Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (17 page)

“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.

S
UNDAY 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.

“Hostiles, on the other hand, are souls that escape before we can get to them. They have no desire to leave this life. So they latch onto any breathing thing. Even animals. No one, human or otherwise, can survive two souls fighting for supremacy in one body. If you feel you are in danger, wield it as though your life depends on that knife.”

I grab the bedpost, as the information sinks in. “Would the Hostiles attack my family, my friends? Why would I attract them?” I imagine some cloud rushing on someone with a single-minded intent to occupy a body, and I shudder.

“They could use anyone’s body, but prefer a body that has a long life. With you being cured—”

“
Cured
?”

He tilts his head. “Cured of mortality. Immortal, if you prefer. With you being cured—like any other Collector—you are an attraction to their greedy appetites.”

Does he have to make it sound like being mortal is a sickness? I shake my head and scan the dagger with its wicked sharp edge and smooth handle. I’ve never seen something so plain yet beautiful and… scary. I lift my eyes to his.

“But, I can’t—”

“You can and you will. You are a natural, Novice.” He starts to pace. “The ball is on Monday at midnight. Siegfried will come for you. I believe you found everything you needed in town on Friday?”

It takes a moment to realise he’s switched the topic. I nod and eye the thing in my hands. Where do I hide it? What if any member of my family discovers it? How do I
wield
it? And a natural? Could anything be more cryptic?

“What did you mean—?” The pine scent tickles my nose. I snap my gaze up. He’s gone. I quickly scan the room, while listening for any movement within the house. Where do I hide it? Where would anyone avoid?

I hurry to the wardrobe, pull open the drawer overflowing with my underwear, and tuck it in the very back. Then rearrange everything back as it was. That will do until I know what to do with it.

***

It’s 6:45 a.m. What would Zaynab think if I showed up on her doorstep at this hour? I grab my mobile and dial her number. It rings and rings. Disconnects. I toss the mobile on the bed, tug my hair back, and slump on the bed. My eyes drop to my wrists, tracing the freshly done daisy tattoos with my fingers.

What the hell’s going on? There’s Grim’s eagerness to trade souls—or was it normal for him to do this? Not that I regret it. Then there’s Rolf’s violent episode, Schuster’s odd reaction to the music sheets, and Schulz and Frau Ivasec, two people I’ve never seen even say hello to each, arguing passionately in the hallway. That in itself might not be unusual, but the words spoken were strange. Schulz said something about a keeper. Then there’s Zaynab’s confession. She spoke about a veil and Fates. From who and why?