Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1)

by Cecilia Robert

  When my lungs finally find the strength to take in more air, I dash to the window in the hope of catching a glimpse, or something as small as a wave of his hand. Something to tell me his leaving isn’t final, because it felt like it was.

  He jerks the Peugeot’s door open, slides into the driver’s seat, and slams it closed. From the lamppost light illuminating his car, I catch a glimpse of his hands gripping the steering wheel, his head on the wheel.

  My heart squeezes in on itself.

  Should I go to him? Or give him time to sort himself out?

  Ugh! I hate this. I hate that I can’t help him. I hate that he left without telling me what’s wrong. One part of me wants to know. The other is afraid. Afraid of the unknown.

  My feet propel me forwards and out the door. I bound down the stairs two at a time. Mom says something, but it flies right past me. When I dart out the front door and into the garden, there is no sign of Rolf. He’s gone.

  ***

  At eight thirty p.m., I stroll down the tarmac path leading to Copa Cagrana in the Danube Island. People weave in and out of the bars and restaurants situated at the edge of the Danube River. According to Lea’s text, they’ll be waiting for me next to the blue and yellow bridge. I peer through the now dark evening and shoulder my way through the crowd. Music booms from the bars, shaking the ground. The scent of fried foods from nearby Asian and Caribbean grills waft by. A waiter steps around me, balancing his tray full of colourful cocktails, and heads to a group of five, sitting at an outdoor table on my right. Blue, red, green, and yellow lights reflected on the heaving river dance to their own song.

  As I turn towards the bridge, a strong wind whips my face. I tug my sweater tighter around me. Someone calls my name. I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of Lea’s waving hand. I shuffle to where she’s swaying in Reiner’s arms to the Latin music blaring from a nearby bar and nightclub.

  “You came alone?” Reiner shouts above the loud music.

  I nod. I’ve already rehearsed this. “Ro seemed worse after dinner. I told him he didn’t need to come if he wasn’t well.” Reiner shrugs. Lea nods. That went well, but it’s a lie I might be caught in if Reiner speaks to Rolf.

  Reiner moves closer, his head lowered. Lea copies his posture. If my mind wasn’t scrambling, ready for the next round of questions, I’d laugh. “He’s often sick. You sure there’s nothing wrong? Like he’s coming down with something? We don’t want to be infected, you know.” He grins, tossing his head back to dislodge the locks of hair falling over his eyes.

  I swat him on the arm. “He’ll go see the doctor.” For the hundredth time I wish I had an idea of why Rolf was acting weird. Lea links her arm with mine, and Reiner’s on her other side.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  We join the queue outside Rocker’s Rave, an up and coming bar, restaurant, and disco hall.

  SATURDAY MORNING SWEEPS BY in a blur. Rolf phones to check how I’m doing. After yesterday’s episode, I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to him just yet. At first the conversation is awkward, as we skirt around last night’s issue. Eventually we drift to other comfortable subjects, and the chat takes on its usual smooth course.

  We talk about the upcoming exams. He mentions math, and my whole body shudders. Math is an untameable beast for me. Half the time I’m stuck between desperation and exasperation. Rolf offers to tutor me on Tuesday. We chat about the upcoming concert with my music group. Like always, we linger on our music which is a safe subject at the moment. We’ve always discussed the possibility of looking for jobs in one of those posh restaurants that have bands play while the patrons enjoy their dinner. After we earned enough money, we’d move in together. Is it the right thing to do now? Especially with this new part of him I witnessed? And, most of all, me working for Grim?

  Rolf calls my name twice, pulling me back to the conversation. I assure him everything’s all right. We talk about our trip to Mallorca after the finals. Then I remember my Novicehood responsibilities. Maybe if I only do collections at night, I might just enjoy the holiday with my friends and collect souls without anyone taking note of my absence.

  An hour later, we debate who should end the call first. He laughs. I laugh. His laugh is so infectious, so real. Last night’s events feel like a horrible dream.

  “Ladies first,” he says.

  “If I hang up first, you owe me big time.” I smile, giddy.

  “If I hang up, you owe me. And I will collect.”

  I shiver. “Feeling playful, aren’t we?”.

  He chuckles. “You have no idea, Engel.” His voice is low, uneven, and luscious. And I love it when he uses that endearment. Angel.

  “Okay, okay. I’m hanging up, and it’s not because I’m bowing out,” I grumble.

  “Is that so?” I picture him slouched on the white leather sofa in his living room, jean clad—or not—legs crossed at his ankles. I know. I’m hopeless.

  “Unfair. You’ve switched to seducing mode and I don’t want to risk hyperventilation. So, I’ll see you tomorrow at brunch?” I cross my fingers, hoping he’ll show up.

  Rolf chuckles. “Can’t wait to see you. And Ana…” He pauses. Creaking sounds from leather seats drift over the line. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, deeper. “You’re utterly, irrevocably infused in my mind and blood.”

  My lungs shutdown and I turn to a mass of giddy nerves on my bed. It takes a while to gather myself. “That was beautiful.”

  “Those words are a third of your beauty, Ana.”

  Finally we hang up, at the same time.

  ***

  Late afternoon, Lea and I visit Zaynab, my tattoo artist for a touch-up.

  “How’s Ro?” Lea asks as we shake off our high heels and slip into house shoes Zaynab hands us. She leads us through a door decorated with colourful beaded curtains and into her beauty parlour.

  “Better. He’ll come for brunch tomorrow. You and Reiner are coming, too?”

  “I’m not about to break that tradition. Wouldn’t dream of missing your dad’s cooking.”

  I smile at her. We’ve had this brunch tradition for ages, and it’s always fun to have extra guests around. “You getting tatted up?”

  “Maybe next time.” Lea pulls her mobile from her pocket.

  I sink on my usual spot, a cushiony red leather seat placed strategically in front of the dark brown oak worktable. I lean back and breathe in the frankincense incense burning in the far corner. Zaynab’s slender frame glides across the cream laminated floor like she and air are one element. Her blue soul colour mirrors her fluid moves.

  Years back, after Mom and I argued about covering my scars, she’d gone and found Zaynab. I remember after I met Zaynab the first time, I rushed home to practice how to move like her. I’d never felt more awkward in my life. Let’s just say gracefulness and I parted ways. I settled on observing jealously every time I visited for touch-ups.

  Today her elegance seems forced, missing something. Her back is turned to us as she digs inside some drawers of the onyx armoire. She pauses, lowering the silver headscarf from her head. Her fingers tremble as she tugs the hair band from her hair, slips it back again, then smoothes it down. The bangles around her wrist tinkle melodiously. This is new.

  “Excuse me for a sec,” I tell Lea and rise from my seat. She nods, while digging her mobile from her pocket.

  I pause behind Zaynab, chewing my lip. Should I disturb her? Should I wait until she turns around? I place my hand on her arm. She literally jumps and whirls around, eyes wide, hand on her rapidly heaving chest. I drop my hand. Why’s everyone being weird? “Is everything all right, Zay? We could work on this next week.”

  She clears her throat, pulls the scarf back over her head. “It—it’s fine. Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.” Her usual musical voice is missing some notes, her accent more pronounced. She turns and begins to pull the drawers again, digs diligently, then halts, head bowed. What’s wrong now? “Ana, have you felt anything… unusual after the last
henna application?”

  “Unusual?”

  She nods and turns to face me. Her usual caramel flawless skin is lined with wrinkles. “On your skin.” She points at my wrists.

  I start to shake my head, then stop. There was that weird feeling I thought was some sort of irritation after the last touch-up session. “How did you know?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps around me and heads to the tiny glass table by the window. She grabs a green bottle from it, shakes a few drops into the ceramic oil burners placed on shelves strategically around the small room, replaces the bottle, and floats back to me.

  “What’s going on, Zay? How did you know about my skin? Was something wrong with the henna? Am I going to be sick? Oh God, I’m sick, aren’t I?”

  “No, no.” Her voice is low, soothing. “Calm down. I need to talk to you. Alone.” Her hazel eyes widen, quickly flitting to Lea, then back to me.

  This is new as well. She adores Lea, speaks freely in front of her. What does she want to tell me that needs privacy? I peek at Lea. She’s talking into her phone in a low voice. I nod at Zaynab to continue.

  “This is the last time we meet, Ana.”

  My heart drops to my feet. “What? Why?” Does this mean I have to look for another tattooist?

  “My work is done. But we’ll see each other very soon.” Zaynab’s eyes, which always seem so full of wisdom, look puffy and red. I hadn’t noticed this when we arrived. A while back, I asked her how old she was. Thirty-two, she told me. Now she looks as if she’s aged fifty years since our last meeting. She cups my cheek, and her lips tug into a smile. Her eyes remain sad. “I wanted to hide you for as long as I could. Seems the Fates will never be outdone.”

  “Hide me? Fates? What are you talking about, Zay?” Her hands drop from my cheek and capture mine.

  Words rush out of her barely parted lips, insistent, fervent, fast. “It wasn’t henna. We do not have enough time to explain this, but I used it to cast a veil around you.” I snatch my hands away and stumble back. She closes the distance and gently grasps my upper arms. “Gods, I didn’t hurt you. Hurting you would be like draining my own life. You are…” She shakes her head. “I’ll explain soon. I promise. We will see each other again really soon. Right now I need to work on your tattoos. Lea is no longer on the phone. Hey, hey, Ana, don’t panic. Breathe. Come on, breathe for me.”

  I didn’t realise I wasn’t breathing. “Can I talk to you later? On the phone? I—I need to know what’s going on.” My voice trembles. My whole body trembles.

  “Come on, take a seat.”

  I force my feet back to my seat and watch as Zaynab arranges her stuff on the table. What am I supposed to do now? What did she mean by that cryptic message? Coming back later—alone—is the only way.

  “What’s wrong, Ana?” My head snaps up. Lea leans forwards on my left, eyebrows wrinkled.

  I clear my throat. “Don’t feel so good.” From the corner of my eye, I see Zaynab tilt her body to face us.

  Lea looks at Zaynab, then at me. “You were okay five minutes ago.”

  “But now I’m not,” I snap at her. Lea pulls back and gapes. She doesn’t say anything after that. Crap. I’m messing up everything.

  Zaynab sits across from me, mixing the concoctions in a black bowl. Is she mixing whatever she mentioned before in there? I slide off the seat and to my feet not sure what to do. She lifts her head, looking at me.

  Trust me, is what her eyes tell me. She hasn’t harmed me in all these years. Why would she now?

  I sit back, twirling the bracelets around my wrists. Zaynab’s shoulders relax slightly, as a small smile forms on her lips. She breathes out. Lea’s curious gaze heats my cheek. Better start thinking of a good excuse.

  SUNDAY MORNING, Grim shows up in that pirate costume he wore days ago on the field. Why is he always so perky and alert? He taps a booted foot on the carpet. Sighing and sleepy, I place my hand on his.

  We arrive at our first soul collection destination, inside a building in Busan, South Korea. Immediately, the smell of burnt bodies and wood crashes into my senses. I double over, vomiting. When I finally straighten, I pull my T-shirt over my nose. I drop my hand and squint through the smoke for Grim. Something shifts, detaches itself from the smoke, and slithers on the walls and on the ceiling.

  What the hell was that? I watch as it pauses and, as if it got its prize, rushes down to Grim. I dash forwards and try to right myself as my legs trip on cable wires and wood.

  “Ernest, watch—” the words freeze on my lips. Grim moves so fast my eyes can’t keep up. All I see is a glint of something as his hands slash in quick, fluid arcs. A howl cuts through the air. I cringe and slap my hands on my ears. Grim yanks his trench flaps aside, plucks a vial from inside the pocket, and holds it out in front of him. The black smoke slides inside, writhing in some sort of agony. He twists the cap closed and strolls forwards, dusting his lapels.

  He looks up and catches me watching. “Soul Snatchers. Something to watch out for.” I was busy having heart failure while watching the dark cloud attack, and all he says is Soul Snatchers, something to watch for?

  If he’s taking things lightly, I should as well. Or pretend to. After all, I’m in this business for a while. Better get my nerves toughened. I push and tuck my hair back into the hair band, before following him on trembling legs, as graceless as a newborn puppy. Whatever fibre of confidence I’d gathered as I trotted after Grim, crumbles as we halt beside a lump of five bodies. Red, blue, and orange soul colours, flicker above the destroyed shells that once housed them. From the look of it, the adults threw themselves on top to protect their young ones, a useless effort. For the second time in one night, I heave, even though there’s nothing left inside of me. Distant sirens trickle inside my buzzing head.

  Too late. Why does everything have to be done too late?

  We ghost to south Sudan. Seven souls, children and adults, consumed by hunger and thirst. Vacant eyes, parched lips, sunken cheeks and stomachs.

  I try to follow Grim’s unusual teaching methods of “learn by watching”. I try to squelch the tears hovering in my eyes. I fail every single time. I chastise myself for being such a cry-baby. One or two times, Grim pats my shoulder awkwardly.

  At one point he hands me a vial to collect a soul. I take a deep breath and move towards the man lying immobile on the dusty floor, with Grim in tow. The man’s yellow soul shimmers along the surface of his body ready for collection. I kneel down beside him, and he mutters softly under his breath. Grim drops to his knees beside me, and nods. This shouldn’t be hard. Then why is my heart pounding so hard? I wrap my shaking fingers around the man’s dry, cool hands, and Grim covers mine. Whether it’s for moral support— or to stop me from leaving the conversation, I don’t know. The conversation begins.

  His name is David and he is twenty-eight-years old. He has lived his entire life in Sudan. His parents and siblings passed away in their sleep when he was twelve, but he was lucky. A stranger passing by his village rescued him. He met his wife while in his first refugee camp and they got married when he was twenty. His wife and three children were on the way to a another refugee camp after fighting broke between the locals. Whatever food they had with them couldn’t sustain them for the trip. He blames himself for not saving them. I glance back at the lifeless bodies a few feet away. Grim collected the souls minutes before. I turn to face David. His voice grows weak and he draws a shaky breath. Two voices fill my head and I realise Grim is taking to him. His voice is low and gentle and he tells David that he has done a wonderful job raising his family, and wherever his family is they are waiting for him.

  Within seconds we collect David’s soul, and he draws his last breath.

  By the time we deliver the souls to the soul chamber, my head is reeling with collections and memories and vacant eyes.

  After delivering the souls, Grim ghosts us to a suspension bridge surrounded by vast amounts of water as far as the eye can see, with tall buildings in
the distance. The orange sun crawls up the sky, splashing on the sea.

  I turn to face Grim. “Aren’t there other Soul Collectors or Novices to help with collections?”

  “Soul Collectors, yes. There are thousands of them in different regions. They get overwhelmed at times. Sometimes the rate of passing is too high, like today. Then they have to travel to other locations to lend a hand. You will meet some of them during the Unveiling.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “You are the only Novice in the ranks.”

  I frown. “How come?”

  He closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sunrays. “It has been a while since I had a Novice.”

  “About concealment and the… ghosting—”

  Grim’s eyes flip open. Dark eyebrows dip forwards, confused. “Ghosting?”

  I bite my lower lip, squashing the urge to burst out laughing at the expression. That’s my term. He never told me what they call it and neither did Zig. I nod. “That thing you do when you transport us.”

  “Shifting. Siegfried informed me he will teach you.” His expression softens, as he mentions Zig’s name. I’d really give my right hand fingers to know what binds them together.

  He extends his hand to me. Small talk is over. “Time to take you home.” I place my hand on his.

  Seconds later, we’re in my room. The house is silent. Grim’s hand dips into his trench coat of many pockets and fishes around. “You need this.” He hands me something bound in a black silk cloth. I stare at it for a moment, then take it and unwrap it. Inside is a leather sheath with signs engraved on it. I tug the cool handle, and my breath halts as I stare at the dagger. I tilt it in my hands and light rushes from within the sharp glass-like surface.

  “Soul knife,” Grim says, “a must-have in your armour.”

  “What for?” Surely I’m not supposed to use it on the souls, am I?

  His eyes tell me he heard my thoughts. He breathes out, shaking his head. “Protection. Your position as my Novice attracts Hostiles.” I blink. My mind processes what he says. “Remember the black cloud in Korea? Those were Snatchers. They look for any chance to snatch souls, and they were after the grey soul. They are trained for that, kidnapping weak souls. Grey is their speciality. Weak, a sign that the soul has given up.