Naomi Grim: The Final Breath Chronicles Book One

by V. B. Marlowe

  Dunningham decided who lived and died. If he didn’t like you, he didn’t assign you deaths, and you eventually expired.

  Bram tossed the lifestone onto the table. Instead of the rich black it should’ve been, the rock was white and crumbly. That was what happened when a lifestone didn’t immediately fall into the hands of a Grim. It dried out. If the lifestone were left too long, it would evaporate completely.

  We always had to be prepared to grab those stones.

  Bram shook the table again as he pushed back his chair and stood up. I forced myself not to comment.

  He stormed toward his bedroom, but before he made it out of the room, Father whistled and pointed to the discarded scythe. Bram huffed, but he stomped back and picked it up before going to his room.

  Scythes were precious. They were given to Grims on their thirteenth birthdays, the year we began collecting lives. Each Grim had his name engraved on his scythe, along with the words “Long Live Death.” We all had a hook in our bedrooms where our scythes were to be hung, and we were never to leave Nowhere without them. One of the many rules of being a Grim.

  Bram slammed the door to his bedroom so hard the windows in the kitchen shook. I wondered what made him so angry all the time.

  As usual, the rest of us ignored his behavior and went back to eating our dinners.

  I awoke the next morning to the smell of potatoes frying. That meant Mother was home. Usually we had fruit and oatmeal for breakfast, but when she had been gone a while, she’d treat us to a special not-so-healthy breakfast.

  I pulled on my black sweatpants and matching hoodie. Father would have had a fit if he knew I’d slept in my underwear. I liked to do that because it was more comfortable, but it wasn’t proper protocol. Grims had to be prepared for being dispatched at any moment.

  I slipped a pair of fuzzy black socks on my feet and ran downstairs, taking two steps at a time.

  Mother flipped potato cakes at the stove. My brothers sat at the table, already starting their daily reading. All young Grims had to study the Covenant and other subjects for hours each day.

  “Mother!” I squealed.

  She turned slightly, keeping her eye on the food. “Hello, Darkness,” she said as I kissed her cheek.

  I wrapped my arm around her neck. She smelled sweet, like lilac. “It’s been absolutely dreadful living with the boys.” Mother and I always joked about how awful it was being the only female in the house when the other was gone. “I missed you so much.”

  She kissed me on my cheek. “I missed you too, my love. Set the table, please.”

  After fighting with the boys to get them to clear their things from the table, I finally managed to get place mats, napkins, and silverware in everyone’s spots.

  Father came in, scrolling his finger across his tablet.

  “Uh-uh, not at the table, Nox,” Mother scolded.

  “I'm in the middle of some important research, Eleanor.” Father was always studying death statistics, leading causes of casualties, and other things Dunningham wanted Grims to stay up-to-date on.

  Mother set a stack of plates on the table. “This is the first time we've been together as a whole family in a few months. Your research can wait.”

  Father sighed, leaving his tablet on the counter to join us at the table.

  “So, Mother, tell us what happened,” Dorian said, grabbing a plate.

  Mother placed the bowls of food on the table so we could help ourselves. “I had to follow a family around. Father, mother, and an infant. I kept wondering which one I was supposed to take, but there wasn't a glow until the last minute.”

  It was that way sometimes. Our dispatching device would take us to a group of people to follow, but sometimes we didn't know who the Fated would be until right before the end, like with Jessica and her friends. That person would be surrounded by faint yellow light. The glow was how we knew the person was one of the Fated.

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “All of them,” Mother replied. “The father drove his family off a bridge on purpose. Just slammed on the gas and took them over.”

  There was silence for a moment. Well, except for Bram's loud chewing. None of my family seemed bothered by Mother's story, but I was. I especially hated when babies were involved.

  “So,” Mother continued, scooping scrambled eggs on her plate, “I'm not sure how this will work. The father committed suicide, but technically the mother and child didn't.”

  “Three deaths at once. Either way, Dunningham should be pleased,” Father said.

  “Why would somebody do that?” I asked.

  Everyone stared at me, causing me to squirm a little.

  “I mean to their family. Why would someone want to kill the people they loved? Were they having problems, Mother?”

  Bram scoffed and shook his head.

  Mother buttered a piece of bread. “It doesn't matter, dear. You know we don't get involved in their affairs.”

  “What do you care?” Bram asked bitterly. He always accused me of being too soft. He said I didn't have the heart of a Grim.

  I shrugged. “I'm just curious, that's all. I'd like to know what would make a person do that. I mean, Father would never do anything like that to us, right?” It was impossible to kill a Grim unless their time was up or they had fewer than one hundred years left or they were decapitated, but I needed to know that he would never want to.

  Father cut into his potato pancakes. “Of course not, dear. There's no point in trying to understand them. Just collect their lives and move along. That's our job.”

  His dispatching device rang. I sighed to myself. We couldn't even have a full twenty-four hours together.

  Father pressed a button and held the device to his ear. “Mr. Dunningham!” he said, sounding a bit too eager.

  That was strange. When we got an assignment, it was usually a robotic voice from the system, not Dunningham himself. There had to be something wrong.

  “Okay . . . Yes, sir . . . Sure, I understand.”

  Father hung up and looked at us, wide-eyed.

  “What was that about?” Mother asked.

  Father looked down at his plate and took a deep breath. “Mr. Dunningham is going to pay us a visit. Right now.”

  I felt a queasiness in my stomach, wondering which one of us had broken a rule. Mr. Dunningham never came to Farrington unless he was delivering a speech or someone had done something wrong and needed to be punished. The last time he came to our house had been almost a year ago. Bram had kissed a girl, and they had both gotten fifty years subtracted from their lives.

  Dating and any kind of physical affection was forbidden until a Grim’s eighteenth birthday, when they were to become engaged to whoever their parents chose for them. Father had been thoroughly embarrassed and hadn’t spoken to Bram for two weeks. Bram didn't seem to care.

  Father hopped up from the table, putting on a brave smile. “Okay, let's straighten up. Children, get properly dressed. He wants to speak to all of us. Chop, chop.”

  My brothers and I hurried upstairs while our parents straightened up. “Properly dressed” meant wearing the Sacred Cloak. We didn't wear it much, only in Dunningham's presence and on special occasions. I hated it. The cloak was hot and heavy. Hopefully, Mr. Dunningham wouldn’t stay too long.

  Chapter 2

  “Nice place you got here,” Mr. Dunningham said, looking around as if he'd never been in our home before.

  Our house looked like a rabbit hole in comparison to where he lived. We were all seated in the living room on black velvet couches. The fireplace was ablaze because it was always a little chilly in Nowhere. The reflection of the orange flames bounced off the gray marble walls.

  Mr. Dunningham wore an expensive-looking black suit, a black tie, and a black dress shirt underneath. He kept his head shaved completely bald. His slate-colored beard and mustache stayed perfectly trimmed. He looked his part— the Lord of Death.

  I didn't think much of Dunningham. He'd gotten his pos
ition by luck, by being born to the previous Lord of Death, who had retired years ago.

  Mr. Dunningham's assistant placed his briefcase on our stone coffee table. She looked to be about twenty, with short black hair and a much-too-tight black lace dress. Bram stared at the ceiling, probably trying to make it blatantly obvious that he wasn't ogling the girl. She took a seat in an armchair in the corner. Mr. Dunningham sat in Father's reading chair—the one that no one was allowed to sit in except for him. Mother and Father sat on the loveseat. My brothers and I sat across from Mr. Dunningham on the sofa in the order of our age.

  “Well, Nox, I have some very good news for you and your family,” Mr. Dunningham began.

  We all breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Really?” Father said, sitting forward.

  “Yes. I know you have all been working very hard. Following the rules,”—he glanced at Bram—”and being good citizens. I just want you to know your efforts haven't gone unnoticed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunningham,” Father said, smiling broadly.

  I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Father was the strongest person I knew, and it killed me to see him grovel, but I guessed greed would make a man do anything.

  “With that being said, I think I have a project that would be perfect for your children. I need several teenaged Grims.”

  My parents looked at each other and grinned.

  “What for?” Mother asked.

  “A mass killing at a school. Eleanor, this job would put your family on the map.”

  Father beamed. We'd known a few families who had once lived in Farrington and had been blessed with the privilege of collecting from a mass killing. It was a fast ticket to the Upper Estates.

  “One hundred forty-eight lives,” Mr. Dunningham said.

  Bram sat forward. “One hundred and forty-eight? We've never done anything close to that before.”

  Mr. Dunningham gave a half smile. “That's because I reserve those types of jobs for my special, most trusted Grims, so consider yourselves lucky.”

  “We do, we do,” Mother said.

  “I'm sorry. What's going to happen to claim one hundred and forty-eight lives?” I asked.

  Mr. Dunningham sat back in the seat, stroking his beard. “Six bombs and a shooting spree.”

  “In a school?” I asked.

  Bram elbowed me in my side. My family shot me angry glances for questioning the assignment when I should have been thanking Mr. Dunningham for the opportunity, but I was curious.

  “Yes, in a school.”

  There were no schools in Nowhere. When we weren’t on assignment, Grims studied at home with their parents. My only experience with schools was when I had to follow one of the Fated around. They seemed like zoos, but I knew bombs and shootings weren't normal.

  “Is everything okay?” Mr. Dunningham asked, eyeing me skeptically.

  “Yes, everything's fine,” I answered.

  Mr. Dunningham continued to stare at me. I shifted uncomfortably between my brothers.

  He rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “This one gets attached, doesn't she?”

  Father gave a phony chuckle. “Naomi? She’s a little sensitive, but she'll be fine.”

  “Naomi. What do you expect from a Grim with a name like that?” Mr. Dunningham commented, not hiding his disapproval.

  My family hadn't followed the norm when it came to my name. Everyone in Nowhere gave their children names that meant some form of darkness or death. For example, my best friend's name was Keira, which meant dark-skinned. Dorian's name came from the character in a morbid story I didn't remember, and Bram was named after the author of Dracula. My name meant pleasant. Father's friends had advised him against it, but he had insisted. There was some reason he wanted to break tradition and name me Naomi, but he would never tell what it had been.

  “I like my name,” I said softly, as if it mattered what I liked.

  Ignoring me, Mr. Dunningham snapped his fingers, and his eager assistant handed him an electronic tablet. I imagined it had to be a miserable job, working for a dictatorial narcissist who snapped his fingers at you.

  Mr. Dunningham punched in his four-digit code, then swiped the screen with his finger. “Ah, here we are, Family 16747. Brametheus Grim.”

  I heard my brother draw in a breath and waited for him to tell Dunningham how he hated to be called by his full name, but he said nothing.

  Mr. Dunningham continued. “Three infractions. One for fighting in public with a brother Grim. Another for physical affection—kissing a female Grim at age sixteen.” That had been my best friend, Keira. Her father had flipped. “And the third for knocking over a bookshelf at the Documents Library. A total of seventy-five years have been deleted.” Mr. Dunningham looked at Bram, who looked down at his hands. “You seem to have a bad temper and a problem with authority, young Grim.”

  “No, sir,” Bram mumbled.

  That was a lie. Bram had fought with the other boy, Harken, because Harken had stepped on his shoe and refused to apologize. The Documents Library was a sacred place, where information on every Grim and every death was documented. It was treated as a church. Bram had knocked over a bookshelf because he was angry that all the workstations were taken and he needed to do some research.

  But Mr. Dunningham wasn't done. He moved to the next screen. “Naomi Grim, the only daughter of Nox and Eleanor. Two infractions. Twenty-five years lost.”

  I sank in my seat. I knew my crimes. My family knew my crimes. Why was he making us revisit them?

  Mr. Dunningham continued on. “Infraction number one, making yourself visible to a Fated.”

  Yes, that had happened, but I didn't see how that one could have been avoided. I’d been following twenty-eight-year-old Jennifer Grey. She had a three-year-old son named Ryder. While she was busy in the kitchen cooking, Ryder was playing in the backyard. Jennifer had been watching from the window, but I guess, for a few moments, she forgot. Ryder went through an open fence on the side of the house with his red rubber ball. The ball rolled into the street and the three-year-old Ryder ran after it, right in front of an oncoming pickup truck.

  There was no glow around Ryder. I jumped in and moved him from in front of the truck just in time. I hadn’t seen the harm. He wasn't the one I’d been sent to collect.

  Jennifer came out and saw me holding her son. She had wrapped both me and her son in her arms as she cried hysterically. Since Jennifer was a Fated, she was the only one who could see me, and everyone thought she was crazy.

  Still, Ryder was alive. I’d never regretted my decision.

  When I got back, I took a lot of flak from my parents and Mr. Dunningham. The only reason my punishment hadn’t been more severe was Ryder wasn't the person I’d been sent to follow. Bram told me what I had done was stupid. That Ryder's lifestone would have been a bonus.

  Mr. Dunningham watched me for a reaction. I didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe an apology, a teary outburst? I was at peace with my decision, though I had no intention of going through the year-subtraction process again. Having years deducted from my life had literally been torture.

  Both times, I’d had to go to the Mill, the sacred building where lifestones were kept. They'd strapped me to a mechanical chair. I could still feel the leather squeezing my wrists and chest. Dunningham flipped the switch himself, with demented satisfaction.

  I would never forget the electricity surging through my body, causing me to twitch involuntarily as drool ran from my mouth. Anyone who went through the process was sick for days afterward. I had vomited for five days straight. It made me so weak I could barely walk.

  “Infraction number two: going to Litropolis with Keira Grim, which every Grim in Farrington and the Upper Estates knows is strictly forbidden.”

  Yes. There was a perfectly good reason for that, too. We’d wanted to know what Litropolis was like, so we went. The older Grims always painted Litropolis as a foreign dangerous place, I wanted to see it for myself. From what I'd w
itnessed, it wasn't a dangerous place at all. It was just a city filled with extremely poor Grims. One of the Watchers turned us in. You couldn't get away with anything in Nowhere. I looked at my parents, whose heads were hung in shame.

  “Now the youngest, Dorian Grim. Son, you have only been an operating Grim for a year, and you already have an infraction. That's not a good sign.”

  Dorian's shoulders slumped, and I felt sorry for him. In my opinion, his infraction was worse than Bram’s and mine put together.

  He had been assigned to follow an old woman. It was his first assignment. In his eagerness, he didn't wait for the glow and took the woman's husband instead. It hadn’t been his time. It was against the Grim Covenant to interfere with death. We were only the collectors.

  Dunningham narrowed his eyes at Dorian. “When you break the Covenant, you make our entire colony lose credibility. That's the first rule of collecting—we only take the Fated.”

  Dorian nodded. “It was a terrible mistake that I'll never make again.”

  Mr. Dunningham eyed Dorian for another moment, as if wondering whether or not he should accept his statement. He laid his tablet on the coffee table. “I said all that to say this—I like you, Nox. I think you're a wonderful leader and will make a great asset to the Upper Estates. Because of that, I'm willing to overlook your children's sins.”

  Father's head bobbed. “Thank you so much, Mr. Dunningham. You are a kind, fair man.”

  So that was Mr. Dunningham's game. He would make my father even more indebted to him by giving his “unworthy” family such a life-changing assignment.

  “We really appreciate this, Mr. Dunningham,” Mother said, grabbing Father's hand and squeezing it.