Reaper's Order (Founders Series Book 1)

by Mari Dietz

  Copyright © 2020 by Mari Dietz

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Reaper's Order

  Founders Series Book One

  Mari Dietz

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Thank you

  Also by Mari Dietz

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my brother, Stephen.

  You gave me a notebook and told me to write. That’s the best writing advice anyone can give.

  Even though you aren’t on Earth anymore, I hold you in my heart.

  1

  Vic

  Time to hunt.

  Vic cracked her neck and shuffled through the black clothing on the floor. After a few failed sniff tests, she deemed a pair of jeans and hooded sweatshirt passable, detecting only the slight smell of mildew. Cold wetness dripped onto her bare back as she dressed. Vic shivered and ducked out of the way of the ceiling leak in her apartment. With her foot, she slid the bucket back into place and ignored the fresh puddle. It wasn’t like a little more water would damage the floor.

  The floorboards bent under her weight as she padded to her fridge. Even though she’d grown bone thin from her lack of food, the rotted floor still complained.

  She opened the fridge, and a cockroach skittered out, fleeing the light. She crunched it under her heel. “Scraps, you missed one.”

  The gray cat blinked his yellow eyes at her from the bed, then ignored her once more.

  Vic grinned. This one-room apartment’s moldy walls could fall down around them and Scraps would sleep through it. The rent for this trash heap was next to nothing, and Vic didn’t mind its shabby state. During the first few weeks after moving in, she hadn’t been able to sleep, but in a way, she’d found a peace here that she’d never had while living with her family. For that price, she could live with a leaky ceiling and unwanted critters until she fell through the floors.

  A jar of pickles sat at the back of her fridge. Vic didn’t remember buying them. Better this than nothing while she hunted. Her fingers dug into the jar, grabbing the sadly floating pickle, then she tipped back the container and drank the liquid. She gagged at the vinegary taste. Not that it mattered, but pickles went on her list of things she never wanted to eat again. To wash down the brine on her tongue, she turned on the rusty faucet. The pipes groaned, but no water came out.

  “Blight, I didn’t pay the gic bill.” GicCorp monitored the use of water, and everything ran on magic, aka gic. Monitoring was supposed to help combat the magic pollution called blight.

  As if on cue, the lights flickered and plunged her into darkness. The freedom of living on her own had come at a steeper price than she’d realized. She blinked as her vision adjusted to the streetlight shining through her grimy windows.

  Her scythe felt out of place leaning in the corner of her studio apartment. Its slender, polished wooden handle shone from use. The silver blade gleamed in the bleak lighting. The weapon was the only thing from her past life that mattered.

  She pressed the top of the staff, and with a loud click, her scythe folded in on itself, the blade tucked into the handle. She shrugged on her leather harness, slid the relic into place on her back, pulled up her hood, and tucked her braided red hair under it. She pulled down the sleeves to cover her pale skin. Her sister, Emilia, joked that her skin reflected all light, even at night, which was ironic since she was as pale as Vic. Tonight, she needed to be invisible.

  “Keep an eye on the apartment, Scraps. If you hunt, be careful.” Not that she had anything of value to steal. Her scythe stayed with her, and if any thieves wanted a pile of dirty clothing, they could have at it. Still, she clicked the lock into place behind her. A small hole to the side of the door with a flap allowed Scraps in and out of the apartment. He might have plenty of rats to catch inside, though.

  Her booted feet hit the rough stone of the narrow street. The constant sound of the canal water bubbled in the night. Vic took a deep breath of the wonderfully humid air, thick with the smell of rot and mildew. Most might find it hard to breathe here, in the so-called slums of Verrin, but Vic found the cleaner air in the center of town more stifling.

  Instead of going to the unowned territory to hunt like the other freelancers, Vic headed toward the land of an Order. Scratching her neck nervously, she stayed in the shadows. If the Order’s reapers caught her, they would take her relic away, but if she didn’t get paid, she might as well dig through the trash for food.

  She could imagine the headline in the tabloid Verrin Daily: “Glass Heiress Eats Trash.”

  This time, her mother might actually faint over her disgraced daughter’s escapades. Vic had already left her family home; she didn’t need to provide her father with a reason to drag her back by the hair.

  She jogged across the low bridge over the canal. Boreus territory was her best bet to hunt in. If they caught her, they would be the most merciful—maybe. In these last few weeks, too much competition from other freelancers had left her gicgauge empty. All she had to look forward to were some packaged noodles. Yum.

  “Get the blight, get out, get paid. That’s all I need.”

  Her breath evened out as she ran.

  After sunset, corrupted souls roamed the city, their minds decaying from the blight. Magic powered everything in Verrin, but it also corrupted the citizens. The blight resulted from the overuse of magic. As a reaper, it was her job to collect it.

  Vic glanced up at the bright streaks of colorful blight swirling in the night sky. The infected air might be beautiful if only it would stay in the sky and not cling to humans, mutating them into monsters called mogs, which enjoyed feasting on uncorrupted humans.

  A low gateway appeared ahead, and she vaulted over it. She ducked into a dark and narrow alley and drew her scythe. In the cold night air, the magic hummed through the scythe, warming her hands. She slid on her eyepiece and winced as her right eye adjusted to the light. Her nose wrinkled at the hint of human waste coming from her hiding place.

  There’d be nothing flashy about tonight. Reap the blight from humans and stay hidden. Vic crouched in wait, letting the darkness of the alley absorb her.

  A foot skidded against stone to her left, and Vic took in the distant form. The figure gave off a bluish hue through her eyepiece. Only mildly corrupted, but she needed to start filling her scythe’s gicgauge with blight.

  The woman shuffled past Vic’s hiding place, her hair hanging limply in the humid air and her eyes glazed over. The blight had already taken over her mind.

  Vic kicked the back of the woman’s knees. The woman jerked and fell to the ground. Vic pounced and planted her foot on the woman’s lower back. She pressed the scythe blade to the exposed skin of the woman’s arm, and with a jolt, the scythe absorbed the bli
ght from her.

  The woman thrashed, but Vic leaned into her lower hip to pin her, and after only a few moments, the woman stilled. When the hot flow of magic stopped, Vic gently stood, not wanting to hurt her.

  She eyed the gicgauge on her scythe. The glass attachment showed what percentage of blight the stone in the relic could hold. The tiny amount of blight she’d gathered had barely made a blip. She massaged her temples and sighed heavily. This would be a long night.

  Vic mentally groaned. She might not be able to gather enough blight to pay the bills. Plans for a hot meal faded, but she focused on the woman. Nudging her with her hand, she asked, “Are you okay?”

  A noise escaped the woman, and she turned over. The whites of her eyes reflected the moonlight. Her hair fanned out and clung to the muck on the street. “What happened?”

  Vic held out her hand. “You had the blight.”

  There was no need to elaborate. She should be safe—for now.

  The woman shot up, ignoring Vic’s proffered hand. “What?” She touched her neck. “Didn’t I get charged?”

  To prevent getting infected with blight, the citizens of Verrin all had a gicorb implanted in their necks. Only a raised section of skin gave away the implanted orb. However, if they didn’t keep up the charge, the blight could enter their bodies. “I don’t know, but you should be good to go. Make sure you charge when you need it. Do you need help getting home?” Vic didn’t have time to help her, but the woman was more out of it than usual. Sometimes, even if you monitored your charge, you could get corrupted. In Verrin, you needed a bit of luck.

  The woman placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, reaper. Which Order are you from?”

  None of them. “Boreus.”

  Vic had already broken the law by hunting outside the freelance territory, so lying to this person hardly mattered.

  The woman nodded. “I will direct my thanks to them.”

  Vic walked down the edge of the canal and away from her. No need to stick around for her to notice how her neck lacked the brand of an Order. She pulled her hood tighter around her neck. A quick glance at her gicgauge caused her skin to itch. Worrying about her hunger could wait. Charging her gicorb was more important.

  To put her mind at ease, Vic navigated to the nearest charging station. A green box sat on the street corner, and she folded the doors aside and got inside. The lights in the charging station hummed softly. It figured these would be worn down. Nothing like not giving the people in the poorer sections of town a nice charging station.

  The bright panel, attached to the wall, glowed with three different lighter green circles for gicgauges. Vic clamped her gicgauge to the far right circle. With a hiss, a bright light surrounded the gicgauge, and a clacking sound rose as it drained the blight she’d gathered. A ping told her it had finished. After that, the station gave her two options: she could slide her card in and get credits, or she could raise the pole to recharge her gicorb directly.

  Her neck burned from her scratching it, but she needed to charge her gicorb. Blight couldn’t enter their bodies if they stayed charged. From her frantic itching all night, she knew she’d let her orb run low too long. She held the pole up to her neck where the orb was implanted. It pulsed, and instant relief filled her as the itching went away. Vic placed the pole back down and grabbed her scythe. One worry down and only a hundred more to go. She let out a laugh. If she turned into a mog, there would be no more bills to pay. She could live in the sewers free of charge and feed on rats and humans. What a life that would be.

  She stuck to the shadows and headed toward the parts of the lower district where it would be darker. Mogs would be out hunting for food soon; she needed to find them before the Order did. The mogs in the city would be recently turned and have less blight. The gicgauge had one drawback: once full, it couldn’t gather any more blight until emptied at a charging station. Older mogs required a group of reapers to drain all the blight.

  The pickle juice gurgled inside her stomach as she darted through the shadows. She passed by a stone bridge crumbling into the canal below. The city didn’t bother maintaining the slums of Verrin. Stone crumbled into the canal from the cobbled streets, and the air practically felt like water in her lungs. A pattering of footsteps sounded to her right. She ducked to avoid detection as a group of hooded figures ran past her. Reapers.

  Not that way, then.

  Vic turned down the alley, and the overhangs on the buildings blocked out the moonlight. Then a low groan filled the silent alley. Vic’s vision flicked to the side, and vivid, putrid crimson flashed in her eyepiece. She rolled, the clawed hand missing her by mere inches.

  There’s my mog.

  With no time to think, Vic jumped up and backed away from the looming figure. Black, shiny skin hung in globs off large, misshapen bones, and the scent of rotting flesh filled her nose. From its wide head, two reddish eyes pulsated mindlessly. The thing had once been human, but with the blight going unchecked, it had mutated into something that knew only endless hunger. There would be no pinning this thing down like the woman, but she couldn’t leave the alley and risk someone spotting her. The cramped space wasn’t ideal for dealing with a mog this size.

  Vic drew her scythe, and it unfolded with a click that echoed in the night. The mog rose onto its haunches. Liquid, which looked red in her eyepiece, dripped in thick rivulets, leaving a trail of blighted skin chunks behind. There was no way to tell who the mog used to be. The blight didn’t care who you were, and all humans who couldn’t get charged mutated.

  Another groan filled her ears, and its jaws widened to show squat, stubby teeth good for grinding bones. Vic lowered the blade between her and the mog. Hitting it early would be her best chance. The mog swung its burly arms at her and met her blade. The blight scorched as it tore through her scythe. The mog screeched and withdrew its arm. Its eyes burned through the globs of blighted skin dripping down its face. It quickly learned to avoid the blade, but some of its energy would be depleted.

  Vic stepped forward on the offensive and slashed at the creature. Its heavy form dodged backward, avoiding the blade of her scythe. As she pushed it back, the cobblestones grew slippery from the mog's skin. Just her luck to get a slimy mog; it had to live in the water. Finding footing in the dark was difficult, and the mog backed out onto the main road near the canal. Her chances of discovery would rise if she fought it out in the open.

  This mog cared more about getting sliced than its hunger, so Vic stood still and lowered her blade to her side.

  “Come on, swamp breath. Are you hungry?” Vic raised her hand at the creature, palm up, and flicked her fingers toward herself. “Come and get it. I may taste stringy, but I’ll be the best snack you’ve ever eaten. I’m even marinated in pickle juice.”

  A groan rumbled from its throat. It shook its massive body, and clumps of skin flew all over her and the alley. In the quarter of a second that Vic blinked, a massive force slammed into her ribs. She gasped as she was thrown back. Her body hit the wall, and she slid down, coughing. As the mog’s fist flashed forward to crush her head, she flattened herself to the ground. It must like ground meat.

  Vic flinched at the sharp pain in her side. Getting out of the alley now seemed like a smart option. She rolled to the side, getting covered in bits of its mutated body, jumped to her feet, and ran out into the open area of the main canal. The mog loped after her on its fists. She turned and slashed the blade across its face. The energy drained, and the mog flung its arms up, knocking the scythe upward and tipping her back on her heels. She placed her foot back to catch herself but only found air.

  With a yelp, she fell backward and splashed into the cold water. Her clothes stuck to her skin and grew heavier as water saturated them. After a bit of flailing, she found her footing. The water was up to her neck. The smooth walls offered no way out of the water. A wave hit her in the face, and she spat out putrid canal water. A glance to the side revealed the mog had joined her in
the canal. It had lumbered on land, but in the water, it swam with quick, sure strokes.

  Vic let the current take her as the mog followed. She floated backward, kicking her legs to gain speed. With no time to look for a ladder out of the water, she tried to stay ahead, but the mog was gaining on her. Over the sound of the water, she could hear herself gasping in short, shallow breaths as she swam away from the monster.

  It dipped under the water, and she lost sight of it. She flitted her gaze across the surface of the dark water, but she was in the mog’s domain now. Something brushed against her leg, and she kicked. Wrong move. It seized her ankle and pulled her up. The mog rose, dangling Vic in front of its stumpy teeth.

  Its rotten breath flowed over her face, and her stomach ejected the pickle juice. Blood rushed to her head as she struggled in the mog’s grip. Her ankle screamed as her weight tried to pull it apart from her leg. She desperately clutched her relic, shaking.

  Jaws looming open, it lowered Vic into its mouth, but in its hunger, it had forgotten about the scythe. She grabbed the staff in both hands and swung the point of the blade through its throat, spearing the mog’s neck.

  The mog gurgled, its airway cut off. It thrashed, dropping Vic, but she hung on to the end of the scythe, the weapon still lodged in its neck. Energy poured out of the mog, and globs of flesh melted off its frame. When the only thing left was its mutated skeleton, which crumbled in the current, the scythe dropped and Vic splashed into the water. Her relic burned in her hands. The gicgauge was more than full enough for food credits. Blight, maybe she could go crazy and pay the gic bill and get the water turned back on. Since her gicgauge had been empty, she’d been able to drain the mog on her own. Her lack of successful hunting had helped her survive tonight.