Page 73 of Reaper’s Curse

Allowing my muscles to relax and my mind to ease, I turned my gaze to the hazy blue sky of coming night and saw…smoke.

Apple tossed and forgotten, I leaped to my feet and made my way directly to the source of the smoke.

How many hours had it been? Too many, by my estimation. And the smoke was the first thing to raise a fraction of hope in my dark mind. I moved through the trees as swiftly and silently as the god of gentle death. Always quiet and always quick. My journey came to a stop outside of a small wooden cabin set deep within the forest.

The covered porch looked shabby and barren, and the building didn’t appear to be much larger than one room, possibly two, with either a high ceiling or a loft. A soft light glowed in the windows, and an endless stream of smoke billowed from the stone chimney.

Positioned in the dark shadows against a thick tree, I studied the small home and waited for the signs of life within to reveal themselves in the few visible windows. I stood still and vigilant until the sun was long gone and the moon owned a sky streaked in ribbons of greens and blues. When the moon was at its highest, the front door opened, and the Killian stepped onto the front porch.

“I know you are there, soul hunter. Reveal yourself.”

After a mere fraction of hesitation, I stepped free of the shadows, striding only close enough for the soft glow of the moon to gently illuminate my presence.

The Killian nodded then turned and walked back into the cabin, leaving the front door wide open. A clear invitation for me to follow.

The question was, did I want to follow?

Tracking down the Killian had been on my list. Not only because the thing had locked me in the drunkard cell and forced the detox upon me, the detox that had opened my mind to remembering. But also because of the fight I had witnessed the other day between the Killian and Raven.

Still, a small cabin in the woods. No one around for reaper knew how far. And a waiting and willing Killian. The circumstances made me uncomfortable in my skin, and I couldn’t help but see the open door to the cabin as a trap waiting to spring.

“Are you coming or not?” The Killian’s voice slipped through the night air like Charon’s boat on the River Styx.

I heaved a breath and strode forward. At that moment, fear was nonexistent to me. I was a reaper. The Killian was a higher-level reaper. We played for the same team.

And if for any reason things came to blows, I was more than a reaper. I was a soul hunter, whatever that meant for me and the creature that came before me. I possessed new talents and skills, and I was still learning what they all were.

One step into the cabin and I stopped. Ignoring the small bowls of burning herbs in the four corners, which explained his witchy smell, I locked my stare upon the Killian.

Without his overly large reaper robes, the Killian looked like any other male with dark skin, black hair, and stormy eyes. I took note of nothing extraordinary in the reaper’s features―aside from the fact he was on the tall side. He sat in a chair at the table, a foot propped up on the opposing knee and a comfortably relaxed posture through his upper body.

Unlike the other reapers I had seen when my soul hunter sight first started to confuse my vision, the Killian didn’t host a green aura, but rather a green-tinted silver haze shimmered around his body. If I had bothered to blink my soul hunter sight into place the other day when I’d come across the Killian and Raven fighting, I would have been able to compare their auras.

The shock of seeing the two going toe-to-toe had blanked my mind of the possibility, though. The talent and my blended reborn self yet too new to react on instinct.

With a quick scan verifying no one other than the Killian and me stood in or around the cabin, I heel-kicked the door closed behind me, planted my feet shoulder width apart, and crossed my arms. “Why did you smash my meds and lock me in the cell?”

“You know why.” He stretched his back. It cracked with a series of pops. “The reward was on the other side, was it not? Now you know.”

“If by reward, you mean memories,” I said flatly.

The Killian nodded with a tilt of his head, and I curled my hands into fists, recalling the way he had pushed me into the cell without an explanation.

“How did you know? About me and what I am?”

He raised his chin, a half smirk pressing to the side of his mouth. “I didn’t know for certain, but I suspected. I was here, trapped in the Veritas territory, when Bogart brought your father into the citadel, with you in tow. Or, I guess, the child that existed before you.”

I didn’t open my mouth to contradict him. That boy had been a different person, yet he was still a part of who I was now. The two creatures that came together back then had become something that was neither one nor the other, but a blend landing somewhere in between.

And that newer, blended version had been operating in a type of half-powered mode until I’d awoken, revitalized and burning with purpose.

“At the end of that visit,” the Killian continued, “they managed to smuggle out one of the soul hunters. It didn’t look so good, so logic suggests it would have required a new vessel before too long.”

“Host,” I corrected.

“Semantics.” He shrugged. “You were the only soul hunter they managed to smuggle out. Moving things through the barrier got more difficult after the pub owner became afflicted.”

Earl? My head jerked back.