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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY SHELLEY RUSSELL NOLAN
SILVER REAPER
by
Shelley Russell Nolan
Silver Reaper
Published 2017
Copyright © Shelley Russell Nolan 2017
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Web: www.shelleyrussellnolan.com
Cover Design: German Creative
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or where locations, characters and incidents are based on experience, history or established locations, they are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. Any news events or historic characters cited in this novel have been fictionalised and any slight of specific people, research or organisations is unintentional.
Also by Shelley Russell Nolan
Lost Reaper
(Book One of the Reaper Series)
Winged Reaper
(Book Two of the Reaper Series)
Angel Fire
(Book One of the Arcane Awakenings Series)
For Grant
Contents
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY SHELLEY RUSSELL NOLAN
1
A shiver swept over my body as I stared at the reflection of a person a short distance away from me, a grinning skull where their head should be.
Whoever they were, they were about to die.
I turned around to see who the death portent belonged to, matching the green singlet and khaki shorts to a young man barely out of his teens. Fit, healthy, he gave no indication of his impending demise. Instead, he joked with two friends while they checked out a poster for a new Xbox game in the window in front of me.
I’d been reading about the game myself, wondering if I should order a copy for my younger brother’s upcoming birthday. The game was due for release in a week’s time, but the young man standing next to me would not live long enough to play it. He had less than twenty-four hours to live.
Unless I could somehow stop him from dying.
He looked over at me, a wide smile on his face as his gaze skimmed my body before settling on my eyes. ‘Hey, gorgeous, how you doing?’
‘Busy,’ I said, tempering my rejection with a smile before I fished my mobile phone out of my handbag and moved away. I pretended to check something on my phone while surreptitiously watching as he and his friends entered the electronics shop.
I had no idea what form his death would take, so didn’t know what I could do to save him. He didn’t appear to be sick, unlike the elderly woman whose soul I had reaped the week before. She’d been in the palliative care unit in the same hospital as a client I had been called for. When I first entered the room, she had not been marked with the death portent. It appeared just before I left, in her reflection in the gleaming stainless steel machine she was hooked up to. I’d been called back to reap her soul exactly twenty-four hours later.
The young man’s death could either be the result of an accident or foul play but I had no idea which. I would have to stick close, hoping when the time came I would be able to do something to prevent his dying. But how was I going to do that without being arrested as a stalker?
I cringed at the idea of using his earlier attempt to flirt with me. Even though I was sure Sam would understand why I was doing it, pretending I was interested in another man would still feel like a betrayal. We had been through so much, overcome more obstacles to our happily ever after in the first two weeks of our relationship than most couples do in a lifetime. But we’d made it.
Six months on from the battle at Killian’s compound, with the threat posed by Almorthanos and the Tr’lirians who sided with him vanquished once and all, we were happier than ever. He’d accepted my role as reaper to the people of Easton and I had grown accustomed to reaping the souls of all those who died.
The worst part of being a reaper was when I knew someone was about to die and could do nothing to prevent it. I couldn’t do anything for the elderly woman who’d passed away in her sleep after a protracted illness, or the little boy who had been born with a rare and deadly disease. But at least those reaps had been peaceful transitions to rebirth. There had been nothing peaceful about the reaping of a woman I followed home from the supermarket, after witnessing the death portent in a freezer door as she made her selections. I had been helpless to do anything other than watch as a truck ran a red light and smashed into the side of her small sedan.
I could not sit back and watch another person die right in front of me.
I had to save him.
But how?
The forgotten phone in my hand rang and I jumped, fumbling to answer it, relief flooding me as I saw who the caller was. ‘Sam, I need your help.’
In a rush of words, I explained the situation to him. ‘I need you to arrest him. If he is locked up for the next twenty-four hours no one could hurt him.’
‘Tyler, I can’t arrest a guy just because you tell me he is going to die. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘We’ll make it work. I’ll say he attacked me or something.’
‘Sweetheart, you can’t do that to the poor guy.’ His voice was calm, reasonable.
I was feeling anything but reasonable. ‘That poor guy is going to die if we don’t save him.’
‘I know. I know. But accusing him of assault isn’t going to help anyone.’
I shook my head, gripping the phone tight. ‘What’s the point of being able to see the death portent if I can’t do anything about it?’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sit tight, and do not approach him. I don’t want your name turning up in a police report.’
I hung
up the phone, nibbling at my bottom lip as I waited for Sam to arrive, hoping the young man and his friends would stay inside the store until he did. I caught glimpses of them as they roamed the aisles, breath catching in my throat when not five minutes later they approached the door.
I had to stop them leaving.
I stepped forward, planning on faking a faint at the feet of the guy who was going to die.
Before I could act, a pained expression crossed his face. He groaned, hands going to his head. A second later his body dropped to the shopping centre’s tiled floor.
My eyes stung from unshed tears as the hollow below my throat went cold, and the call to reap his soul hit.
His friends knelt over his body, shaking him, alarm in their voices as they desperately sought a response that would never come. He was dead, life extinguished in the blink of an eye. All that was left was for me to release his soul and send it on its journey towards rebirth.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and quickly scanned the people who had stopped to see what was going on, relieved when I found only adults. Young children could often see into the astral plane and I tried to avoid reaping a soul in front of them. Death was hard enough for them to deal with at any time, let alone witnessing something no one else could.
I forced my feet to move and soon knelt at my client’s side. I tried to make it look like I was checking for a pulse as I called his soul. It shimmered in the air in front of me, a thin glimmer of light connecting it to his body. Beautiful, vibrant, so full of potential it eased some of my heartache at not being able to save him.
I touched his soul with a fingertip to release it before I rose and shuffled backwards. A Good Samaritan quickly took my place and began a futile attempt at CPR. I surveyed the growing crowd of onlookers, and when my eyes met Sam’s I gave a wobbly smile. He reached out and took my hand in his, pulling me through the circle of people.
We didn’t speak as we walked away.
What was there to say?
A young man had just lost his life and there had been nothing I could do to prevent it. But that would not stop me trying to save any others for whom the death portent appeared.
2
‘How is the investigation going?’ I asked, before Sam could break the silence.
He ran a hand through his close cropped brown hair, hazel eyes shadowed as he shook his head. ‘We still have no clue who the men were or what killed them, and no one has filed a missing person’s report fitting either of their descriptions.’
Four days ago, squatters had stumbled across two dead bodies in an abandoned house on Easton’s northern outskirts. Both bodies showed evidence of having been restrained and possibly tortured, suggesting it was a double homicide. Sam had been called in to investigate but had been left with more questions than answers.
I had only one question. I was the reaper for Easton, and yet I had not been called to reap the souls of these men.
If I hadn’t reaped them, who had?
Goose bumps peppered my skin as I exited the shopping centre. The midday sun did little to warm me as Sam and I walked to where my car was parked.
‘I have to get back to the station. Are you going to be okay?’
I nodded, a wry smile curving my lips. ‘Of course. Watching people die is an occupational hazard for a reaper.’
‘Tyler.’ He moved in close, one hand coming up to caress my cheek. ‘I know you hate not being able to help people, but you can’t save them all.’
‘I haven’t saved any of them.’ That was the problem. But it was my problem, not Sam’s. ‘You better get going. I’ll head home and get an early start on my next assessment piece.’
Studying journalism part-time while working full-time in the Classified’s office for the Easton Chronicle required me to stay ahead of my study commitments. I hated being rushed so was currently up-to-date, which meant I should have been able to spend this month’s rostered-day-off relaxing. After what I’d just witnessed, relaxing was the furthest thing from my mind. Much better to delve into the world of digital journalism in the multi-media age than dwell on a young life cut short.
I kissed Sam goodbye, fished my sunglasses out of my bag, and got into my car. I gave him a wave and managed a bright smile as I drove away, a smile that faded as soon as he was out of sight. Asking Sam about his investigation had brought back my uneasiness at knowing there was at least one other reaper operating in Easton.
Part of my job at the Chronicle was to compile Death Notices.
Up until the discovery of the two deaths Sam was investigating, each notice had lined up with the souls I had reaped. I’d been busy, often called to reap at inopportune times, but had managed to do my duty without making anyone suspicious. Not an easy task when my body would appear to be unconscious while my astral form was roaming the astral plane to reach my client.
Had the Grim Reaper assigned another reaper to Easton to ease my work load?
When Jonathon Grimm trapped me into becoming a reaper I’d immediately incurred a soul quota of one thousand. What he didn’t tell me until after I’d reaped the soul of the Wraith that had murdered me was how each illegitimate reaping added another one thousand souls to my quota.
During the weeks when I fought to stop Grimm’s master, Almorthanos, escaping from Demania and enslaving mankind, I had been forced to reap the souls of over a dozen Wraiths. With such a large soul quota, it would take me years to fulfil my contract and finally get my life back. A task that would take even longer if another reaper was called to reap souls I would normally be assigned.
Not that I wanted people to die so I could fulfil my contract sooner. I just didn’t want to be a reaper for one minute longer than I had to. Easing the passing of the dying and sending their souls on to rebirth was all well and good, but bearing witness to so much death was not pleasant. As much as I tried to focus on the positives, I was convinced I’d be surrounded by death right up until the day I died.
If my quota wasn’t complete, I wouldn’t even be free then.
As if to remind me of the chain Grimm had shackled me with, the hollow below my neck went cold soon after I walked inside the house Sam and I had moved into a month ago. I dropped my bag on the floor beside the dark grey chaise lounge and lay down, ready to take astral form. I focused on the draw of my client, wings unfurling behind me as I slipped free of my physical body and into the astral plane.
The call to reap drew me to the northern outskirts of town, and as I neared the street where the unidentified bodies had been found a tremor swept through me. Relief I wasn’t drawn to the house where they had been discovered faded when the call took me into its overgrown backyard.
Rusted vehicle shells and large chunks of machinery were jumbled in amongst dead tree branches, all of which were virtually obscured by metre high swathes of grass. An urban jungle, and my client was somewhere in the middle of it.
Grateful for my astral form, I slipped through the barrier made of metal and greenery, wings retracting as I floated to the back corner of the yard.
My client lay on his side, half-naked body covered in a bloody mess of grass and dirt. He was facing me, eyes open but unfocused. Blood from numerous cuts obscured his features. His eyelids fluttered to a close as he let out a low moan and rolled onto his stomach. I put out my hand, ready to call his soul, but froze when I saw his back.
Two long scars ran down both shoulder blades.
I’d seen scars like these before, on Tr’lirians who’d lost their wings. Thick and raised, still slightly red, these scars looked too new to have been made years ago.
Had this man been one of the many who’d lost their wings during the fight between Almorthanos and Cade’s forces? If so, whose side had he been on?
Not that his allegiance would change the outcome of his reaping. As he took a last stuttering breath I called his soul to me and sent him on the way to rebirth.
Duty fulfilled, I slipped out of the backyard jungle, unfurled my wings and headed back to my body.
As I flew over Easton, I thought about the implications of a wingless Tr’lirian dying in the yard of a house where two other unidentified bodies had been found.
Sam was well aware of what happened to Tr’lirians when they lost their immortality. If the two unidentified bodies had had the same scars he would have come to the same conclusion as me.
I had to go see Killian.
3
I hadn’t been out to the Greenlakes compound since the battle. As I drove up to the large wrought iron gates I fought not to dwell on the heartache and pain endured back then.
My resolve was tested the second I gained access to the compound. When last I’d been here the grounds had been littered with the wreckage of bodies and buildings. The carnage the result of an explosion Almorthanos had arranged to distract and disarm Cade’s right-hand man, Killian, and his men. Though the bodies of the dead had long been buried, the compound still looked like a warzone.
I had to pass two fenced checkpoints on my way up the long winding drive to the main house, checkpoints manned by armed guards stationed in bulky concrete bunkers. Barbed wire ran around the tops of two rings of fencing encircling the main compound, with deep trenches dug either side of the road.
Scaffolding surrounded the main house, not to repair but to build two more stories and add reinforcement to the existing walls. Bare-chested winged Tr’lirians flew through the framework, aiding those who were doing the actual construction work.
The war had been won. Yet it looked like Killian was gearing up for a massive assault on the compound.
What had I missed by avoiding this place for the last six months?
Two Tr’lirians, wingless and with loose shirts covering their scars, waited in front of the main house for me to exit my car. I did so reluctantly, bombarded with images from the last time I was here. I wrapped my arms around my middle to ward off a chill and steeled my nerves to enter the building. My steps slowed as I walked down the long hallway where I had been captured by Almorthanos’s people. I pushed aside the memories of helplessness that threatened to swamp me and focused on the unsettling changes to Killian’s compound.
Silver Reaper (Reaper Series Book 3) Page 1