Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (14 page)

“This alley doesn’t exist… I mean…” I let the words trail, feeling stupid.

“Yes and no.” Zig halts outside a shop with a door half my size. “In our world it exists. It’s not accessible to humans, though. See right there at the corner with vines covering it?” I nod. “It’s a portal leading to, well, another world.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Portals?”

“Doorways to other dimensions. There are a lot of them all over the place. Always have been since the beginning of time. One needs to know where to look.”

“Aren’t they… guarded these portals?”

Zig shrugs. “The only people who know about them are Otherworlders. We are here.” He points to what looks like a dollhouse door.

 I eye the tiny door, then its windows with huge yellow words. Familie Hansen Schneiderei. I look up at Zig. “Tailors?”

“Getting you measured and suited. Come on, lovely.”

“Can’t you just give me a clear answer?”

He grins. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Cryptic is annoying.” I gesture at the door. “I think that door doesn’t obey standard dimensions.”

“Depends on how you define standard.” He strides to the door and the frame expands, hugging him. Seconds later, it swallows him up. I blink.

I force my feet forwards, my hand clutched on my chest, and take a deep breath. Zig sticks his head out, one eyebrow up.

“I promise it’s not painful.” He thrusts a hand to me. “It’s like a lover’s embrace.”

I imagine Rolf’s arms around me. With that picture in mind, I place my hand on his and step through. I glance back to see the door return to its normal size. I turn to Zig’s smug expression. “Told you.”

I
TWIST AROUND
to look at my surroundings. Rows and rows of shelves stretch endlessly inside the vast space, burdened with fabrics of all colours neatly stacked together. The column on the middle is filled with what I think is fur, leather, crocodile skin, buttons, and ribbons. The silence equals that of a cave, the air a mixture of dampness and new fabrics. There is a dull humming somewhere inside the room. It stops at irregular intervals, before starting all over again. From a distance, the faint sound of metal wheels from horse-driven carriages on cobblestones reaches my ears.

Zig pulls to an abrupt stop, and I slam into him. I mumble, “Sorry.” My eyes once again study the unusual interior.

“Why didn’t we just ghost in?” I ask, peeking at the darker areas of the room, sidling closer to Zig.

“The owner is the cantankerous sort. No need making his day more dramatic,” Zig says from the corner of his mouth.

Someone clears his throat. Twice.

“So this is Ernest’s Novice. Tiny little thing, aren’t you? It will not take much to clad you up.”

I yank my gaze from a particularly featherless bird perched on a shelf and to the direction of the melodious voice of the six-foot man-creature standing behind a gleaming wooden counter. His bulging beady eyes study me with unabashed curiosity. He tilts his tiny head perched on a slim neck. I shiver involuntarily, and my mind screams,
Run!

The man hops onto the counter, too agile for his age, then drops to the ground in front of me, huge transparent green wings fluttering furiously on his back. The full view of his elongated stomach and impressive extra pair of legs clad in black trousers. Three pair of legs.
He has three pair of legs!
The man reminds me of a praying mantis. He extends his long arm and offers his hand. “I go by Rikar. Rikar Hansen. It is my utmost pleasure to finally meet you.” And again, the melodious voice, a complete opposite to his body.

“Ana.” I swallow hard, eager to dispatch my name so we can get ahead with the program and leave this place. My gaze drops to his slender hand,  and further up. His forearm is covered with minute hairs. I wince as Zig’s fingers burn deeply into my skin, pushing me forwards, and I imagine how many ways I’ll scold him.

I place  my hand on Rikar’s and he bows his head and touches his face to my hand.

“Don’t do anything drastic, like move too quickly.” Zig’s whispers in my ear

I tilt my head up to him. Up close, I see silver specks in his eyes. “Why?”

“He might mistake you for food.”

 I stumble three steps back, dislodging our hands in a hurry to keep a healthy distance between Rikar’s mandible and me. Zig sniggers, then chuckles louder.

Rikar lifts his head to Zig, a smile on his lips, green wings fluttering behind him. “You, my dear gentleman, are wicked. Pure evil.” He turns to me. “Don’t take any offence. Siegfried thinks he is funny.”

Zig leaves to do several collections and when he returns we leave Rikar’s shop he leads me back to the Graben, and I scuttle after him. “That was scary.” I breathe out and stop as a black horse-driven carriage clatters by. “He does have a beautiful voice, though.”

“Yes. He does. Kind of draws in his customers so they don’t notice when he’s pricking them with those tiny pins. He’s a good tailor, though. Does most of our clothing. There are more like him through the portal in the alley.”

Rikar scared me enough, so I don’t ask Zig any more questions. I’m eager to go home and relax before dinner. “So I guess our plans are over for today?” I ask hopefully.

“No.” He steers me inside one of those shops that scream glamour and extravagance.

“You need dresses. Sparkly dresses.”

“Um, why?”

“For dinners and events. Ernest believes in dressing to the nines. Very particular. Never misses an opportunity to grace his halls with guests.”

***

By the time we finish shopping, my feet ache and I’m hungry. If Zig suggests hopping into one more shop, I’m sure I won’t be above kicking his shin. Because that’s the only place in his entire six-foot something I can reach that hurts. Lucky for him, he ghosts us into my room. He drops the two bags on the white and red carpet containing high heels, dinner dresses worth enough to feed my family for a couple of months, and lacy undergarments. Any mortification experienced during our shopping faded the minute he held three of those lacy things. Lea once told me that guys are better at choosing women’s undergarments, or at least Reiner is. My drawers are full of lacy stuff I consider sexy. Zig’s choices prove I don’t have any idea what sexy entails.

The clock on my nightstand blinks five thirty. Anton called from his hockey practise to say he’ll be home at six. Dad will pick up Lucy from her class before picking up Mom. They should be home by six thirty.

 I roll on my bed and kick off my shoes, groaning. “I’m not sure Grim will appreciate us emptying his cards.”

Zig lowers himself on the computer chair. For such a huge body, he defines elegance with the way he casually throws one leg over his knee. He doesn’t look even the least bit tired. More like he just woke up. So unfair. “Quite on the contrary. He will applaud us for the good use we made of them. Don’t worry your pretty curly head about money, lovely. Ernest has an obscene amount of that. Problem has always been how to spend it.” He throws me a smile. Zig savoured shopping even more than Lea and I when we shop together.

I try to picture Grim working behind a counter to earn his check. I shake my head at that image. “So, is Grim, you know…” I bite my tongue, weighing the words.

“Spit it out, Ana.”

“Just wondering how he earns this
obscene
amount of money. Or is soul collecting a lucrative business?”

 “Ernest has stocks all over the place. He owns shares in almost every country.” He looks proud.

“Isn’t that a bit like cheating, him being supernatural royalty and what not?”

“Cheating?” He snorts. “He doesn’t even know how anything works. He has people working for him.”

Interesting.
“Do these people know who their employer is?”

“Nah. They just know their employer is a tycoon who travels a lot.”

“Yeah, until he appears to collect their souls. They get to know each other intimately,” I mutter under my breath, pulling my mobile from the front of my jeans pocket and text Lea that I’ll meet her at eight at Copa Cagrana. Minutes later, the mobile vibrates with a “Laters” from Lea. I text Rolf to ask how he’s doing. Seconds pass, then the vibration.

Better. We still meeting Lea and Rein?

Yeah. Want to come 4 dinner? I got your music homework.
I press send and wait. Having Rolf for dinner would be fantastic. As a bonus Rolf and I can head up to my room to study for an hour or two before heading out to meet Lea and Reiner. Or make out. Yeah, right! Unless Mom has gone deaf and Dad blind.

I grip the mobile to my chest, waiting for Rolf to text, and turn to find Zig studying me, twirling that wicked knife in his fingers.

“So how did you and Grim meet?”

His shifts his gaze to the knife. “Long story.” He rises to his feet and snatches the violin from the floor next to the computer. It looks like a toy in his hands. “How long have you been playing?”

Whatever happened in his past must be painful so I follow his cue on changing the subject. “I thought you knew
every
little detail about me.”

“I must have concentrated on other aspects of those details
.
” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You any good?”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Am I
any
good? I’m mesmerising, hypnotic.” This time
he
rolls his eyes. “When I have this violin in my hands, I feel… free. How old are you?”

“A hundred and thirty. For such a tiny person, your humility is impressive.” He hands me the violin. “Want to play?”

The phone vibrates.

Would love 2. I do need help with my homework after all ;) C U at 7
.

Guess our minds gravitate towards the same idea. I look at the clock. Five forty-five. Just fifteen more minutes, then I’ll go down to start on dinner. Fridays are the busiest days for Mom and Dad. Mom balances her ledger, and Dad does his weekend deliveries. So I end up cooking dinner, which I love. Since Rolf and I met, he’s been coming over to dine with my family.

“Lover boy romancing you over text?”

I press my lips together to wipe the silly smile off my face. Unsuccessfully. I shouldn’t take the bait he’s thrown at me, but I can’t resist. “He has a name, Ziggie.
Rolf
.”

He waves a hand, brushing my comment away. “I’m better looking and better company. Ah, I like my new nickname. Sounds like the start of some sort of seduction dance.” He slouches in the chair, his legs taking up the floor space.

I roll my eyes. Leave it to him to swerve the conversation to flirting. “We have about fifteen minutes before Anton arrives.”

He leans forwards eagerly, curled fists tucked under his chin. With his dirty blond curls falling over his forehead, shining eyes, and his rapt attention, he reminds me of those boys I tutor. The mischievous ones.

Gingerly, I run my fingers along the violin’s glossy red-brown body. It took me a lot of babysitting, housework, and lots and lots of grovelling and bribing to get this baby in my arms. Violet, my secret name just between the two of us.

I shift on the bed and position Violet between my shoulder and my chin. The fingers of my left hand find their appropriate places on the strings. With my right hand, I position the bow, hovering over the strings.

I breathe in and close my eyes. Everything, every sound, fades. The notes from a composition I had written two weeks ago trickle through my mind and flow through my fingers. And then I’m an eagle soaring in the sky, wings spread wide.

The song ends, and I open my eyes to find Zig is sitting on the floor in front of me, eyes wide, glowing from the inside out. He blinks, then rubs his eyes as if coming out from a fog. He pulls himself slowly to his feet.

“Beautiful. You ever played for anyone?” His voice is barely a whisper of awe.

“Why thank you, Siegfried. And yes. Christmas and Easter concerts. I’m in the school orchestra.” I grin, feeling relaxed.

 “Not for lover boy?”.

“Oh, come on, Zig. Use his name. You make him sound like a Casanova. And yes. From time to time. He plays piano.”

“He’s good looking and can play the piano. I think I hate him. How long did it take you to learn that?”

“Mom says I was born with music in my blood, that my genes are stamped all over in G clefs.” I giggle. “It takes me about the entire length of a song to learn it.” He frowns. “I learn by ear.”

The door downstairs slams shut. Anton yells, “I’m home,” blasting the quiet space into a discordant choir of his adolescent voice. Stomping feet make their way up the stairs.