Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (31 page)

“My
what
?”

“He saw you first. At the U-Bahn,” Zig says, and I swing on my seat to face him. “Guarantees him the first spot on your list of evening escorts.”

Evening escorts?
“Explain.”

“‘Spread the love.’ That’s Ernest’s motto. Remember when I told you he likes his guests to mingle at his parties?”

It hits me. “He set me up for a
date
?” Zig smiles. “Why would he do that?”

“Everyone needs love. His words, not mine.” Zig shifts on his seat. An extremely beautiful, pale-skinned woman sits at his side. He follows my gaze. “Oh. Sorry. Sylvie, this is Ana. Ana, Sylvie’s my date for the evening.”

Two white fangs peek at the corners of Sylvie’s lips. The gills on her slender neck flutter as she breathes. I have a sudden urge to duck under the table and hide. She extends a webbed hand to me. “Enchanté.”

I shake her hand. It’s cool, with a wettish feel to it. “Um, nice to meet you.”

Zig chuckles. “You can close your mouth now. You should take a look at your escort list in the library.” He jerks his thumb towards the hallway door. “You’re set up for the next fifty years or so.”

“Grim knows I have a boyfriend.” Exasperation seeps into my voice.

“And lover boy isn’t here, is he? Besides, it’s only dinner. He doesn’t expect you to make out with anyone. Unless you want to.” He winks. Beside me, Axe looks hopelessly pleased.

I really need to talk to Grim about this. “So, French, eh? Well done, Zig.”

“You wouldn’t believe what an exquisite kisser.”

How do they kiss around those fangs?
“I’ll take your word for it.”

Sylvie traces her fingers along Zig’s, catching his attention, and brushes her lips against his, all while glaring at me. Sheesh! I didn’t mean to monopolize the guy. I shift to face my date.

***

Grim leaves the hall for the umpteenth time to collect souls. This is my chance. There’s only one place to get answers. I excuse myself and slip out of the room. No one’s loitering in the hallways. I shrug my feet out of the heels, sling them on my fingers, and slink towards the library.

Outside the door, I press my ear on the cool heavy wood’s surface. No voices or movements. After a quick look up and down the hallway, I nudge the door open with my fingers and duck through it. I clutch my chest to keep my heart from exploding and glance around. What the hell was I thinking coming here?

I push away from the door and, with knees trembling, creep to the shelves on the far right. The books are arranged in no particular order: modern and ancient art from different cultures, steam engine building manuals, cooking recipes, classical music, architecture, castles. Down the line is a huge book:
Afterworld History
. It’s going to take me centuries to find anything in here. I grab the metal ladder and slide it to the other side of the room. I cringe, as it creaks, alerting the world of my presence in the room.

Sailing
,
Growing Tobacco
,
Origins of Living Things
,
Heaven and Hell
. One shelf below the titles range from
Solar Systems
to
Races of the Universe
. Bingo. As I prepare to move a step lower, my eyes zoom in on a book—an exact replica of the ballads book Rolf gave me on my last birthday. I’m about to reach for it, when voices drift from outside the library door. I slide down the ladder, my knees trembling, and crumble to the floor. I leap to my feet and look for a place to hide. The only place is behind the floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains. I won’t make it to the other side of the room in time. The door swings open.

Hell’s crap!

I
BACK UP,
until I feel the sharp edge of a shelf digging into my lower back. I crouch, grab the books on the bottom shelf, and move them as quietly as I can. For once I’m grateful for my small build. I slide in, clutch the books in front of me to cover my feet, and pray no one will stroll this side of the shelves. I clench my jaw, hoping whoever it is will leave soon before my body curls up into itself, frozen for eternity.

“It is as arranged, Sinteler. You do not need to remind me every blasted time.” Grim sounds pissed. I’m sure I’ve heard that name before, but my pulse is thudding so loud in my ears I can hardly think.

“Just a friendly reminder,” the voice, which I assume is Sinteler, announces. “You either seem distracted by your new toy, or you have completely forgotten our deal. You do remember what is on the line.” The words are spoken in a deep, lazy drawl. It’s not the tone that’s frightening. It’s the words and the weight they seem to carry.

What kind of deal? What kind of power does Sinteler possess over Grim?

“Call off your soul hounds. If I happen to catch even the slightest waft shadowing my Novice, I will call off the deal.”

Soul hounds? What are they? And why would they bother with me?

Sinteler laughs. “Oh, Ernest, you amaze me. Do you think you can extract yourself from the deal? Are you ready to risk more souls? Densys here tells me she is eager to please, isn’t that correct, Den?”

“Yes, my lord, she is.” The voice is familiar. I suck in a breath.
Schulz
?

“You are going soft, Ernest, trying to be like humans.” Sinteler pronounces the word ‘humans’ like they’re beneath bugs. “It is up to you to make sure she does her job. Thirteen months is a long time to wait for something that could be done tomorrow.”

The temperature in the room drops. “Are you going to stand there and tell me how to do my job? She is
my
Novice. I set up the conditions as I see fit.” Grim’s voice has lost any trace of civility. “If you feel inconvenienced, take it up with the Fates.”

Silence stretches. Feet pace the tiled floor.
What’s happening
?

“Heed my warning,
Ernest
,” Sinteler says. “If your people set foot in Mirrorlands, they are fair game.”

I duck my head slightly, and my heart stops. I forgot my heels.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Black familiar shoes appear in my line of vision and kick my heels subtly aside in a corner.

I’m so in trouble.

From the silence filling the air, the face-off is over. I wait until the footsteps fade and the door whispers shut before pulling from my hiding place.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Schulz snaps. I shriek and leap away, knocking my elbow on a shelf.

I’m too shocked to think about the pain. “I—”
Think, think, think
. “I was meant to meet Grim in the library.”

“Of course,” he says sarcastically.

I let the sarcasm slide and cross my hands over my chest. “You and Sinteler seem quite friendly.”

Schulz glares and snaps, “Follow me,” then spins on his heel. I scramble to shove my feet in my heels and follow. “I won’t keep you long. I have no intention of raising suspicions as to your whereabouts.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I heard you—”

“Not curious to know about the marks, are you?” He smiles, and I wish I wasn’t desperate for information. “Follow me.”

Outside the castle, he shifts us back to my world. He turns a corner and heads inside an international cuisine restaurant on the Marc-Aurel Strasse. At the door, he nods to the guy at the counter—who is positively not human given his neon green eyes with scales along his hands—and goes through a curtain ‘door’.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Draangel.”

As if I didn’t know that
. “Where are we going?”

“Patience.”

If only my hunger to know what was going on wasn’t so strong, I’d turn and stomp away. Schulz has me at a disadvantage.

We walk down the fluorescent-lit hallway, flying past locked rooms with white doors. The air feels cooler and heavier like underground space.

Finally he slows to a stop in front of one of the white-door rooms and twists the doorknob. It flies inward and immediately lights flicker from the ceiling and walls. I follow him in, taking in the rows and rows of shelves lined on the four walls, laden with flour, vegetables, and cooking pots. Other than that, the room is plain. I wrinkle my nose. The room smells like onions and unaired space.

I turn to ask what we’re doing here, but stop as he pulls out something resembling a pen from his jacket pocket. He crouches and starts tapping the floor. Seconds later, bright blue lines flash across the floor in crisscross patterns. My skin prickles the way it did the first time on top of World’s Edge. I fall two steps back, staring at what looks like geometric and astrological signs. A circle encloses them, gleaming like white fire.

“Ley lines. They’re safe. Safer than shifting.” His voice is no longer gruff, but his expression is still the same as always. “With shifting, one can be traced through the wisps that magic leaves behind. Take my hand. I would like to show you something.” Zig already explained to me about being tracked by magic. My need to know pushes my feet forwards. I place my hand on Schulz’s and step inside the circle of white light. The lights flicker. I blink, and we’re standing in an underground room. He drops my hand and waddles away. I hang back for a second, squinting at my dimly lit surroundings. The walls glitter, as if made of jewels.

“Where are we?”

“Someplace safe.” I hate these vague answers.

We pile inside a cube room made of glass. He presses his hand on the glass wall. Immediately, it lurches upward, taking my insides with it. It halts abruptly with a soft
whish
, yawns open, and we step out. My breath catches in my throat, as I spin a slow 360 degrees on my heel, taking in the star-studded sky. Up ahead, a structure, which looks like it’s made of pure glass, is illuminated by two massive floodlights.

            Around us, everything seems to be made of steel, marble, and glass. And very deserted, like the place has never been inhabited. Schulz strides forwards on the marble path scattered with leaves and vines. Overgrown grass and flowers flank the path. Every few steps, there are marble statues mounted on columns. I squint closer but can’t make out the images and words engraved on them. We dash past a marble bridge, with gleaming, rushing waters below it.

I trot after a galloping Schulz, trying to absorb everything at once. “What is this place?”

His body tenses as he says, “Home.” We halt in front of a building shaped like an hourglass, covered from top to bottom with blue and red mosaic glass.

Schulz grunts and gestures for me to follow him through an arched doorway, and into a courtyard full of intricately decorated cream marble columns. My breath catches, and I stop. Before us is a majestic castle-like building lined in dark marble. We go through a doorway, climb up a flight of marble stairs, and step inside a plain, white room scattered with musical instruments.

“Sit.” He points to a seat by a window.

I glance at the seat covered with doodles and little hearts carved on the wood. I cross my arms on my chest and lock my jaw. “I need to know what’s going on.”

Schulz studies me for a moment, before weaving his way between the rows of instruments. He returns with a honey-brown violin, which looks like it’s made of spun glass I’d once seen in Murano Island. “You will in a few minutes. I need to demonstrate something. Please, sit.”

I trace a finger on the carved drawings on the seat, before lowering myself on it and turning to face Schulz.

“Those marks were done by a child whose dream was to make my life a living hell.” He chuckles. He stares at the desk in front of me with a look I have never seen before on his face. I can only describe it as pleasure. “She was as talented as she was mischevious.” He shakes his head, handing me the violin.

My eager hands take it, and I feel complete. It’s beautiful, and seems so fragile. I wrap my fingers around its neck, praying it won’t slip from my balmy hands.

“Don’t worry.” His lips twitch. “It’s tougher than it looks. Are you in possession of the ballads book?” How does he know about that book? I stare at him wide-eyed. He raises his eyebrows, and I nod quickly. “Good. Guard it well. You will need it if we are to pull through what is coming.” He slips a ring I hadn’t noticed before from his index fingers and dumps it on the table, causing it to tinkle as it spins then settles. “Play.”

“How do you know about the book?” I ask, my head reeling at all this information being forced in my head. “What
is
coming?”

“I put the book in Rolf’s path,” he says, scowling further. “We do not have enough time for explanations. Someone is bound to notice your absence. Besides, telling you everything at once isn’t very advisable. You need to absorb the details in minimal quantity. Play.” He jerks his chin to the violin.

I glance at the bow in my hand. “What should I play?”

“Anything. If you can remember a verse from the book, that’s better.”

I sigh. Better get this over with so I can get my answers. After positioning the violin on my chin and shoulder, I let my eyes slip shut, and concentrate on a ballad I’ve been perfecting the last week.