Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1)

by Cecilia Robert

  “But how?” My voice sounds hoarse, like I’ve just woken up. A dull headache is digging its way through my head. School is going to suck big time today.

  Grim unhitches himself from the wall and glides closer. “I make a point of having everyone’s business at my fingertips. Yours in particular. If I am invested in a Novice, makes sense to know everything about her, no?”

  Invested? Like invested since birth or “Oh look, she just lost her family so I’m sure she’ll trade her soul for them” invested. Normally I’d expect him, as a collector of souls, to do his job and not converse with potential clients, sealing deals left, right, and centre. In my case on the day of the accident after I woke up from my fainting spell, he seemed to be waiting. “Was I…” I clear my throat. I might be stepping out of line with my questions, but I need to know. “Was my being Novice planned?”

  Grim’s eyes meet mine, unreadable and dark. Instead of replying to my question, he says, “Today was your first lesson. From now on, consider each and every collection a test. At the end of the months I set for your training, you will perform the ultimate test.” He tilts his head to the side. “Any questions?”

  I glance down at my fingers. They shake a little. I curl them into a fist. “What if I fail?” I whisper. “Will you release me, return my soul? What about my family?”

  “You will pass the test.”

  A cool breeze brushes on my skin, but my body is a furnace, the flames fuelled by Grim’s words.

  I have to pass the final test.

  Questions flood my mind. I’m scared of facing them. I’m scared of the answers I’ll find there. All I can think of is why me? I was ecstatic when he gave me back my family. But the niggling feeling…

  I stare out the barred window facing east and focus my blurring gaze on the blue sky now highlighted in orange-yellow hues. It’s breathtaking. Colours.

  I twist back to face Grim. “Before the woman died, there was the bright red mist that rose from her. What was it?”

  Grim nods once. “I will start at the beginning. I see you are troubled by today’s collection, yes?” Without waiting for my answer, he turns around, hands braced behind his back, and begins pacing the square-patterned floor, his footfalls as light as a cat’s breath.

  “Death,” he says and I shiver involuntarily. He throws me a look over his shoulder, then turns around and halts in front of one of the barred windows. “Is the beginning of living. An example: you.” Me? What has death got to do with me?

  “You began living after your family’s death. Before that, you were dead. Lugging the weight of your human shell. You never appreciated what was right in front of you. When I gave your family back, you changed. You started living.”

  I stare at his back, trying to digest the logic. Everything he says is true. I appreciate my family now more than ever. My heart is alive.

  Grim continues to speak. “Same logic applies for the soul. When they leave the current human shell, they start living. They embark on a journey. They are free to live. Souls, very beautiful things, these beings. Every soul has its own colour. You can tell the kind of life it has led by its colour. Just like auras. Frau Becker, the beautiful lady whose soul we collected, was a vibrant human. Each soul is stored in a special unbreakable glass vial. What you saw before her soul glided in the vial is the soul dance.”

  Should I ask? I figure if I’m going to be his Novice, I need to know. “What was going on when you two were holding hands? It seemed intense.”

  Grim paces again. He doesn’t look tense, though. I sense it’s something he’s used to doing. “You can ask anything, Novice. Learning by practice is the best way to get everything in here.” He taps the side of his head with this index finger. “Now,” he folds his hands behind his back, “Soul conversing, that is what you saw. The dying human opens his whole being, heart and soul, to you. They tell you their last wishes, whatever their heart’s desire. Life stories, anything. It may take a minute. It may also take an hour or two. Patience, openness, and tolerance are virtues when conducting soul conversations. But you will not have a problem with that. They come naturally to you.”

  Soul conversing sounds so… intimate, trusting, and sad. I imagine opening my heart and soul to someone I barely know, letting them see everything.

  The sun bursts through the horizon, spraying the surrounding area in soft orange.

  “Shit! I need to get home and prepare for school. When my parents find me missing, hell will break loose.” I dash towards the exit, almost falling headlong down the spiral stairs.

  “Ana.” That one word freezes my legs. I turn to face Grim. His brows are scrunched down disapprovingly.

  What did I do now? I just want to get home in peace before Mom sends the police squad.

  “A dirty mouth is very discouraged.”

  Huh? I’m positive my mouth is gaping open.

  “Such words are not allowed in my presence.”

  I retrace my words. “I’m sorry.”

  Minutes later, Grim deposits me back to my room. I head to the bathroom for a quick shower and prepare for school.

  ***

  After yesterday’s drama on the field, Rolf has been a bit quiet in class. I couldn’t bring myself to talk much. I needed all my energy to nurse my pride back to health.

  I turn to look at Reiner over my shoulder, and watch as the vibrant green mist-like colour surrounding his body’s outline shift with every movement.

  Seeing colours.

  It started today when I rushed downstairs for breakfast. Mom was setting the table. I had just grabbed a mug to fill it with hot water from the kettle for my usual dose of black tea. When I turned to face Mom, a light blue mist danced along the outline of her body. The mug slipped from my hands and shattered to the kitchen’s laminate floor. The next thing I knew, Mom’s face was in front of me, panicked, calling my name, her hands clamped around my shoulders. After excusing myself, I dashed out of the room and out of the front door.

  Grey. Blue. Red. Orange. Yellow.

  It could only be connected with the soul collecting rendezvous with Grim. Could it be the soul colours he told me about? Like what I saw from the elderly woman in the hospital? He mentioned red is vibrant. What about the rest?

  I glance down and move my hands, watching as the green colour surrounding them follows the movement.

  “Ana?” Lea’s voice cuts through my thoughts as she joins me on the steps outside the school . I turn to face her. “You all right?” I force a smile. The dull headache that’s been lingering all morning is now full-blown. I already took painkillers when I got to class. Didn’t help. All I want to do is fling myself on my bed and sleep for years.

  “Come on, I’m hungry.” I lead the way to our favourite sitting spot at the back of the building, away from curious and loud voices.

  Stifling a yawn and too exhausted to go for elegance, I collapse next to Lea on the wood bench. She raises her eyebrows. I pretend not to see her questioning look as I slip my feet out of my ballet flats, sink them in the grass still splattered with morning dew, and moan.

  One word: Heaven.

  “Could you stop that… that… moaning?” She looks scandalized.

  “I’m just enjoying the weather.” I throw her a wide-eyed look.

  “Go moan somewhere else. I need to enjoy my snack in peace.” She picks up her sandwich bag.

  I giggle as I snap open my snack box, take out my butter bread, and chomp an enormous chunk from it.

  “You’re the only person in the world I know who eats that.” She points at my bread. “Peanuts, lettuce, tomatoes, and radishes?”

  I swallow, then say, “You forgot cayenne pepper. Yum.” I take another bite and close my eyes for emphasis. They flip open at her sound of disgust.

  She shakes her head, and her ponytail bobs with the movement. “I pity your stomach.” I chuckle and watch her unwrap her sandwich from its plastic bag. Her lips pull down as she glares at it. Her neon green and pink nail polished fingers p
luck onions from her chicken sandwich. “I’m never letting Dad make me a sandwich again.” Finally she beams at me, waving her onion-free sandwich in victory and bites a mouthful. She swallows, then says, “You’ve been sulking since you stepped in class today. You two lovebirds doing all right? Rolf couldn’t take his eyes off you in class, and you couldn’t pull your gaze away fast enough.”

  And there lies the reason why I feel as though my head has gone through some major pummelling. I wrinkle my nose. “We’re okay.” She snorts, and I shoot her a glare. Unperturbed, she raises her eyebrows at me. I sigh. If only I had the power to hypnotise or make people forget stuff. I’d make her forget she asked about Rolf and me. “Fine. We argued. And I’m not sulking.”

  “Ah, but you are sulking, my friend. You look like a puppy someone kicked in the ribs. Want to talk about what happened yesterday during PE?”

  The sight of my bread is no longer appetizing. “Not really.” After spending half of last night going over what happened with Rolf in the field, I had every intention of discussing the issue with him. When I stepped through the class door and saw him sitting in his usual place two desks behind mine, his eyes the intensity of a lion eyeing its prey, I couldn’t face him. It was a mistake to overanalyse what had happened, but I couldn’t help it. So here I am, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Maybe I could skip the rest of my lessons and go home to catch up on much needed sleep.

  After shoving the rest of my snack back inside the box, I wipe my hands and mouth with a paper towel, then face Lea. “Hey, would you like to meet up today after my teaching class? Around five-ish? Just me and you?” Would be nice to spend more time with Lea before she heads to Florence for summer vacation. It will be just like old times. No deal with Grim hanging over my head. No boyfriend problems.

  Lea studies me for a few seconds. “Sure. Rein has a photography gig today anyway.” Thank God she doesn’t pursue the subject. One of the many things I love about my best friend. “Did you know his dad lost his job?”

  “He did? When?” Where have I been? Gosh, have I been so focused on my own life that I failed to notice what was happening around me?

  “Last Thursday.” Eyes on her lap, she folds the sandwich bag into a tiny square. “Might take a while before he gets another job, if ever.”

  “But he didn’t mention it on Saturday.” Are we drifting apart, Reiner and I? God I hope not. Leaning down, I snatch a daisy from the grass and twirl it in my fingers.

  Lea presses my hand lightly. I tear my gaze from the flower to meet hers. “It’s not that he didn’t want to tell you. He didn’t want to worry you. Not when you were already going through stuff with your parents.”

  The queasy feeling in my chest fizzles and fades. Reiner and I aren’t drifting apart. I smile at Lea. “Thanks for telling me. For a moment I thought, well, I was a little… worried.”

  “Don’t be.” She pulls her hand away and fiddles with the sandwich bag, her eyebrows pulled down. “I’m scared he’s pushing himself too hard. I offered to loan some of what I earned from restoring the portrait at my last job. You can imagine his reaction.”

  Oh, I can imagine. Reiner believes in solving his own problems. “Hey, look at me, Lea.” She does. My heart squeezes. If only I could erase the hurt from her eyes. “Rein is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. He’ll pull through. He always does.” I make a mental note to call him when I get home.

  Lea sighs and nods as she pushes to her feet and disposes of the plastic square in a nearby bin. “Just me and you today. This is going to be fun.” She takes my hand and studies it for a few heartbeats. “When will you get your tats touched up?”

  “Saturday. I called Zaynab earlier today.”

  “Cool. I’ll tag along.” Just like always. The first time I paid Zaynab a visit, Reiner and Lea tagged along. Moral support and all. I don’t want to even consider what I’d do without them. “I need to use the bathroom before we go back to class.”

  “Hey, come here.” I hug her tight. “Rein will be fine.” She nods.

  ***

  Dragging myself to class, my eyes automatically drift to Rolf’s seat. I frown. He hasn’t come in yet from the break. On the next row, Reiner’s head is bowed down, scribbling on his notebook.

  I drop on my seat and pull out my history textbook just as our teacher, Frau Ivasec, waddles in with a humongous book in her chubby arms. Lea follows closely behind her. Once Ivasec sets the book on the desk, her eyes glide around the class. Her gaze strays a second longer over my shoulder on Rolf’s seat, then continues to the front of the class. Looking like that, she resembles someone’s grandmother, all teddy bear cuddly. There is something powerful about her gaze, though. I think it’s her ability to silence a room with just one look.

  Like now.

  Twenty minutes into the lesson, I glance at Lea. She mouths ‘Rolf’. I shake my head. She frowns and darts a look at Reiner who shakes his head and shrugs. I shift to face the board.

  Where is he? Did something happen? Surely he isn’t ill. He looked fine this morning. Unless… he skipped classes to avoid me.

  ***

  After school, Lea, Reiner, and I stroll out of the school gates. We part ways as Lea and Reiner cross the street to Reiner’s murky green Vespa— an instrument of death. With a wave from Lea, I watch, shuddering as he pulls away from the curb and speeds down the street. I wouldn’t be caught sitting on that.

  I turn around and start walking towards the tram stop, then pause mid-step. Rolf stands a few feet away, his hands tucked deep inside his pockets, watching me. My pulse picks up a beat. My eyes rove over his face to his toned stomach and chest hidden beneath the tight navy blue T-shirt, down his long jean-clad legs to his booted feet, and back to his face. Other than the haunted look in his eyes, he looks fine. More than fine, actually.

  I breathe out, my heart propelling me forwards but my mind restraining my arms. “Rolf, are you okay? I was worried. You weren’t in class, and I thought something happened or you were sick or… something in that direction.” I mumble the last words in a weak voice. What’s wrong with me?

  He closes the twenty centimetres of space between us, and suddenly I’m staring at his chest. His scent—sandalwood and all Rolf—hugs me, but at the same time slams into me, leaving me drunk and giddy. My toes curl in my shoes. “I had some errands to run,” he says.

  Errands? The frequency of those errands is rapidly rising. Just last month he’d been gone about five times, and the month before as well. I know it’s not my business, but still, errands? I’m curious.

  He slides his right hand from his pocket, runs it through his hair, and settles it on his neck, rubbing it. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk?” His throat moves up and down as he swallows. His eyes flit from my violin then back to mine. “You have your teaching class today. I could drop you.”

  I nod. There’s no time like the present. Besides, carrying all that resentment the whole day was so exhausting. I need to let it out. Let everything out. Or I’ll drive myself crazy. “All right.”

  He extends his hand towards my violin. “May I?” I relinquish it to him. “My car’s this way.” As soon as his hand comes in contact with the small of my back, shivers connected like an intricately designed web race all over my body. Even through the light cotton blouse, I feel his fingers as though nothing separates his skin from mine, and I find myself leaning into his touch. As if he can sense my reaction, his hand lifts an inch off my back and his fingertips trace circles on my back, searing yet chilling. Pure bliss. I try my best to keep walking straight as he herds me down the street, past a Chinese restaurant. He turns right to where his Peugeot RC Hybrid waits in all its sleekness and silver glory.

  Once he makes sure I’m comfortably seated, he rounds the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and straps himself as well.

  After a few minutes of driving in silence with a weird kind of tension choking the air, he clears his throat. “You have a right to be mad at me. I’m mad at myself for
hurting you, and I wish I could take those words back.” He keeps his hands gripped on the steering wheel.

  I study my hands, my fingers “I can’t make you trust me if you’re not ready to, Ro. I can’t tiptoe around half-expecting you to be mad because someone spoke to me.” I pause, curl my hands into fists, lean my head back on the headrest, and look at him. “What you said hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I need to sleep tonight knowing you’ve forgiven me, Engel.”

  We drive in silence. It feels as if we’ve been driving for ages when he veers off the main road. Gravel crunches as he slows down, turns right, and parks the car in a small deserted parking lot.

  “I’ll be right back.” He smiles and exits the car. I check the time on the dashboard. Twenty minutes to four.

  I glance out the window at the wide stretch of flat green land with rows and rows of low growth and the occasional house in the distance. Rolf must’ve taken the longer route from the school, but why?

  Moments later he slips back inside the car. I turn and squeal—literally—when I see the bouquet of dark red tulips. Dark red, fresh tulips. The shade of my favourite lipstick.

  I peek over his shoulder. A white sign at a flower garden’s entrance swings lazily. Beyond that are rows of tulips.

  Without a word, he hands them to me.

  “You’re spoiling me, Ro. Thank you.” I hold them gingerly in my hands. Quickly I angle my head away from him and look out my window. I blink several times to clear my sight and smile at the same time.

  “Spoiling you is my hobby,” Rolf says in his usual quiet but deep voice. He sounds so serious. He runs his fingers up and down my arm, then squeezes my hand. “Ana.”

  I turn to face him, watching as his hand traces the tattoo daisy chains along my wrist, a frown on his face. He’s never seen the scars. The thought of his face clouding with confusion or an emotion entirely different isn’t one I’m ready to see. Maybe one day I’ll reveal them to him. In the meantime…

  His eyes track his fingers closely and intensely as they trace my arm, as they skim my jaw line, and finally they focus on my lips. My breath catches in my throat. “I am sorry.” His hands fall away and leave me feeling bare, out of breath, and wanting. More than anything, I want to throw myself in his lap, forget the event that caused this weirdness between us, and just make out. .