Reaper's Blood (The Grimm Brotherhood Book 1)

by Kel Carpenter

  “Either way,” Graves said, redirecting the conversation. “You need to stay away from pretty much everyone while you’re home.”

  “Then how do you expect me to find out who killed Shep?” I demanded.

  “By waiting two weeks and then summoning his ghost. It’s as good of an option as you’ve got right now. It’s not like I can take you werewolf hunting with the other reapers. Everything we do has to be . . . subtle.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Have you met Salem?” Tamsin asked. “She doesn’t do subtle. So if that’s your grand plan—”

  “We don’t exactly have a lot of options right now,” Graves interrupted. “I’m going to train her in my downtime and hope the Brotherhood doesn’t get suspicious. As for you, keep her out of the succubus house, if you can manage that.”

  “Here we go again with the condescending Grimm attitude,” Tamsin sniped.

  “I’m not being—”

  “Yes, you are,” both Tamsin and I said at the same time. He withered under that, settling back into the passenger seat. I stuck the key in the ignition and backed out of the parking lot.

  “Look, guys. I’m not great at this, but we have a plan. Graves and I can train and work on my powers. Tamsin can come see me at my place. I just have to stay out of trouble for the next two weeks until we can summon Shep and find out who killed him. How hard can it be?”

  I really should’ve known better than to ask that question by now.

  10

  Long Walks at the Graveyard

  “I’m heading out to the—” My words fell silent as I stared at my aunt. “What are you doing?”

  She leaned back and regarded me with narrowed eyes. “Tape art,” she answered, like it was obvious. I glanced down at our kitchen table. It now resembled Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’.

  “Uh huh,” I muttered, shaking my head. I walked around the counter and turned on the faucet, filling up my water bottle. Esme was a riddle that would never be solved. I learned long ago not to bother trying.

  “Where’d you say you were headed?” Esme asked, only half paying attention as she laid down more strips of tape.

  “The graveyard,” I said, keeping it short.

  “This late at night?” she asked, seemingly nonchalant. I knew better.

  “It’s only nine, and it’s a Monday night. I doubt anyone will be out there.”

  My aunt looked up at me, pausing with her arms just an inch above the table. “It’s not people I’m concerned about.”

  “Then what is”—understanding flashed through me—“Oh.”

  She nodded twice, her lips pinched together as she placed a piece of tape and then wiped her hands on the combat pants she wore. I was pretty sure she’d made the pants herself.

  “Please be careful. Bring a mace or a baseball bat, just in case. I’ve already lost two people I love to wild animals out here.” Her words came out of concern but were spoken in the same half-interested tone.

  “Sure thing,” I answered. What was a mace or a baseball bat going to do against a werewolf? It’s not like Esme knew that, or what had actually caused those animal attacks. Not that I could tell her anything.

  I made a show of going to grab a baseball bat out of the hall closet. Esme muttered something under her breath on my way out. I couldn’t quite hear her, but it sounded like it had something to do with my ‘skinny arms’. I shook my head and walked out the front door, leaving all thoughts of my eccentric aunt behind me.

  It only occurred to me once I hopped into the Impala that I should ask Graves what would stop a werewolf. If I couldn’t use my powers yet, then I should have some other kind of defense. I opened my phone and shot off a quick text:

  If one were to have a run-in with a werewolf, how would they go about killing it?

  I hit the power button and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat as I pulled around the driveway. The Shroud gates split open, and I turned out onto Mansion Lane.

  Fun fact: every lot on the street was a mansion. Except for one. Rather than a home for the living, this one was a resting place for the dead. The graveyard sat between my property and the Morte’s residence. I’d run past it the day before while training with Graves. Or, I should say, panted like a mofo, holding my side and watching as Graves ran past it.

  Reaper or not, I wasn’t cut out for this running shit.

  I pulled into the small parking lot and ignored the trickle of unease that ran through me. Of course I was uncomfortable. I was at the cemetery where both my dad and brother were buried. The only member of my immediate family not buried here was my mother. She’d been cremated per the request in her will and scattered into the ocean. It was the main reason Shep and I kept her name. It was all we had left of her.

  While I’d been back in town a few days, I’d been avoiding coming here and using the craziness of my newfound reaperness as an excuse. With nothing but downtime now that I was supposed to be keeping a low profile, I didn’t really have that excuse anymore. And I was anything if not honest with myself.

  While an asshole, self-awareness was kinda my thing.

  So here I was. Sitting in an idling Impala staring up the stone path at a sea of ancient headstones. Leaving everything but my phone in the car, I killed the ignition and made my way up the path, walking through the black wrought-iron gate.

  As I continued down the main walkway, mausoleums that dated back to the eighteenth century tracked my progress. When I got to the one labeled Shroud, I turned left, not pausing to pay respects to the ancestors within. There was really only one person I was here for.

  I slowed to a crawl as I reached the newest grave. The mound of dirt was still fresh and the square, white marble headstone practically shone in the darkness. Shepard Desmond Shroud. Brother and Friend. That was it. All that was left to encapsulate the man my brother had been, and it didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

  I sank to my knees next to the grave, my hand briefly resting on the headstone beside Shep’s. Hi, Dad, I thought, knowing I would come back another time for him.

  Now that I was here, the grief I’d been avoiding bubbled up. But it wasn’t tears threatening to choke me. It was anger. I was so fucking pissed. But not at Shep. Okay, not only at Shep. I was mad at myself; at the way I’d left things between us.

  Shepard was the reason I’d run away from Farrow’s Square in the first place. We’d had the mother of all fights a few days after our dad died. He wanted to join Gamma Rho, the very people that were with our father and claimed it was an animal attack when it clearly wasn’t. I thought he was being an idiot, deciding to join them when obviously something was going on. I didn’t realize it was supernatural related or that my dad led a secret life. Maybe my brother did though. Maybe he joined because he didn’t have a choice. There were a lot of maybes about why he did what he did, that I never found out because I’d packed my car and left that night. I didn’t speak to my twin after that.

  “I guess going and getting yourself killed is one way to make sure you got the last word,” I said, my voice coming out huskier than usual because of the emotion I was fighting. My hand fisted in the dirt. “But I was right in the end. You did go and get yourself killed, just like Dad. God, Shep. Why? Why weren’t you more careful?” I broke off, not wanting to continue down the tangent that had been the reason for our fight in the first place.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have been here—”

  The crack of a branch had my head snapping up and around.

  “Hello? Is somebody there?” Silence swelled, and I settled back on my heels. Fuck. Now I was jumping at shadows because of all this ‘monsters are real’ stuff. Turning back to my brother’s grave, I said, “We’re going to need to do something about this headstone. Fix your name. Spray paint it with glitter or something. Hell, even a coat of silver would be more of a fitting tribute than this boring white-bread piece—”

  My words cut off once more as t
he rustle of leaves sounded, closer this time. I froze, the hair on the back of my neck lifting in warning. I pushed to my knees.

  “Who’s there?” I called out. Dread thickened in my stomach as I slowly got to my feet.

  Not even ten fucking minutes and something was going down.

  I pulled my phone from my back pocket and swiped up, turning the flashlight on. I positioned it outward, looking over the headstones, but it was all shadows and night.

  All of a sudden a person materialized in front of me.

  “Not-Morticia?” I asked, dropping my hand to my side as I let out a sigh of relief.

  Her expression was anything but.

  “Run,” she said.

  “What?” My muscles froze up as they attempted to turn every which way.

  “Run!” she shouted at me, then burst apart in a puff of smoke.

  Not needing to be told twice—okay, maybe it was twice—I took off down the row of Shroud tombstones. The pounding of feet on hard earth behind me shook me to my core. It didn’t sound like plastic soles slapping the ground. The thudding was hard. Whatever was chasing me was heavy.

  I wheeled around a corner, catching a glimpse of my stalker out of the side of my eye.

  Large and four-legged, the black-furred creature was hauling ass as it headed for me. I didn’t get the greatest look at it, but a certainty filled me as I recognized the single most important feature.

  Red eyes.

  Did all werewolves have them? Were they specific to this one?

  My thoughts raced, trying to find answers that I had no business asking while my life was on the line. I regretted leaving that baseball bat in the car. It may have done nothing more than put something between that thing’s teeth and my neck for all of two seconds, but that was two seconds longer than I would have now.

  My legs burned and my chest squeezed as I ran as fast as I could through the graveyard and toward the entrance.

  The air was knocked from my lungs as something heavy crashed into my side and I went flying.

  Pain erupted in my back. Stone cracked. I didn’t have to look to know the damn overgrown dog just threw me into a headstone with a swipe of its paw.

  “Motherfucker,” I moaned, rolling forward. My knees hit the ground, and I forced myself to stand, to get up, to do something.

  Two people in my family died to this thing. I’d be damned if I’d be the third.

  “Listen here, you piece of shit,” I huffed, pulling my car keys from my pocket. The silver key wasn’t likely to do much of anything, given its head was the size of my chest and only five feet from me. I waved the key, slashing it back and forth like a weapon.

  The wolf looked between it and me, red eyes narrowing.

  My heart dropped into my stomach as the idea of dying—really dying—started to look more and more likely. I was only just beginning to question if I needed to start believing in some reaper god when the strangest thing happened.

  A whistle pierced the air and the wolf froze.

  Its head turned.

  A second sounded from the other end of the graveyard.

  And for the first time in my life, an actual goddamn miracle happened. Well, not counting the whole coming back to life thing, which I was still on the fence about.

  The wolf turned away and took off in the direction the shrill sound came from. My heart was still pounding, my breath coming to me in shallow gasps as I stared in shock at its retreating back.

  My stupid morning runs with Graves were looking a whole lot more important right now. Adrenaline was causing my hands to shake as I shoved my keys back in my pocket and retrieved my phone once more, the thought of Graves reminding me that he should probably know I’d just found the werewolf he’d been hunting.

  There were seven texts waiting for me, each one sent less than a few minutes apart. Grimacing, I opened my messages.

  Hard to have a run-in with a Were if you’re staying home like you were told.

  You are home, right?

  Salem, where are you right now?

  Goddamnit, Salem. Do you ever listen? Call me back.

  I mean it, Salem. Call me. NOW.

  I’m on my way to your house . . . you better be there.

  And then the most recent text, sent less than two minutes ago.

  You are in so much fucking trouble when I find you.

  If not for the fact that I’d almost just become a wolf’s dinner, I might have been a little worried about his threat. But right now? Getting yelled at by Graves didn’t even make the list of things that scared me. He could yell all he wanted, and I would yell right back.

  Still breathing heavy, I made my way back to the parking lot, random tremors still working down my body. Headlights bounced down the drive as a familiar blue convertible rolled to a stop. Graves jumped out without turning the car off. He took one look at me and bit off a curse.

  “How’d you find me?” I asked, trying to head off his interrogation.

  “Esme.”

  I nodded. He did say he went to my house.

  “What the hell happened, Salem? You can’t just send me a text like that and then pull a Houdini.”

  “It wasn’t intentional. The werewolf thing. That was a coincidence.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I couldn’t tell if he was worried or well and truly pissed. Maybe it was a bit of both. It usually was when it came to him.

  “Explain,” he ordered.

  “The part where I wanted what seems like vital information, or the part where I just got chased by a werewolf?”

  “You what?” he snapped, jolting like he’d just been touched by a live wire.

  I sighed, feeling my body relaxing the longer I stood there in the parking lot. It was almost like it finally realized I was actually safe. But that was crazy, right? It was just this dickhead Graves with me. “I was going stir-crazy at home, so I came to visit Shep. A werewolf came out of the woods and started chasing me. It almost got me too, but someone whistled, and it went off in the other direction. You didn’t mention that werewolves could be controlled,” I added, accusingly.

  “Because they can’t. They aren’t domesticated animals. You can’t make a pet out of them.”

  I shrugged, knowing what I’d heard and seen. “Well, apparently you can because that’s exactly what happened.”

  Graves shook his head. “You were under attack. It’s easy to misread what’s going on around you. I’m not saying that’s not what you think happened—”

  “No, Graves. I didn’t ‘think’ anything. That’s what happened. Whether you want to believe it or not.” I crossed my arms over my chest, staring him down.

  “You know what? Why don’t we go back to your house and have this conversation there—”

  “Hey Graves,” a voice from behind me said. I jumped about a foot off the ground, wheeling around and pulling out my little silver key, about to cut a bitch.

  “Dom,” Graves said, touching a hand to my arm holding the key. I lowered it a fraction, eyeing him and the guy that just stepped out of the woods with more than a little distrust.

  Dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, the guy standing across the parking lot from us didn’t look like a serial killer, but coming out of the woods like that was weird as fuck. Especially when there wasn’t another car in the lot. Who the hell was this guy?

  “Who’s your friend?” Dom asked, stepping closer. His medium brown skin looked darker in the shadows of the moonlight. He wore his hair short, but not quite buzzed like Clay from the Bitter Bean. The expression on his face was stormy. Serious.

  “This is Salem,” Graves said, stepping forward to stand next to me. He subtly wrapped his fingers around my wrist, forcibly lowering my hand to my side. I glared at him. “Shep’s sister.”

  “I see,” he said. “What are you doing with Shep’s sister?”

  I didn’t like the implication in his voice.

  “Why are you walking aro
und in the woods outside the graveyard like a creeper?” I piped up, ignoring the warm fingers that squeezed my bare skin.

  Dom lifted his eyebrows, his eyes moving from me to Graves. “Just taking a walk,” he answered, a shitty lie if I ever heard one. I would know. I was bad at it myself.

  “Yeah, well keep on walking, then.”

  Graves scrubbed a hand down his face as Dom’s eyes widened. “Salem,” he started slowly. “This is Dominick, the president of Gamma Rho.”

  That oh-shit feeling you get when the colors red and blue light up in the rearview mirror filled me. I had to do something quick, but backpedaling would just look more suspicious. “I don’t care who he is. I came here to talk to my brother, and you were just checking on me when he steps out of the woods like a weirdo and starts interrogating you. It’s like ten o’clock at night. What the fuck, dude?”

  Judging by the look on Dominick’s face, that was not the right thing to say.

  “You and your brother don’t seem to have much in common,” the frat president said dryly.

  “Well, given he’s dead and I’m not, I’d say so,” I snapped. Whatever reply he had been planning to come back with dried up as he opened and then closed his mouth.

  “I’ll see you back at the house, Graves. I wish I could say it was nice meeting you, Salem, but . . .” he trailed off, the unspoken words somehow more damning. “I’ll give you a pass since your brother did recently die,” he added as he started to turn away and then called out over his shoulder, “Condolences.”

  Don’t do me any favors, you fucking prick. I was pissed to say the least but then an even bigger thought occurred to me.

  He was walking around in the woods where I’d just come from, and he didn’t know Graves was here.

  Dominick the fuckface just became my public enemy number one and the main suspect for who controlled that werewolf.

  11

  Tastes Like Victory