Sin: Daughter of the Grim Reaper (The Reaper Series Book 1)

by Delizhia Jenkins

  Nak looked away without saying a word, and so I continued.

  “Since you have concluded that I am incapable of such a tremendous feat then I command you Nak to return to your post. Your insolence has been noted and believe me when I say Grim will hear of this.”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat, his massive wings folded behind him. He sheaths his sword and says without looking at me, “My apologies Sin. My fear is great and I have allowed it to conquer my judgement. I have nothing but respect for your father-“

  “-Which should have been enough to respect me.”

  “Again, my apologies.”

  “Go back to your post Nak. Try to find out who is responsible for this invasion,” I say without emotion. He takes a flying leap into the air, black wings unfolded and he is gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  “Oh Grim,” I mumble to myself. “What am I going to do?” Resting my weight onto the Scythe I survey the mess around me. Wounded martyrs limp around, looking towards the sky hoping that the promise has been fulfilled. I know at some point they will understand that the promise has not been fulfilled as of yet, and the culprit responsible is going to face an extremely painful punishment. My instincts inform me that the archangels are on their way and it is my cue to exit. I do not have the patience to try to explain to Michael just what happened. He can figure all of that on his own. With a wave of my hand I disappear out of the realm and back into the human world. I still have souls to collect and a Seal to find.

  I need a vacation.

  Chapter 7

  I reach top side without a hitch, and instead of blending in with the humans, I cloak myself with invisibility so that I may walk among them without causing too much of a stir. Duty calls me once again, distracting me from my mission and I am forced to contend with a young man in his early twenties, minutes away from detonating the self- made bomb that he has strapped to his chest. The Fertile Crescent, better known as the Middle East is in a state of panic and disorder right now. Those righteous and overzealous bastards are working Grim’s men overtime and have been for the last decade. Who the hell told them that killing themselves for a cause that will ultimately lead to the destruction of humanity is a question I would like answered. I do have an idea of who the ring leader is, but the bullshit that is taking place right now as I stroll passed an army tank is not fun. Not only are these lost and corrupted souls filling up the pits of hell, but having to explain to those confused bastards that Allah is not who they think he is, or that I am not Allah himself nor am I one of his representatives is depressingly draining. That moment of disappoint is the only moment that gives me a semblance of joy.

  Ok, so back to the suicide bomber…

  I detect his presence in the courtyard of what used to be a town square. No longer are there merchants and peddlers and small shops, but rubble, debris, and a reminder that humans are indeed living in the end of days. Machine guns could be heard in the distance while the sun’s menacing rays beat down on the terrified Iraqi inhabitants. A new band of mercenaries that call themselves ISIS have taken over what used to be the beautiful gardens of Babylonia, and other key areas of the war torn country which is an absolute travesty in my opinion. The young man is dressed in fatigues with his head wrapped in Iraqi garb and he is trembling with anticipation as he silently prays to who he believes is the one true god. A young mother and her two children walk casually by without any idea that these last few moments would be their last. The youngest child, a girl with eyes as big as the moon and as dark as the night sky glanced in my direction. Her mark is still in place as is her mother’s but her older brother’s mark is evaporating quickly with each passing second, and I whisper urgently for them to hurry up and pass by. The suicidal youth gives the innocent family a hostile look before the pressing the button hidden in his palms and the entire courtyard is met with an explosion that could be heard for miles.

  I turn around to where the young family had been walking and as suspected the mother and daughter survived, but the boy did not. Fortunately an angel came down as a ball of light to escort him to the heavens, while I was left to contend with the little prick responsible for the boy’s death and several others who were not so fortunate for a heavenly escort. His spirit is sitting next to one of his limbs-an arm- on a rock that size of a basketball. He looks at me with confusion and then at the boy being taken into the heavens and then at the mess that surrounds us. I sigh.

  “So are you happy now?” I ask summoning the Scythe into my possession.

  “I am to wait for Allah,” he declares in his native tongue.

  Fortunately I can understand every language spoken on earth. “Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you bud but Allah is not coming,” I reply back to him in his language.

  He glares at me and begins shouting expletives and cursing me before looking up at the sky and cursing its inhabitants. I allow him to continue his tirade while I gather those who have been left behind and inform them that life is over for them as they know courtesy of the young man cursing up a storm, and that they are now in my charge. I almost have a riot on my hands until I slam the Scythe into the ground causing a loud crack in the sky, and instantly grabbing their attention. Once order is established and there is an understanding that they are not going anywhere other than where I am to guide them to, I gather up the fifty or so souls, including the suicide bomber and with a wave of my right hand we are in the first level of Hell where they are met by one of the Unnamed One’s minions. The Fallen Angels sizes me up and offers me a wicked grin, but I pass on it. No thanks. I have gotten myself in enough trouble over the years and messing with the likes of him is not going to help my cause at all.

  A few of the souls run at the sight of the dark haired angel as if they are going to get very far. I block their exit with my Scythe and watch without emotion as the Fallen entity drags them into the fiery underworld. Just a few more pit stops and then it is off to the Island of Patmos for me. Hang in there Grim, I think to myself while I disappear into the darkness. Hang in there…

  On my way to visit another dying human, someone calls out to me. Her voice is unfamiliar, which makes it strange that anyone would attempt to summon the Angel of Death, but her call is strong. The human that I am scheduled to see is lying up in a prison hospital ward after being assaulted by a gang of his peers, so he can wait. I need to answer this call. A visit from a Reaper is never a good thing, which makes me all the more curious and suspicious at the same time. I open up a portal with just the flick of my wrist and travel through the dimensions until I end up in a quiet suburban neighborhood in Woodland Hills, California. The neighborhood is filled with identical two story homes with the two car garages, white picket fencing, and immaculately manicured lawns. But the call is coming from the third house on the left side of the street.

  I render myself invisible and just as I had suspected this has the signature of a witch written all over it, and a strong one at that. Father informed me when dealing with witches that because their souls were forfeited to the dark lord as a sacrifice, it is essential that I kill them upon contact. I approach the house, and there is nothing about the residence that screams “witch”. The home appears just as normal as the rest of the houses that litter the block. I calmly unlatch the gate, the woodened spikes nearly as tall as myself, and I let myself in. I wonder if anyone witnessed the gate open itself and chuckle at the thought. The cemented path that led up to the porch is lined with white and red roses, and I watched with disdain as they withered and die from my presence. The gardener is going to be incredibly pissed off.

  No children’s toys line the front yard which is great: no children live here, and I do what I like to call “ghosting”: I pass through the screened door followed by the woodened door as if neither of those barriers were in my way. I don’t even bother to pay attention to the layout of the interior of the house. My focus is on the mysterious voice that grows fainter the closer I approach. I take my time heading up the stairs, senses on hig
h alert. With Grim incapacitated due to being wrongfully accused, there is no such thing as being too careful. I could be next. A thick blanket of evil filters into the atmosphere, so thick in fact that I am reminded of the deeper levels of Hell where the worst of the worst demons reside, and it is coming from the first room that leads to the top of the stairs. The sound of the television blasting echoes throughout the course of the hallway where I stand.

  Someone has called me here and I can only think of one person strong enough to do it.

  I open the door.

  The news of Grim’s fate currently hanging in the balance brought a twinge of joy into the chambers of his beating black heart. Finally, the arrogant angel was getting his due for all of the pain and humiliation that he has caused over the millennia. How could one being have been granted that much power while the rest of them were forced to conspire, plan, and perform varying levels of treachery just to move a step up in the hierarchy of hell? What did Grim do that was so spectacular that he was given such a distinguished position? The entity smiled at the nervous cleric whom hovered anxiously over the gothic styled table that stood in front of the fireplace. He watched with thoughtfully as the embers skipped about only to return to its fiery origins. He knew that this plan would work, and humans were such oblivious and painfully easy targets and so easy to manipulate he knew Grim and his annoying daughter would be exterminated before the Seal is broken. And with the angels being divided, the human masses more confused and violent as ever, and the ever inexperienced Sin acting on her father’s behalf, no one would see it coming when he acquired the infamous Scythe…and once that was done, all of his enemies would suffer. But first thing’s first…

  “Only the Lamb can break the Seal,” the nervous cleric stated as he gently placed the tightly rolled scroll into a glass casing that was supposed to be shatter proof.

  “I know that,” came the smooth baritone voice of the demon.

  “But Asmodeus,” pleaded the human. “I don’t think-“

  “I didn’t recruit you to think!” Asmodeus snapped, forcing himself to remember that now is not the time for a human sacrifice. “I do all of the thinking for you. I just need for you to make sure that none of your superiors get wind that the seal is missing. I will handle the rest.”

  The aging and sickly cleric cowered before the menacing entity that stood before him. Asmodeus, as he was called, had once served under Grim’s command eons ago but had been banished by one of the many angels for an unsuccessful attempt on Michael’s life. Instead of killing him the angel had banished him to the deserts where he spent many centuries fooling the nomadic humans that wandered the lands, even tricking them into worshipping some prophet whose name is now tied with many of the terrorist and mercenary groups that are terrorizing the modern world. Now, he had a bigger plan on a larger scale and as long as he held the Seal the world was in trouble. The Seal is the key to his push for more power, and once Grim and his daughter were out of the way there would be no stopping him.

  He stretched his eight foot bat like wings out before retracting them behind his back. Reaching almost seven feet in height, with bronzed skin, black slanted eyes and the body of a Viking, without the wings, Asmodeus might be considered the vision of perfect fantasy. Silver hair pulled back into a thick braid and a deep scar that ran across his broad chest from a war fought eons ago, he almost laughed at the pitiful human that trembled before him. Humans are such pathetic creatures, he mused to himself. Yet, we are not allowed to be worshipped by them. They are weak, confused, and unbearably stupid...

  “I am afraid that my superiors have gotten word from the Light that the Seal has been stolen,” the cleric quivered.

  “Then make sure that they don’t find it! Now take it and go!” Asmodeus commanded. He watched in amusement as the cleric stumbled to grab the glass case and hobble off down the hall. Asmodeus waited until the miserable cleric was gone before collapsing on the burgundy lounge chair that did not fit in well with the 16th century décor that made up the Vatican. Across from him several Roman candles burned, providing a scattered dance of shadows flickering throughout the room. For some reason Father Nicholai loved candles and his private quarters were filled with varying sizes and shapes of what Asmodeus viewed as mini torches which also happened to be his gateway to freedom. He wondered if Nicholai understood the powers that he was dealing with prior to summoning an entity as strong as himself. And he also wondered if the cleric understood that there is no going back from this; that either way when he died (which will be soon) he would find himself in the deepest, darkest pits of hell and no savior?

  But of course the idiot knew that, he thought to himself. The Catholic Church knows more about my kind than any other religious institution… He refocused his thoughts on the reason behind all of this: Grim. The original Angel of Death was losing more of his powers by the day while his bastard daughter grew stronger. And that was another thing that infuriated the fallen angel: how come Grim was given a pass for siring a child but the rest of his kind faced severed punishment? He allowed the thought to linger just a bit more before taking a stand by the window that overlooked the gardens that supplied the building’s inhabitants with fresh fruits and vegetables. He watched the few hired gardeners go about their day with watering and fertilizing the surrounding fields; and pruning and picking the already ripened fruits and various plants. Someday soon all will bow down to him and worship him as ruler and lord over this world. Once the Scythe was in his possession and the Seal broken, he would be an unstoppable force and no power neither high nor below would be a worthy challenger to his throne. But until then he needed to devise a plan that would keep Sin busy for a while and his rival heavenly siblings guessing…

  The people of this city-state needed something to believe in and something to bind their allegiance to him, and in order to do that he needed to give them something to have control over…something that they feared and revered all at the same time… Asmodeus knew that he would not be able to maintain that gift for long but it would be worth a shot and it would definitely bide him some time. He closed his eyes and focused on the eternal darkness from which he came and absorbed some of its power. Only the strongest of his kind were able to do that, and had Sin had more experience would she be able to sense what he was about to do, but Grim would know. But the poor bastard is too weak to do anything about it… He channeled the powers of hell and placed an invisible shield over the city preventing angel and demon from entering to collect saved and damned souls. The city state would be essentially off of the radar, and as long as he remained on this side of the Veil in a position of strength the shield would hold. Until the Seal is broken no human that lived within 20 miles of the Vatican would face death…now we will see if the Grim Reaper’s daughter will be able to figure this one out… Asmodeus laughed evilly to himself, the gardeners none the wiser to his presence. He will reveal himself in due time. He returned to his seat on the lounge chair, wishing for a glass of wine and a couple of virgins, something of which he was sure Father Nicholai could supply. But until then it was on to the next part of the plan….

  Chapter 8

  I push the door open and just as I had expected there sat surrounded by a series of multicolored stones on the hardwood floor sat a very old associate of Grim’s: Mary McFarland. She was long dead, having died sometime in the 1800s of typhoid fever, and one of the few souls ever to escape Grim’s grasp. Her powers as a mortal were great, having descended from a long line of witches who practiced dark magic. Her master had found favor in her and is currently under his protection which is why Grim never took her down to hell where she belonged. However, the many run in’s that she had with Grim opened the door for a love/hate relationship that I have yet to appreciate. I suppose dear old dad could not help but admire her survival skills. I have no idea why she called on me, but remembering the powerful “ghost” that sat before me, I clutched the Scythe a little tighter. If she tired anything foolish she could kiss her freedom goodbye. />
  She sat cross legged, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Her reddish brown hair smoothed neatly over her head; she stared back at me in a daze like state; her eyes black from the darkness that consumed her spirit centuries ago. The peasant gown that she wore had turned to rags, or maybe that is just how she prefers to wear it. I am unmoved by her blank stare, and as I survey the room around her, I wonder what the hell is she doing in a very occupied human abode. The owners of the home must be at work because there is no additional movement in the house. But judging by the upside down crosses, and animal and human representations or ornaments that hung from the ceiling and scattered about the room, one of the residents had to be a practicing witch and Mary is her spirit mentor.

  “Why have you called me Mary?” I ask after a beat. She looks up at me and offers me an odd smile.

  “Ahhh so you must be Sin, Grim’s daughter,” she said, her voice horsed and raspy, reminding me of the wind blowing across the desert sands.

  “Yes I am and unless you have decided that the adventures of the earth realm are no longer for you and you would like to return to where you belong-which is in Hell, then again I must ask, why have you called me?”

  “Your father bestowed a rare act of mercy upon me and for that I owe you this tidbit of information that I am about to share,” she wheezed.

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “Eons ago a demon by the name of Asmodeus had worked under your father’s charge. From what my sisters who have long ago crossed over shared with me, he was an evil and twisted demon of considerable strength. He always had a desire to rule and at one point had tried to frame the devil himself with the attempted murder of the highest ranking archangel. I am unable to say his name but I reckon you know who I am talking about …”