to quiz me?" He laughed under his breath, annoyed and slightly glad his headache had vanished. "No dark angel shall open a portal to any dimension. I assume that's Heaven or Hell. So, you're telling me that it would be against the rules to try to return home if you were in Heaven?" The books hadn't been entirely specific in their details of history or what was beyond this realm.
"We are here to rescue souls before they die. What happens in the other realms does not concern us. Rule twenty-three."
"What other realms? Are you talking about Heaven and Hell?" Wynter asked.
"Rule twenty-three," Juliana repeated, her voice hitching slightly with annoyance.
Wynter sighed and shut his mouth, thinking for a moment. He could remember the gist of the rules but not the actual number associated with each one. He was screwed. "I give up."
"Then I guess you're going to have to re-read the book." She glanced down at it, and the pages flipped open until it reached Rule twenty-three.
Wynter stared at her, amazed that she hadn't touched the book at all. "How'd you do that?"
"First, answer my question," Juliana said.
Wynter leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he read the words aloud, "One must not show their wings to humans."
"Insubordination of Rule twenty-three is punishable by having your wings removed and being sentenced to become a fallen angel."
Wynter got the message. "You might as well die. Life in prison for eternity would be its own Hell," Wynter said.
Juliana smiled. "I'm glad you're catching on quickly. You've been known to bend the rules as a reaper, but that won't be acceptable here. The royal council is incredibly strict. I'm warning you now, so there are no surprises. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Wynter said, but he felt as though he only had more questions than when he first arrived. "Have you met the royal council?" he asked. He only knew that they made the rules and kept an eye on those who had difficulty following them, in the same way a king or queen would.
"Yes, and when you will be asked to come before them, you show them respect, and maybe they'll leave you alone."
Wynter swallowed anxiously. He'd made a lot of mistakes and screwed up countless times as a reaper. Had no one been paying attention? Had he been lucky as a reaper, or were they considered less important? "What about that trick with the book?" She'd flipped through the pages without touching it.
"Come live here with your kind. You'll learn a lot more than just opening a book with your mind."
"What else would I learn?" He had no intention of living among the dark angels, but he'd learn anything Juliana was willing to teach him.
"There are more factions of death than reapers and dark angels. Trucidators exist to take lives. They're an undead faction, one kept secret from reapers."
"Why? For what purpose?" Wynter asked.
"Reapers were human once. Young reapers still have their humanity, their innocence. It takes time to adjust to the idea of helping a soul move beyond this world to the next. Do you think it would be easy for a reaper such as your friend Leila to understand that there is a greater evil out there causing death? She would feel compelled to stop it. Young reapers are too connected to their pasts."
Wynter let out a heavy sigh. Leila. Why did it always come back to her? "So you're telling me I can't say anything to Leila about trucidators?" He still didn't fully understand what they were. How could he tell her anything?
"It would be wise not to scare the woman you care for. It's not as though she has the ability to see them, like we do. It's rare for anyone else to see a trucidator. Unless, of course, they desire to be seen." Juliana gestured for Wynter to follow her into the kitchen. She poured water into the kettle from a jug and placed the pot on a grate above the fire.
Wynter shook his head, growing irritated. "You're giving me bits and pieces. Nothing that I fully comprehend, let alone can do anything with when it comes to knowing how to save a soul."
"You're still a child, Wynter. In terms of dark angel years, you were just born. Trucidators are frightening creatures. We barely have the ability to see them, and trust me when I say you don't want to. They lurk in the shadows; they cause goose bumps in the dark. They're the reason your hair stands up on your arms or you shiver for no reason."
"Monsters?" He laughed, finding the whole bit absurd.
"Humans call them demons, for lack of a better word. The undead prefer trucidators. They live in an existence between our world and the next plane. They have the ability to travel between the realms, marking lives for death. Usually, the lives they mark are deserving of their destiny. Greater evil seeks evil; however, occasionally, trucidators choose a pure soul, and that's where we come in."
Chapter 33
"You're back already." She hadn't meant for her words t
o sound sharp. Leila wasn't angry, at least not with Wynter for disappearing during the night. The kingdom of Casmerelda had fallen ill with the Second Wave. Her heart constantly reminded her of her younger sister, Princess Mara, and their father, King Philip. Would they survive what she had not—death? Or would the Dacre Curse come for the two of them next? "Were you out saving the world?" He hadn't saved a soul yet. Leila felt confident she'd be the first to know when he did.
Wynter smiled. "I snuck out to cause trouble." He loved to tease her, even now, while she sat with her feet up on the sofa curled against her. Wynter came over and took a seat beside her on the couch. "And what were you doing this morning?"
"Avoiding death." The scroll sat nestled against her thigh; it appeared to be resting, just as she was doing on the sofa. "Quiet day, odd, considering Casmerelda has been ravaged nonstop." Leila leaned closer toward Wynter, pulling her legs out from under her and dropping them gracefully to the floor.
"Where's Vi?" Wynter asked.
"With Jasper, in Casmerelda."
His expression grim, he nodded silently, not giving any further indication of what he was thinking.
"What do you know?" Leila asked. She'd learned to read Wynter and could feel he was hiding something from her. "Did you see her this morning on your way out?" She'd felt him slip from her grasp earlier that morning.
"I did, but I think it would be better for you to hear it from her."
"Hear what?" Leila asked, leaning forward, her breathing deepening. She hated being kept in the dark. "Wynter?"
Wynter reached for her hands, taking them both in his grasp. "Violetta was given a reap this morning. She was to take the soul of your father."
Sighing heavily, she pinched her eyes shut. "I should be sad." She was grieving, but a part of her felt a sense of relief as well. Her father had not been a horrible man when she was growing up, but he had not always acted rationally, either. Perhaps the tears and intense anguish would come later. Leila removed her hand from his grasp, resting her hand on his arm. His muscles were thicker, larger than she remembered. "You're a dark angel now." She didn't blame him for not saving her father from death. Not even he could reach beyond the curse. Most certainly, her family was marked for death.