Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (16 page)

Maybe him leaving is a good idea. But first…“What’s going on with you, Ro?” He shakes his head slowly, eyes wide, terrified. “I’m freaking out here, and I need to know, understand this. Come sit with me for a short while.” I hold out my hand, even though my whole body screams at me to stop, to step away.

He jerks back and plasters his body further into the wall, a wild, caged-animal look on his face. He stares at my hand for a moment, as he fights to bring his breathing under control. Finally, he places his hand in mine. I lead him to my bed and scoot to brace my back on the wall, then pull my legs up. Rolf leans back on the wall.

 “Are you okay?”

He studies his hands. “Are
you
all right?”

“No. You scared me.”

Heavy footsteps halt outside my bedroom door seconds before it swings inward. Dad pokes his head in, narrowing his eyes at me, then Rolf. He straightens, takes a step inside the room, and folds his arms across his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be sitting by the computer, noses buried in books?” I straighten my legs and slide them off the bed.

“Dad, please.”

“Silvana, can you step into the hall for a minute?” His voice is so stern it brooks no place for argument.

I roll my eyes and reach to give Rolf’s hand a squeeze like I usually do, but pull back. I whisper, “Be right back,” and scoot out of the bed, heart pounding in my chest.

After pulling the door shut, I round on Dad before he can say anything. “Rolf and I weren’t doing anything, Dad. You and Mom have to trust me.”

“You
are
seventeen and still live under our roof. You adhere to the rules we’ve set. Don’t you think Anton and Lucy look up to you?”

“But we weren’t doing anything, just talking.” I want to yell. Knowing Dad, I’d end up getting myself grounded. Not worth it.

Dad scrutinizes me for a few seconds, then rubs his forehead. “You know I’m doing all this for your own good, right?”

More for your peace of mind.

I nod like a good girl who’s meant to set a good example for her siblings. He sighs, gives me a hard look, and says, “You think with your heart, Silvana. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just be careful. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of my daughter. Please don’t do anything stupid.” He leaves, and I slip back inside the room to find Rolf pacing the carpet, one hand rubbing his neck and the other clamped over his mouth.

“I’m leaving.”

“Don’t. Don’t leave. Talk to me, Ro.” I need to understand this new transformation in him.

He wheels around, eyes wild and desperate. “Why? Why do you care?”

My mouth drops open. “Why do
I
care? How can you even ask me that, Ro? We’ve been together one year. Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t love you, care for you?” Something snaps inside me, mingles with the fear churning inside me. “Don’t you think I have reason enough to care? Or do you think I’ve been hanging around you just for fun?” As if a switch has been turned off, the wildness in his eyes disappears. He looks like a startled bird ready to take flight. His eyes dart to the door. “Don’t run away from this, Ro.”

The muscles in his throat work furiously, as he lifts his eyes to mine. “I’m not running away, Ana. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I love you so much. But I’m so afraid… I have to leave.” He brushes past me, but halts, turning around to face me. He bridges the space between us, his eyes focused at the space above my shoulder. “Something is wrong. With me. I—I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember. Right now—” His eyes shift to mine. He cups my cheek. “I
can’t
stay.” His hand slips from my face, curls into a fist, and presses into his forehead. “Tell me what happened. Please.” Even that one word is loaded with so much pain.

“One minute we were kissing, and the next you were furious. You thought someone had been in my room and made threats about…”

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns away.

Is he sick? Is missing his father responsible for this violent side of him? I clench and unclench my hands to stop myself from reaching for him. Scenes of a few minutes ago when he wasn’t himself flash through my mind. I take a step back and breathe deeply. I need to know what’s happening to him. I can’t abandon him now when he looks so vulnerable, confused. I slip my arms around his waist. His body stiffens. Our short-lived kissing session feels like it happened millions of years ago. I press my cheek on his back. Finally, his body loosens.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly.

“What are you talking about?” He doesn’t turn around. If only I could slip into his head to know what he’s thinking, catch a glimpse of what’s bothering him. “Please look at me.”

He shakes his head, his body trembling in my arms. A deep low growl rips from his lips. He wrenches away from me, and yanks the door open and slips out. The door shuts with a final click.

I stare at the closed bedroom door, as wave after wave of crashing silence roars inside my head. What just happened? Rolf has never walked out on a conversation before. Neither have I seen this anguish, fear, and desperation on his face.

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.

S
ATURDAY 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?”