Soulhunter Academy

by L. J. Swallow

  The humming presence leaves the air as the crystal absorbs the soul and illuminates into a glowing white. The first time I caught a soul, awe filled me and then triumph. Now all that happens is I mentally check them off in my head. Nobody told me how many I need to return, but I’m in the hundreds now.

  I’ve collected a crapload of souls trapped in demons, so why aren’t I free from servitude yet? The high angels who rule my world and life promised freedom—that I can live in their bright world. But after two years, this promise hasn't materialised.

  Gripping the crystal containing the soul, I slump onto the bed and shake from the fight. Sinking back, I stare at the ceiling and hold the shimmering soul crystal in front of my face.

  Yeah, I’m fucking good at what I do, but I can’t do this forever.

  One way or another, everything will be over soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I straighten the arms of my leather jacket. Darius sits across the mahogany table and leans back in his chair, his body moulding into the plush upholstery. He regards me with unreadable eyes. Is today the day he releases me from my role?

  "Ava, you are one of our best operatives. Your success is impressive. The number of souls we have retrieved with your help has made a huge difference to our future."

  My stomach flips as I wait for the but. There's always a but. Every time.

  "But, we need you to go back."

  There it is. I fight against slumping my shoulders, and I keep my gaze fixed on his cold, grey eyes. Don't show weakness.

  “I have a new target for you.” Darius leans to one side and pulls open a drawer, his long black ponytail sweeping forward. He produces a manila folder and places the file on the table. Flipping to the first page, he points at a picture. “An important target.”

  The code printed at the top reads NPHM.

  Nephilim. Shit.

  I meet his eyes. Darius doesn’t need to explain. "That isn't possible, Darius. Sir. Nobody is capable of killing a nephilim.”

  "I don't tell soulhunters to do the impossible."

  "But a nephilim... they're stronger than demons, how can I retrieve his soul?”

  I look down. A young guy smiles up at me from a photograph, hooded jacket casually open across his broad chest, his violet-flecked blue eyes the single betrayal of his heritage.

  “Not again. Please.” The human world is abhorrent, and each time I'm sent to retrieve demon souls I pray it’s my last. My time should be up now—I should have my freedom.

  "Ava. We’ve chosen you to do this. Your skills as a soulhunter are some of the best, as is your ability to blend in. There is no one else we trust to finish the job.”

  The backhanded compliment doesn't detract from the magnitude of what he's asking me. I wipe a hand across my face to disguise the anxiety pulling down the corners of my mouth. I never show nerves or weakness, but I’m close to freaking out.

  “The previous soulhunters failed. I misjudged them. I am not misjudging you, because I’ve seen what you can do. The nephilim are strong, but I know you’re capable of succeeding. I know you will make the right choices.” The unmistakable warning in his voice dampens my desire to retort. There’s no way I can refuse.

  Each time Darius sends me to collect a soul, he informs me I'll receive my freedom when I return. Yet every time I complete my mission, Darius calls me back to his office and again commands me to return to the living hell of humans and demons. Just one more. Every time.

  Two years since I snatched my chance, left my world of the Fated behind, and took on the duties of a soulhunter. As a reckless teenager, I didn't listen to my people who told me I’d be making a grave mistake. I never considered life would be worse as a soulhunter than staying with my family and the Fated, but I’ve learned my people are right. A soulhunter's life is worse. The threat of death follows each day, and many of us never return from our missions.

  People like Daniel. My stomach turns over.

  "How did they fail?" I ask. “Can nephilim sense soulhunters? Is that why?”

  “No. Your essence is no different to a human.”

  “How am I different?” Why are you sending me to my death?

  “Are you questioning my judgement?”

  I stare at my boots. “No.”

  A shadow crosses Darius's face as he rises and moves across the room to the bookshelf spanning the wall. He traces a finger along a line of brown books and pulls one out.

  Darius tosses the book next to the manila folder. "Everything we know from the past can be found inside these."

  I tip my head to read the spine, trying to decipher the words stamped in gold leaf on the well-worn book. Nephilim.

  "But I know the history," I say. “I learned at the academy.”

  Darius leans towards me and I shrink back. Why can I never bite my tongue? His grey eyes darken; his face an uncomfortable distance from mine. "You don't know their future."

  "Sorry."

  Darius steps back and folds his arms across his chest. "You are unwise to question us. You are here to do as we tell you. How many times do I need to remind you of that?"

  "I'll do what you say."

  "Very sensible, Ava." He reaches into his drawer again, pulls out a soul crystal, and places it between us. The reality of what he's asking hits home. Larger than the ones I've been given before, the crystal sparkles as if the illumination comes from within. Rainbows dazzle as they spread across the room, colouring Darius's face.

  "You know what to do with this, of course," he says.

  Capture his soul inside. Bring the crystal back. Don't fail.

  My heart thumps, and my palms slick with perspiration as I ready myself to raise the next question. Cool, collected Ava fails me when I need her.

  Darius speaks before I can ask. "This time, I promise to grant you freedom. I have contracted with the high angels—I cannot refuse you."

  My eyes sting with tears of weakness I will never let anybody see. I want to shake Darius, scream at him not to lie to me again, cry that he's broken his word so many times. But they won't break me.

  Why involve the high angels in a soulhunter mission? They don’t bother with us lowly troops. Their involvement screams danger, but Darius's face betrays nothing.

  He returns to his chair, indicating with a flick of his fingers that I should take the items he provided. My damp palms stick to the manila folder as I pick it up. I tuck the file underneath the book and try my hardest to hide my shaking hands as I pocket the crystal.

  "Goodbye, Ava." Darius turns to a clipboard and traces a finger down the list. "Ask Ben to enter when you leave."

  I step out of Darius’s office with my heart bouncing around in my chest. Two years is a long time to survive in the field, and a bloody long time to be knocked back by Darius every time I ask when I’ll gain my freedom.

  I duck my head. I don't want to acknowledge the row of unfortunate soulhunters waiting on the narrow benches. I only care about my own success or failure.

  "You're next," I mutter to the guy sitting nearest the door. He refuses to look at anything but his scuffed boots, a contrast to the gleaming marble floor. This guy disconnects too. We all do.

  I never meet the same soulhunter twice.

  Darius wants me to retrieve a nephilim soul.

  What the ever-loving hell?

  How does Darius think I’ll manage to take down a nephilim? That’s a soulhunter suicide mission. I pull out the picture he gave me and remember the first time I saw a picture of one in Daniel’s class. This nephilim is a good-looking guy. I’d see the attraction if it weren’t for the smug arrogance hidden in his expression. Or is this look supposed to be seductive? Who knows, I guess you have to be pretty self-assured to spend your life seducing people to their death. Or pretend to be self-assured, like I do.

  I shudder, remembering Daniel’s words about others not surviving against nephilim.

  But I’m not that Ava. The confused, frightened Fated girl left long ago, and I’m fucking g
ood at what I do. Daniel told me I can survive, and I’m still here. I repeat my mantra: Do not show weakness, do not lose.

  Daniel. Some days memories of him and the few days we spent together, in conflict and more, encroach. I replay the night Sarah died and summon as many images as I can to figure out who Daniel was with and what they were doing. I replay their conversation over and over, but nothing makes sense. My injured state at the time doesn’t help. Was Reuben another soulhunter? Did demons kill them both? I don’t know what happened to Daniel, but whatever his fate, I sure as hell won’t let that happen to me.

  The soul crystal nestles in my pocket against my hip, and I curl my hand around it, squeezing the crystal until the hardness bites into my palm. Where do the captured souls go when I hand over the crystals to Darius?

  The majority of soulhunters don’t survive long enough to consider this, and I can never ask my treacherous questions.

  One more soul, and I’m out of here.

  I straighten as I continue along the bright hallway. The weak Fated girl paraded in front of Darius has to stay behind. I'm a soulhunter and a good one. If a nephilim soul is required to end my servitude, I'll give this impossible mission my best.

  No, I'll bloody succeed. No one has beaten me yet, and nobody will. This is more than my life hanging on the line—I’ve spent two years fighting for my freedom and I’m almost there.

  Darius promised. He’s commanded by the high angels.

  I flick open the file and read the name, then pull out his photo. Cute but deadly, huh? Well, Keir, you’re my lucky last. Shoving the image into my back pocket, I stride out of the academy.

  Bring it on, nephilim boy.

  Part Two

  Chapter Eighteen

  I stride along the corridor to the entrance of the lecture theatre, rucksack slung over my shoulder and campus map in my mouth. Groups crowd outside, chattering, and I avoid looking at them. The girls I stop next to eye me, and I raise a pierced eyebrow at them. They might rock the Barbie doll look, but I have more of an bright-haired, big-booted leave me the hell alone image.

  The doors open and the previous lecture-goers flood out. I push through them and into the vast room. Students weave around me as I stop to survey the crowd. This room is bloody huge—how will I be able I spot him amongst over a hundred people? I'm good but not that good.

  I slide onto a low bench seat and place my full backpack beside me. I wriggle down in the seat and pull my short black skirt straight, before resting my heavy boots on the seat in front; I'll check the rest of the room out once the lecture starts.

  "Excuse me."

  A slightly built girl frowns at my legs blocking her way to the seat beside me. A mouse. I giggle to myself. She is, in every detail. Short, small features, nondescript, brown hair—right down to her tiny voice. I slowly pull one leg and then the other down, not moving enough for the girl to pass without brushing me. The girl draws in a breath and hugs her books tightly to her chest as she slides through the gap, eyes on the floor.

  "Hey," I say

  The girl's eyes widen. "Hi," she squeaks.

  Definitely a mouse girl. "I'm Ava, and I don't bite."

  "I'm Dahlia, and you look like you might."

  "Do I? Why?"

  Dahlia examines me in greater detail than the girls did earlier. I flash her a grin. "Girls like you often do."

  "What? And they don't?" I point my pen towards the two blonde friends from outside, now wandering past us to the seats behind.

  "They don't bite, but their claws are sharp," says Dahlia, quietly.

  "Ah, clever. We can be friends."

  Dahlia opens her mouth to respond, but the lecturer's voice booms through the speakers and silences the room.

  I don't listen to much of the lecture, spending the next hour checking out people around me. Bland. Boring. Nondescript human lives. Some shift uncomfortably at my gaze, so I keep my eyes on them for longer, daring them to keep looking.

  If only they knew the truth about their world and what I did for them, stopping demons from stealing their souls. Then they wouldn't look at me like I'm some kind of fucking freak show. I give up, bored. No nephilim eyes stand out amongst the sea of mundanity.

  I summon a memory of his picture from the manila folder back in my room. Is the image his current appearance? When was the photo taken? Humans changed a lot at this age, and in his half-human form, he would too. Great.

  At least I'm in the right town and the right college—now I need to find the right person and get this over with. I roll my head from side to side, stretching the muscles in my neck. I don't want to stay a day longer than necessary in this godforsaken place.

  Dahlia taps dutifully on her laptop, recording the lecture on her phone, oblivious to the restless girl next to her. I yawn and stretch my legs out to rest my feet on the back of the seat in front again. The guy seated there tuts and pushes at my boots. I refuse to move them and when he turns to say something, I scowl at him. He turns back round sharply and mutters something to the guy next to him. Yawning, I shift downwards in my seat and close my eyes.

  "Ava!"

  I open one eye to see Dahlia standing over me. "Time to go. You might want to sleep through classes, but I don't—come on."

  Dahlia slides past and stalks off; I catch up in a few strides. "What class do you have now?"

  Dahlia pauses outside the lecture theatre. "Nothing, you?"

  "Same. What should we do then?"

  Dahlia stiffens. "I have things to do. On my own."

  "Oh sorry, I was hoping we could become besties." I grin at her.

  Dahlia stares at me as if I've recently landed on the planet, which I guess is half-true. "First of all, I don't really like you, and secondly, nobody says besties anymore. Please leave me alone." She scurries away.

  I wrinkle my nose, glancing around. Well, that was blunt. The break between lectures brought a new student throng walking down the corridor, and I rest against the wall, watching the stragglers leave the theatre.

  A guy walks out on his own, staring under long lashes at a sheet of paper in front of him. His dark hair falls casually into his eye and he shrugs his bag onto a shoulder as he passes. I straighten, comparing him to the image in my mind. Taller than most men. Check. Athletic build. Check. The hair. Longer than in the picture. A closer inspection is required. I catch up alongside and jostle him, pretending I'm pushed by the couple passing me.

  A shock surges from the place our bodies touch and into my head, blurring the world as a white light closes out my vision for a second. The panic that he's somehow zapped me nephilim-style recedes when his demeanour and interest in me don't change

  "Sorry," I mutter.

  The guy turns his head towards me and I no longer hold any doubt. Not only is there a beautiful symmetry to his face, but below his heavy brow, glacial blue eyes regard me, the violet tinge to the irises betraying his bloodline. Gotcha.

  "Umm, no problem." I'm caught in his allure but, weirdly, the guy can't hold my look, shifting his focus back to the paper in his hand.

  Wow. I wasn't expecting this. Arrogant, good-looking guy aware of his heat factor? That’s who I thought I’d meet. The good-looking part is right though. If he'd carried himself with confidence, every girl in the hallway would be staring at him.

  Instead, I run a gaze over the broad back beneath his black T-shirt, the muscles of his long legs, and take an extra few seconds to appraise his squeezable ass as he stumbles off, running a hand though his hair as he walks.

  I weave between students, following at a distance. The nephilim reaches the library and I hover in the doorway, watching him chat to the librarian. The young woman with the brown ponytail and pink cheeks points him to a different area, and I smile as the woman's gaze lingers on the guy a little too long.

  I need to fill out my borrower’s application, a perfect excuse to hang around and watch him. Pulling the form from my bag, I lean against the counter. I scrawl Ava Ford and my address, ensuring my
date of birth matches the one on the enrolment form I faked a couple of days ago.

  The nephilim sits at a corner desk, pulls a laptop from his bag, and switches it on. A girl approaches, and he turns a thousand watt smile in her direction. My pen clatters to the desk as mousy Dahlia sits next to him.

  What the hell? My plan of action rapidly dissipates. Past assignments taught me hot guys plus my alluring self equals souls taken in no time. Not happening this time, if he prefers plain girls, I huff. Worth a shot, I guess. I slip the form away and saunter over to the couple.

  "Hi again." I set my bag on the desk, knocking Dahlia's papers to one side. They look up at me, faces a mixture of fascination and alarm.

  "Hello, Ava,” says Dahlia.

  I shoot Dahlia a smile. "Dahlia." My eyes shift to the nephilim, gauging his reaction. He stares at his laptop, refusing to meet my gaze.

  "Gonna introduce me to your boyfriend?" I ask, manoeuvring myself into the chair opposite them.

  Dahlia scratches her cheek. "Boyfriend? Hear that, Keir?"

  Keir.

  Keir gives Dahlia a crooked smile.

  "Oh?" Yes. One step closer.

  "We're not a couple, Ava," he says.

  I'm unsure what hits me the hardest—the fact he knows my name or the dark look in his eyes. For a second, I swear I've looked into his eyes before and a glimmer of recognition flickers across his too. No, all nephilim eyes are the same.

  "Old friends?" I ask in a light tone. "Or just study buddies?"

  "Kindergarten. Friends for years—we just happened to get into the same college." The mouse smiles.

  "Just happened?" I could imagine the temptation to follow this guy across the country, if I were a human girl.

  Dahlia's eyes narrow for a moment. "Yes."

  "Lucky," I reply. "I know no one. Just shipped in. Guess that'll teach me not to travel around Europe before college."

  "Europe?" asks Keir.