Fallen Mortal

by J. A. Culican

  Fallen Mortal

  Reap This Book 1

  J.A. Culican

  Elizabetta Holcomb

  Copyright © 2020 by J.A. Culican

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Fear, the easy persuader. Both good and bad, pure and evil, used as a springboard to sway beings. It wasn’t complicated, but it was the simplest tactic reapers like me used in sealing a soul for the netherworld.

  I could imagine how it went down. Geirolf, the smooth talker, liked the hitchhiker approach. I knew from experience that he thought impersonating a hitchhiker gave him an edge of ”normalcy.” People tended to spill their guts to someone they’d never see again. He no doubt developed a rapport with the subject before the car accident. It would take time to build, a good hour or so. Geirolf had hitched the ride early to strengthen the reap. From the confused look on the boy’s face, he’d used guilt. He was good, I’d give him that. The boy stayed at the scene, aiding the wounded until help arrived.

  Blah.

  Geirolf sat at the sidelines with a grin on his immortal face. Having shed his mortal front, the glittery white aura was blinding. He was beautiful.

  A slow growl came from my throat as I marched several steps away. As an immortal, emotions had to be deep for me to feel them, so I stopped a confrontation before I made a fool of myself. Geirolf would hold it against me. He’d think me silly for debating our look and form. Once upon a time, when we’d been betrothed, his adoration and familiarity would have caused me to preen like a lovesick youth. Now, everything had changed while still somehow remaining the same. Our exterior forms were mirror images—one white, one black, the same, but playing for different teams. Divine Reapers versus Imperium Reapers.

  I was better than Geriolf and just as strong. This unacknowledged game of hide and seek was all I had left of ”us.” Geirolf, the gentleman he claimed to be, wouldn’t call me out on it. We’d go round and round until one of us decided to label our past relationship. I would seek him out, hiding in the shadows until I made a counter reap. Our little game was as old as the bridge between Asgard and Midgard. It was my turn now. I’d win even if I had to cheat. I was going to wipe that smug grin off of his face.

  I turned back time twenty minutes, to when the subject had stopped for fuel, when there was no friendly neighborhood reaper in sight. The subject must have recently dropped off hitchhiker Geirolf. I hopped onto the concrete stand where the fuel pumps stood. The boy’s wallet was lying open on the trunk. Maxwell Adamsen. I held back a snort. Of course, his surname was Adamsen, just like thousands of other Norse descendants. Maxwell, however, was a surprise. Perhaps American?

  “Need some help with that?” I asked as I scanned his slouched figure. The fuel was pumping hands free. I motioned to the nozzle. “That’s dangerous, you know? Do you want to blow up the place?” I kept it to myself what a lovely idea an explosion would be. That would put an edge on this reap that I’d enjoy, but if he died now, Geirolf would win.

  Maxwell blinked. “Excuse me?”

  I pointed to the sign on the pump. “Manual only.”

  He pulled a face, but reached down and disengaged the automatic clip.

  My eyes narrowed. Geirolf’s good-doing remained in full force, but I’d never backed down from a challenge. Maxwell’s head was in the clouds, thinking deep things the teenage mind shouldn’t ponder. Geirolf was ever the persistent persuader of choosing right.

  I rolled my eyes. “Where’s your friend?” I asked.

  For a moment, he looked confused. “Gee? I never met him before. Dropped him off twenty miles ago.” His head tilted. “How did you know that?”

  “Gee?” My head snapped back.

  The sudden movement had Maxwell eyeing me and then looked away to monitor the fuel. Great going on my part. Now I appeared to be a stalker. Awkward seconds lapsed. I had to ax the suspicion. He could call Geirof anything he wanted and I shouldn’t be shocked. This wasn’t my reap. I just wanted to have a bit of fun at the expense of what we Imperiums called the “gleaming white team.”

  “Whoever,” I shrugged. “The tall guy with the blonde hair. He’s a regular hitcher around here. I don’t know his name, but I was thinking maybe Ned, Edgar, or Ralph. I saw you in Fresno.”

  Maxwell looked on at the fuel tallying a significant sale.

  “He doesn’t look like a Gee,” I said, lifting one shoulder. “Just sayin’.”

  The corner of Maxwell’s mouth twitched as he glanced at my backpack and then my worn leather boots. “Where are you headed? To the Pop Festival down in San Diego?”

  “No.” I couldn’t help be peeved at his nonchalance. I wanted him to look at me, but he wasn’t staring as most did. If he’d look, he’d see my angelic radiance and that would hook him so I could reel him in. As a reaper, we were programed to draw in our prey. He seemed totally disinterested in me, like I was bothering him. I was accustomed to subjects being dazzled. I could be a regular mortal as far as he was concerned. He conversed with little to no eye contact. I didn’t like it. “I’m headed ten miles east. Job interview and my car broke down.” I motioned to a beat up, abandoned car near the trash dumps. “Radiator problem and I don’t have money for a tow and Uber. Hence, my need to really make it to this interview.”

  “I’m headed north. Sorry.” He squinted at the pump’s computer screen.

  “That’s cool,” I said, shifting weight. “Mind if I charge my phone then? I’ve got like…” I produced a flip top phone from my pocket. “One measly percent before it dies.”

  “Debit card isn’t working.” Maxwell punched the buttons. He glanced at the card, flipping it over and inspecting both sides. He looked up at me. “I have to pay inside.” He motioned to his car. “Doors unlocked. Help yourself. I think my charge cord will work on that phone.”

  “Thanks.” I gave my best smile and watched him stomp off.

  Winning made me giddy. The trust he extended to me was an extension of what Geirolf had laid on him, but I’d take it. Giving me access to his car was the mark of fool. Served Maxwell right for listening to an over-righteous immortal in mortal skin. I opened my backpack and dumped empty cans of beer along the back seat and floor. I used a nail to punch a hole in the fuel can and shoved it just under the front passenger seat. Then, I sat back
and admired my work. Reaching into the back seat, I used discarded newspaper to cover the bulk of the cans.

  By the time I circled back in time and to the boulevard where the accident would occur, Maxwell was five minutes away. Geirolf sensed me at once. The blinding light permeated the area as I stepped into the mortal realm. I squared my shoulders and tipped my chin forward, before I sat next to him on the curb.

  “I thought I sensed you earlier,” he sneered.

  “Now, now,” I chided. “It’s not proper for you to display such a fierce countenance. What will daddy think? You’re on the white, gleaming side. Shouldn’t you be smiling and all happy? Party hardy, Valhalla pawn.”

  “Odin is your father, as well,” Geirolf said, his voice rough. “In theory.”

  “As Freya is your mother. Ditto—in theory.” I gave him a sideways glance. “I’m loathed because you think Folkvangr a place of darkness, when in fact, it is a place for warriors and the brave. Odin has perception problems; otherwise, Folkvangr and Valhalla would be one and the same and we’d be doing this together. At least we aren’t reapers for Hel. There’s that.”

  Geirolf grunted.

  My shoulders slumped as I drew my knees into my chest. Naturally, my wings folded about me. “Look. This didn’t start out as a reap. I’m not even assigned to the boy. If you hadn’t sat here with that bleak, smug mug, I would have remained an observer.”

  “You were following me?” Geirolf’s eyes widened.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered. “We don’t reap, we don’t eat.” The traffic was picking up, becoming congested. I used it as a diversion so he couldn’t see my eyes. Geirolf once said my expressions gave my feelings away, but that was forever ago.

  “Why do you do this to yourself, Oria? An Imperium reaper creeping around a Divine reaper?” His voice lowered. “Stop. You don’t have to do this. I know you have your own list of souls to hunt.”

  “I don’t know what this you’re talking about, Einstein. An Imperium reaper wasting her time on a scumbag Divine reaper like yourself? Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need to infringe on your pathetic list. I was passing through when I saw you all giddy and into your stupid feels. It’s clear I’m into bashing your hopes and dreams.” My wings spread open to give me a better view. I could hear the engine of Maxwell’s vehicle approaching. “Now, hush it. We have until Ragnarok to argue. Here comes your victim.”

  “I prefer the term ‘subject.’”

  “Barley porridge and ale forever in Valhalla,” I said. “Highly unlikely he’ll consided himself a mere subject. I’m sticking with victim where Valhalla’s concerned. Poor souls. At least when I win, he’ll have happy post-mortem taste buds.”

  “But, I can promise him a chariot ride with hot women. What man wouldn’t want that? The ride of the Valkyries is legendary.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I grumbled under my breath. I’d lost a few souls thanks to the promise of that ride. Men could be so basic. I didn’t know why Freya didn’t have her own version of the Valkyries. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the resources.

  I could see Maxwell’s SUV weaving through traffic, getting closer. Geirolf said something akin to a prayer, so I elbowed him. It wasn’t fair if he used a charm or incantation. This was the moment and I didn’t want to miss a thing. The great choice of right or wrong. We stood at the intersection, watching Maxwell speed by and plow into a car at the stop sign. The velocity of the crash pushed the car into oncoming traffic where it was hit a second time.

  The execution was beautiful. Glass shards, screeching tires, and shouts filled the air. My hands balled into fists with the anticipation of the next move. I saw when the moment the truth dawned on Geirolf as the victim tossed the busted can of beer onto the passenger's seat. Maxwell’s eyes frantically scanned the situation as he considered his plight. Bystanders flocked to the pile of vehicles in the road.

  “You muddied a reap!” Geirolf accused.

  I pushed him away, watching the internal struggle going on with Maxwell. The win was in the bag. The boy was confused and scared. It was better than I’d planned. His distraction at having found the cans caused the accident was nothing short of brilliant. I was beside myself with pride.

  “Come on, Wells,” Geirolf said, his voice a song of the immortal. It reached Maxwell, but the fear surrounding him was a fortress. He shoved his vehicle in reverse, tires screaming as he maneuvered free of the traffic. A few people took out their phones and snapped pictures of him as he drove away.

  “Be sure to get that license plate number,” I shouted.

  It was still a win, even if Wells would live to have another chance to choose between right and wrong. The race was not for the swift, but the diligent. Reaps like this would go on until the boy reached his day of death. His future was not my problem, but it wasn’t promising any longer. I felt the corners of my lips curl.

  “I’ll have you summoned to Valhalla,” Geirolf growled.

  I put my hands up. “Please. Your little Wells will live to hear another of your long and boring speeches on integrity and inner peace. Calm down. This wasn’t a final reap. You can visit him in jail. I suggest you try guilt this time.”

  “You used a dishonest advantage. I will see it overruled.”

  “This is where I remind you that that is impossible. We have witnesses and time. Worse case scenerio, Odin realizes the kid is a waste of time and gives him over to Hel.”

  “Did you bother to check his history?” Geirolf asked. A policeman whipped between us, going straight through my wing. “His parents are dead. That car was the last gift he received from his father.”

  “The world is a cruel place.” I took a step away. “Backstory means little to me. It all ends one of three ways. An eternity of waste in Valhalla, one of honor and work in Folkvangr, or apathy forever in Hel.”

  “You’re so stubborn,” Geirolf said under his breath. He shook his head, glancing at the ambulance that had just arrived. “A minor with alcohol the cause of the accident.”

  “I could have persuaded him to drink it, too,” I bit out.

  “A simple test would have absolved him.”

  “But fear,” I interrupted, a grin curving on my mouth. “A favorite tactic of a reaper. It’s an automatic scorecard.” I patted Geriolf’s cheek. “Better luck next time.”

  Chapter 2

  It felt good to finally stretch my wings. The meadow was alive with business, but I liked the sounds of it. Clanging metal on metal, warriors grunting with the efforts of training, an occasional shout from a poor soul who lost a challenge. Valor sizzled in the air. Here in Folkvangr, there were no unending parties of gluttony and indulgence.

  A shadow fell over me and I opened my eyes. “Gah.” I closed my eyes quickly. “You’re blocking the warmth, as usual.”

  “Want to tell me where you’ve been today?” Orum asked.

  Orum, an Imperium Reaper, stood over me with a foreboding stance. If I were anyone else, I would have been intimated. His bravery and skills were widely known. Orum was a warrior to watch out for, just as deadly as he was beautiful. It was the mark of a highly favored reaper—the more beautiful, the more lethal.

  I frowned, squinting up at his fierce countenance. “I think you already know.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from Geir. He is no longer a friend. Do you know what could have happened if he’d called upon Odin?”

  “I would have fought and won?”

  Orum growled. “You were alone. Geir knows your weaknesses. He’s the strongest among Divine Reapers. He isn’t your passive little playmate any more. You could have been eradicated from existence. Do you only think of yourself?”

  “If you’d seen that smug face of his, you’d have reaped as well. He tried to cheat and use a charm. For that, I could have him summoned to Freya. I couldn’t just ignore it. Besides, it was easy. Teenage boy with too much on his mind thanks to Geirolf,” I snapped. “The blacksmiths of Folkvangr are
no doubt sizing him up for war gear as we speak. This is how we live. We’re reapers, meaning we reap, moron. I saw a lamb ready for slaughter and I claimed it. That’s it.” I looked away. My heart was beating with anger. How dare Orum tell me who and when I can reap. “Geirolf wouldn’t hurt me. We both know that.”

  “No, we don’t know that. You think it, but I definitely don’t. Geir would cut you down in a heartbeat for the sake of Valhalla, and you’re a fool if you believe he wouldn’t.” Orum stepped back, running his hand over his face. “I can’t stand that you let him get to you. This isn’t a game. We’re enemies now. Can you remember that?”

  “Oh, I remember. Every single second.” I winced, not liking how girly and silly I sounded. The anger in my bosom churned. “If you want me to promise it won’t happen again, you’re talking to the wrong person. I will always stay one up on Geirolf. It’s just the way I’m built. Win. Win. Win.”

  Orum tilted his head, his lips twisting.

  “Pffft. Whatever brother. Just know that I plan on thwarting this reap. It’s much too interesting to pass up.”

  “Maxwell Adamsen isn’t for us. He belongs with Odin. It’s already been decided.”

  “What did you say? You know his name?” My ears perked as I rolled to a seated position.

  Orum’s wings drooped in a relaxed, but defensive pose. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what? Like I just discovered what a snake my brother is?”

  “No. Like you’re going to break all of the rules. Leave it be, Oria. This isn’t our reap.”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like a broken record and that pisses me off. Why would Valhalla target such an idiot? A pretty face with a void between his ears. He’s more material for Hel and he would be if his blood wasn’t so thickly Norse. I could practically smell it.” We were only allowed to reap pure Norse descendants for Folkvangr or Valhalla; that was nothing new. The rest of the diluted souls ended up in Hel, a place where their lowly existence went on almost as if death never occurred. Citizens of Midgard, or Earth as it was known to mortals, wanted to be chosen for Valhalla or Folkvangr. It was a privilege to those who believed in the afterworld.