A Hollow Cry (After Life Book 1)

by Bee Douglas

  10

  Nora

  Reading’s never been one of my favorite pastimes. In school, between classes, work, and trying like hell to squeeze in a couple hours of sleep, I never had time for it. But I’ve made up for that over the past couple of days. Not that I’d classify any of this as leisure reading, but it’s something.

  I thought time would drag. I expected days to last longer than years. I was wrong. I haven’t left the apartment since we went to the library, but I’m able to make myself at home here. Kane and I settled into a routine. Coffee is already made by the time I get up – to my surprise, he actually sleeps. We dive right into researching. One of us takes the computer, while the other goes through books; we switch after lunch. Kane’s been taken off soul nabbing duties, which means I’m free from time with Raina.

  After that night, something in Kane changed – softened. He talks more. Whenever I ask a question, he does his best to answer. We talk a little about life outside of reaping or nursing. Much like me, he has a temper. I’ve started learning his warning signs: clenched jaw, fisted hands, scrutinizing glare. When I sense that I’m about to cross a line, I back off. Or when something he hears on the phone pisses me off, I give him his space. The tension between us has all but dissipated. For a situation that isn’t ideal for either of us, we’ve found a way to make it work.

  As good as that is, everything else is taking longer than I anticipated. When I ask if Royce has made progress, Kane gives me the same answer: no. Apparently, the witch keeps eluding him. Any leads he finds slip through his fingers. And on the front lines, we aren’t getting anywhere either. We keep coming up with the same information. The lore of Banshees stems from the Celtic culture. They run around, screaming whenever someone dies. I’ve been around a lot of death in my life, but never once have I had the urge to yell. The only connection I found is my hair. I read that Banshees are either depicted old ladies in shrouds or girls with fiery hair. I severely doubt the gingers of the world are secretly Hell’s little helpers.

  The last couple of days I’ve taken up reading a book about a detective in Ireland. I am nearly halfway through with it and there are no hints about Banshees. Being held captive isn’t very entertaining. Kane doesn’t own a television, and I no longer have my phone. Kane has probably caught on that I’m no longer using this book for research, but he doesn’t let on.

  I’m curled up on the couch when the elevator sounds. By the time I walk out to the foyer, Kane has a box of pizza in his hand. The delivery man is already disappearing behind the closing doors.

  “Let me guess,” I muse, “a fine Mediterranean cuisine?” Kane rolls his eyes as he plops the cardboard box down on the table. He flips the lid open, letting out steam and the sinful smell of cheese. “Pizza?! I never would’ve guessed.”

  The corner of Kane’s mouth twitches. It’s a reaction that seldom happens. And I hate that a wave of satisfaction washes over me every time a smile is coaxed out of him.

  “I think you’re trying to feed me as much carryout as you can. That way I’ll gain a couple more pounds and won’t be able to run away from you.”

  I hand him one of the plates I grabbed down from the cupboard. He does nothing to hide the way his eyes slide up my calves, past the snug cotton shorts, and over my breasts. With just a look, he makes me feel like I’m standing naked in the middle of the kitchen.

  “There’s not an ounce of fat on you,” he mutters. My cheeks heat up. “It would take more than pizza and a few frozen dinners to make you unattainable.”

  “Thank you. I guess.” My voice is thick and breathy. I clear my throat and walk back into the living room, taking a seat on the floor.

  “I’m not the best cook.”

  His admission takes me by complete surprise as he sits on the couch and just stares at his plate. His mouth forms into a thin line.

  I swallow my bite of pizza and say, “I can’t wash white clothes without turning them some sort of color.”

  He looks at me and I offer a smile. He doesn’t say anything, but the areas around his eyes soften. “Who makes dinner at your house?”

  We never discuss the personal stuff. Any conversations we have usually revolve around karaoke nights or what I do on the rare night off work. “It depends.” I take another small bite of pizza. The cheese pulls apart in strings. “When I’m home, I try and make something outside of chicken nuggets and boxed macaroni and cheese. Dina’s famous for making that.”

  “Your mother?”

  I shake my head. “My stepmother. George, my dad, has been with her for about eight years. She’s not the best maternal figure, but she does her part in raising Hannah.”

  “Why do you call him by his name if he’s your father?”

  “Because he hasn’t been a father to me,” I explain. “After my mother left, he was lost. I had to grow up quickly, or else we wouldn’t have had much to eat and bills wouldn’t have gotten paid. He met Dina when I was 14-years-old and married her after a couple months. She thought he had money. When she found out the truth, it was too late. A couple more years down the road she had Hannah.”

  As he eats his pizza, Kane keeps his attention on me. He takes in every word I say. “Are you close with your sister?”

  My sister. My sweet, sweet Hannah. Maybe if I wasn’t so attached to her, I wouldn’t be here. But I am, and here I stay. I try not to think about her much. Anytime I do a hole in my chest forms, which makes every muscle in my body ache.

  “Very.” My voice cracks as the words fight to get around the lump in my throat. “She’s five, but she’s my best friend. She’s the reason I work as hard as I do.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kane locks eyes with me. There’s no mockery, just a heartfelt apology. “What were you like as a child?”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “You know those kids that sit in the back of the class and don’t talk?” He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me with a puzzled expression on his face. “After my mom left, George worked all day just to come home and drink his night away. We didn’t have money. We still don’t have money. You’ve seen my house.” I try and push aside the bitterness that rises up. “Like I said, I had to grow up fast. I worked hard to pass my classes. I didn’t play sports. After high school, I’d probably still be as closed off as I was if it weren’t for Aggie.”

  “The girl that called you?”

  Raina’s face flashes through my mind. I can still feel the way she gripped my wrist, threatening to break it with just a bit more pressure. I nod, knocking those images out of my head. “We met in college – me pushing scholarships and her counting the days until the next frat party. It was a disaster waiting to happen, but our friendship worked.”

  “Seems like she broke you out of your shell.”

  “She busted through like the fucking Kool-Aid man.” The thought of Aggie busting through a wall makes me laugh. Kane’s face is blank. “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Raina told me a bit about Reapers when she was here,” I explain. I stand up from the floor, taking both of our now empty plates to the sink. “She told me you guys collect souls as a way to salvage yourself from limbo. And since you originated as these lost soul things, you can still remember your past life. What were you like before all this?”

  I run the plates under the faucet before putting them in dishwasher. When I turn around, Kane’s no longer on the couch. I call out his name, but the words only bounce around an empty room. Through the floor to ceiling windows, I can make out the flame from his lighter.

  “Bastard,” I mutter to myself. He probably thinks he doesn’t have to hold up his side of the conversation. That he can dish out as many questions as he wants, but not answer a single one of mine since we crossed the personal level.

  Gritting my teeth, I walk through the living room and out to the balcony. There is no way he doesn’t hear me come outside; I make sure to slam the door as loud as I can. But he doesn’t turn around. He stares out at the city lights b
elow, the lit cigarette dangling in his fingers as he leans against the railing.

  “What’s your problem?” The heat in my face returns, but this time, for a completely different reason. “I get this isn’t ideal for you, but this whole thing sucks a fuck ton more for me. You can at least humor me by answering my questions.”

  “It’s a touchy subject.” He takes a long pull from his cigarette.

  I clench my shaking fingers into a fist. Rage starts to take hold of me, making my heart beat faster. “Touchy subject? Do you honestly think anything I just told you wasn’t a touchy subject for me? That telling you about my life, the one you ripped me away from, wasn’t a touchy fucking subject?”

  His back goes rigid. It takes everything in me to keep my voice as level as possible and not raise it. Kane finally turns around, tossing the butt of the cigarette into the city below. His jaw is set and he looks down at me with such ferocity. The two steps he takes bring him close to me. I can faintly smell the soap he used this morning. I have to tilt my head up to keep my eyes locked on his. There are gold specks throughout his amber eyes, making them glow.

  “That wasn’t easy for you to talk about.” I part my lips, preparing to launch every version of no shit Sherlock at him. And yet, as he reaches a hand out and runs his fingers over my cheek, his touch makes me gasp. “Every reaper I’ve met remembers their life. It doesn’t matter how long they were in limbo, or how many years they’ve been serving in the human world – they still remember.” His eyes soften slightly as he speaks. He weaves a lock of hair through his fingers, letting it slip through. “I have no clue what I did to land me a one way ticket to Hell, because I don’t remember my past life. I don’t remember anything. As far as I’m concerned, I was never offered the choice of redemption. The only thing I remember is waking up one day with a black envelope in my pocket, instructing me to seek someone out. All I’ve ever known is reaping.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words slip out of before I even realize I said them. Kane doesn’t deserve an apology or sympathy from me. I’ve done nothing to him. But after what he just told me and what I’ve seen over the past few days, I do feel sorrow for him. This hard shell of a man, always brooding and intense, makes me wonder what made him a pick for Hell.

  But just as those thoughts cross my mind, I watch as Kane plasters up the cracks in his wall. His hands flex at his sides as he takes a step back, as if trying to shake off the way my hair felt.

  “I don’t want your pity,” his hard voice spits.

  I cross my arms over my chest, looking him in the eye once more. I do my best to mimic his tone. “I wasn’t offering you any.”

  His lips quiver in an attempt to hide a smile. He reaches behind me and opens the door, extending a gentlemanly arm out as he says, “Let’s go back inside. Shorts and cold air don’t mix well.”

  I glance down, taking in the goosebumps that cover my legs. I don’t have the courage to tell him that they’re from being close to him. I go through the door and settle in the chair again, finding where I left off in my book. But as I open it, my eyes roam over the top of the pages.

  Kane is, well... hot. In the normal world, I would probably be drawn to his moodiness and air of mystery. He’s nothing like Sam. There’s no comparing the two. Kane’s dangerous and lethal. And even though nothing is ever going to progress between us, I still find him attractive. My body just fell off the bandwagon today. Kane’s built, that’s for damn sure. I’ve seen him in a range of clothes: t-shirts, sweatpants, dress shirt. Everything he wears fits as if they were specially designed for him. From his sharp jawline to his full lips, everything about Kane mirrors that of a Greek god. There’s no way he was single in his past life. And if he was, a revolving door of women probably passed through his world.

  Stop it, I mentally scold myself. I shouldn’t be admiring him. If Aggie were here, she’d say I was eye fucking him. She would then proceed to tell me to stop unless I was going to take him home and do the deed.

  “Tell me about the good souls,” I blurt out. Word vomit. Nice. Kane’s brow cinches as he looks over at me. “There’s Hell and evil princes, but what about Heaven and the good people?”

  I wait, expecting him to shut down anymore conversation. But to my relief, he takes a deep breath and closes the screen to his laptop.

  “The other guys are hypocritical assholes,” he says. An obnoxious laugh rips out of my mouth. Apparently Kane saying assholes has the same effect on me as it would a teacher saying Uranus in a classroom filled with prepubescent teens. Kane’s mouth opened into a full-on smile. “Raina told you about lost souls and limbo. Reapers are skilled in collecting the damned souls. And after all, there’s a reason they’ve been pegged for Hell.”

  “Bad guy’s burn,” I say.

  Kane lets out a quiet chuckle. It’s a sound I want to hear every day for the rest of my life. “Bad guy’s burn, sure. Hell needs souls to maintain its power, which is why we reap them. If not, its strength would dwindle away.”

  “What you’re saying is that Hell would pretty much freeze over?”

  He nods, letting out another small laugh. The rarity of the moment brings a smile to my face. “Yes, Nora,” he says. After that night with Raina, he’s made sure to use my preferred name. “Hell would freeze over. The Changelings and everyone on their side would be okay with that. They don’t think a sinner’s soul should be sent to Hell. They feel that they deserve to relive their last moment alive over and over again. To them, purgatory is better than paying for their sins.”

  “Changelings? I remember reading about them.”

  A good amount of Kane’s living room is now filled with books. Stacks and piles and mountains. But there’s one particular that gave descriptions of other lores. It takes me a few minutes to find the worn hardcover. When I do, I locate the section very easily.

  “A Changeling is a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents’ real child in infancy,” I read aloud. “But what does that have to do with collecting souls?”

  “Some of the myths in the world hold a bit of truth. When a fetus gains a heartbeat, they also gain a soul. But as you know, not every fetus will progress into birth. The Archangels take the soul of the unborn child and keep it until a new host is found. When a baby is born, complications may occur. The angels have a way of interchanging the unborn soul into the host, giving them a second wind. The soul that’s not strong enough to survive the born host is collected, and then modeled into a Changeling. Once mature, they act as Reapers, collecting the souls of those destined for Heaven.”

  “Wait, what?! That’s fucked up on so many different levels.”

  Kane shrugs. “They work for a divine being,” he says, each word thick with mockery. “That gives them the green light to pretty much do whatever they please.”

  Kane he has been nothing but straightforward with me. While he may not be happy with all the questions, he doesn’t lie to me. Taking in the shadows that cross over his face, I pick my book up and start reading. I don’t want him to shut down. I’ll let whatever has crept into his mind simmer. If I know anything about Kane, I don’t want to piss him off.

  11

  Kane

  The city’s quiet tonight. There aren’t many people out. I contacted Singh after Nora fell asleep. His voice was groggy when I called, as if I woke him up. And yet, when he pulls up outside the apartment, he’s fully dressed and alert. With Royce being gone and me not venturing out as usual, Singh has only had Griffin to cart around. For a mortal that’s expected to answer his phone at all times of the day, being handed time off must feel weird.

  I’ll admit that I’m hesitant about leaving Nora alone. But as far as I’m concerned, Griffin isn’t getting anywhere near her. My only other option right now would be calling Raina. After their last encounter, I don’t trust her alone with the Banshee. At first, Raina’s behavior came off as a nuisance. But after listening to Nora and getting to know her, the way she was phys
ically attacked just pisses me off even more.

  Her mother abandoned her when she was young. Her father’s a self-pitying drunk. Nora told me about all the side jobs she had to take up just to keep groceries in the house. She did things no child should be forced to do. She used to dream about moving far away once she turned eighteen. All that changed when her little sister was born. She’s taken up full responsibility for the child, coming to terms with her life. She’s not exactly happy, and I don’t blame her, but she’s passionate. Mix that with her level of ferocity, Nora’s unstoppable. She won’t stop until everyone she loves is out of harm’s way, especially her sister.

  I expected her to make an escape attempt, but she hasn’t. She’s actually settled into the apartment quite nicely. In fact, I was the one starting to succumb to cabin fever. All the research we’ve been doing is getting us nowhere. And every time I’ve talked to Royce, he keeps getting the run around. It’s a fucking dead end no matter which way you look at it. I’m getting antsy.

  And at the same time, Nora is getting more and more curious. Two nights ago she actually stood her ground against me. This woman has fire in her veins that burns hotter than the pits of Hell. It’s alluring. There have been several times that I’ve wanted to give in to my temptations. Nora’s attractive for a human. She has curves that most women would kill for, and her beauty rivals most. And the damn minx makes me laugh. I can’t touch her though – I wouldn’t touch her.

  This isn’t some laughing matter. The stakes are too high.

  Once Singh puts the car in park, I hurry up to the boardroom. Summoning a demonic presence requires more than just a toll free number. A pentagram of salt and ash are permanently etched into the floor. Salt from the Dead Sea, where life cannot be sustained, and ash from one of the deadliest volcanoes, Mount Vesuvius, are required. Next, blood from a Reaper or demon is placed at each of the point. And from there? Waiting.

  We keep a serrated dagger on the table for easy access. The sharp metal cuts along my skin and I hiss as blood pools in my palm. In most cases, Reapers heal from a wound rather quickly, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch. After I let my blood drip over the last point, it’s not long before smoke rises in the center. Moments later, I stand face to face with Death.