Rain Dance (Sunshine & Scythes Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  “Atheas,” Aldric said, pronouncing it so that it almost sounded like atheist. “The greatest king who ever lived.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Feeling better, are we Eden?” Aldric smoothed out a nonexistent rumple in his perfectly tailored suit. His voice wasn’t accented, but the English was too precise to be American. Almost like a person from Sweden. From his dark hair and beard, I doubted that was where he had come from. While it was hard to nail down an origin, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t from around here. Then again, maybe he was. I’d never heard of Atheas.

  Outside the window, I noticed the jungle growing sparser, until it was merely a few trees lining the road. Up ahead, a small city loomed, with one building—perhaps three hundred feet or so—hovering over the rest, like it was keeping watch.

  I drank in the environment, searching for clues. How had I arrived here? What had I been doing since New Orleans?

  I asked, “What day is it?”

  Aldric turned with a deliberate slowness, meeting my gaze. I could sense a strange sort of influence trying to win me over and control my mind. It took some effort to resist, but less than it felt should be necessary.

  He smiled and said, “Very good. It seems my investment was not a waste.”

  I shook my head, feeling the sensation pass. “What the…what was that?”

  “All things you will learn in time, Eden.” Aldric leaned forward and removed a piece of paper from the passenger seat’s back pocket. Without explanation, he handed it to me, along with a small pen that had seemingly materialized from the ether.

  I was beginning to think there was magic afoot in the car. Of course, that was crazy. Magic was the stuff of Vegas illusionists and schizophrenic conspiracy theorists. No one actually believed in it.

  I took the ice-cold pen from his outstretched hand and began reading the paper. It only took a few lines for me to realize it was a contract—one indenturing me to the man beside me for a period of seven years.

  The words came out before I could stop them. “Fuck off.”

  “Finish reading before you comment, if you would be so kind.” There was nothing kind about Aldric’s body language. His hawkish emerald eyes bored into my very soul—if there was such a thing, which there wasn’t—and I could sense a war-torn, bloodthirsty trail of tragedy stretching out in his past. I didn’t know how I felt that, only that it felt as real as the strange ashen sensation that refused to leave my tongue.

  “Just tell me the date,” I said, my voice wobbling only slightly. “I just want to know what day it is.”

  “July 26.”

  “You mean the second.”

  “Please, Eden, if you would just read the contract, it would explain your confusion.”

  From the front seat, the pale unpleasant man said, “Master Aldric, just force the dear girl to sign the contract.”

  “Moreland.” The rebuke was sharp and concise, and the man in the front suit stiffened like he’d been hit with a cattle prod. He offered no further comment as I examined the contract, reading the finer points.

  Reaper. Five souls per week. To remain within the boundaries of Atheas until my duties had been fulfilled seven years hence.

  It all sounded like a joke and I said, “This is ridiculous.”

  “I have indulged you, as I understand that…an introduction to our world can be stressful. And I realize that you are still like rough diamond, waiting for an artisan to hone your natural talents.” His gaze cut through me like a knife. It looked, quite frankly, like he didn’t understand anything about human life or emotions. But I was beginning to realize that he wasn’t human—and neither was the creepy one called Moreland sitting in the front seat.

  I swallowed my fear and said, “I’m not signing this.” With shaking fingers, I handed him the contract back.

  Aldric refused to take it. “That is not how this works.” With great restraint, he added, “You would not like to wind up like your sister, would you?”

  “What have you done with Sierra, you—”

  “I would begin parsing your words more carefully, Eden. I have never been known for my mercy in the face of insubordination.”

  I kept my mouth open for a couple seconds longer, but settled on the conclusion that this wasn’t some idle threat. After rubbing my nose and pinching my cheeks to make sure I wasn’t dreaming—sadly, I found that the situation was all too real—I slowly retracted the hand that still clutched the contract.

  “What happened to my sister?”

  “She remains in the place you came from,” Aldric said. “The Elysian Fields.”

  From my dim grasp of Greek mythology, I realized that he was referring to the afterlife. The Elysian Fields didn’t sound like a bad place. But the memories—or fragments of them—that I had of the past twenty-four days suggested that the myths weren’t exactly reflective of the actual experience. Kind of like when you booked a room on the internet and it turned out to be a crack den. That level of false advertising.

  A sort of bleak existential horror filled my chest like poison gas. Sierra was dead. My little sister was dead.

  “If you would sign—”

  “Fine.” I scribbled over the bottom of the contract, still processing. When I tried to hand it to Aldric, he wouldn’t take it.

  I glanced at him and said, “Take the damn contract.”

  “It is incomplete.” Aldric plucked the pen from my hand and turned some imperceptible gear at its bottom. The tip disappeared, replaced by a tiny, glinting blade. “Where the spot is for your thumbprint.”

  Without protest, I pricked my thumb and then jammed it against the paper. I felt a tingle rush up through my arm. If I’d had any question about magic before, that about sealed it. Too much strange shit going on for this to be natural science.

  This time, Aldric took the paper with what qualified as eagerness, and quickly added his own signatures—ink and blood—to the bottom. A small charge wrapped around my heart when it was done, then everything went back to normal. I wasn’t sure if that was adrenaline, or some sort of indication that our deal was complete.

  “Now, I can give you this.” Aldric tucked the contract safely back into the passenger’s seat back pocket before fishing into his suit pocket. His hand emerged with a black handled knife. “This is your tool.”

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, taking it from him. I flicked it out, revealing a stainless steel blade of about four inches. Without thinking about it, much further, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Jam it through his throat.

  Before I could even cock my arm back, however, his cold fingers were wrapped around my wrist. I strained, pressing against his strength, but he barely even registered my struggle.

  “I am twenty five hundred years old, Eden,” Aldric said. “You will not kill me, nor should you try.”

  “Where’s my sister?” I gritted my teeth and strained harder, to absolutely no avail.

  “Gone. But you are still here.” Aldric’s gaze settled on my face, his expression trying to impart the futility of my gesture. Finally, I got the picture and stopped. “Good.”

  I retracted the switch and jammed the plastic handled blade into my pocket.

  “That is obsidian and silver studded steel,” Aldric said, offering an explanation I hadn’t asked for. “It will be crucial for harvesting souls.”

  “Always wanted my own personal scythe.”

  “You’ll be getting more than that.”

  The car slowed, and I took a glance out the window. We were pulling into a time-battered strip mall, the kind just on the edge of the hellish suburban existence I had tried so hard to escape. A tattoo shop glowed in the night, casting neon streaks across the worn asphalt. The SUV rumbled to a stop, and Aldric got out, indicating that I should do the same. Moreland and the driver remained in the car.

  “A little soon for matching tattoos, isn’t it?”

  “What did I say about respect?�
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  “I didn’t see anything in the contract about that,” I said. The gears in my head were already turning. I would get free of this creep by any means necessary. Then—if these Elysian Fields really existed, and he wasn’t just feeding me some crap—I’d find Sierra. Roan, well, wherever he was, he’d call, or wouldn’t.

  But I needed to find my sister.

  I followed Aldric into Lionhawk Ink. The ancient man flung the door open with a flourish, wide enough that he didn’t have to hold it for me. I just walked right in before it closed. There was a counter to our right, where a tall, muscular man stood behind a register. Behind that was a cloth curtain, light seeping out around the edges.

  Dingy fluorescent bulbs—the kind you find in a big box store—flickered above a parallel row of four vinyl chairs. No one was out on the floor, because no one wanted a regrettable tattoo this late at night.

  Aldric turned to the man working the counter and said, “Get your boss.”

  The man disappeared behind the curtain and whispered a few things. Before long, he reappeared with an older man, with the kind of craggy looking face and sparse, wild hair that reminded me of a rock star past his prime.

  “Is this the one?” The older man wound his way from behind the counter and shook Aldric’s hand. “I was beginning to think it couldn’t be done, old friend.”

  “The right mix of genes, skill, and mental toughness is all it took.” They were both looking at me like I was a specimen from a lab.

  I glared and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  Aldric waved me off. “I do not normally take a hands on roll in employee training. This is costing me a great amount of capital.”

  “Sorry to be such a burden.”

  “One should be a little more grateful to the man who literally took her back from the jaws of death.”

  I didn’t have a response for that. So that was why I’d woken up in his car. He was claiming that he—or one of his goons, since he seemed to have an expansive payroll of “old friends”—had brought me back from the dead.

  A little voice said go with it. I needed to find out what happened to Sierra.

  “All right, let’s do this,” I said, heading over to the first chair and sitting down with a decisive thud. “Time is money, right?”

  The tall, muscular man handed the weathered tattoo artist a metal case, which the older man took with both hands. He carried it over and set it down next to on the nearby metal table. As he prepared for whatever was coming next, he turned to Aldric.

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Oh, you know, Mick, nothing too elaborate.”

  “This is your first Reaper, though. Might pay to protect her.”

  “Yeah, it’d fatten your account and get you out of here, maybe.” Aldric played with the imported fabric of his custom suit. “She’s a trickster. Give her a bag of tricks.”

  “You want it to have some bite?” Mick asked, sifting through the metal case. I could see inks and various needles, but could also feel the thrum of something else lurking inside. Something that called to me. The old man paused, resting his hands on the case’s metal edge. I could see a tattoo on every knuckle, but nowhere else.

  “I think she’s got plenty of bite already,” Aldric said, glancing at me. I glared back at him. We’d see how true that was in short time. The switchblade pressed against my leg inside my jeans. It was my off hand, but if I got an opening…

  “I can do something I call Fireworks.” Mick extracted two vials from the case, along with a small shard of a substance I didn’t recognize. “It costs about an eighth of a soul.”

  “Can’t beat the price.”

  “And two grand.”

  “A bargain,” Aldric said, and extracted a silver money clip from his back pocket. He counted off the requisite cash and handed it to the tall man keeping watch at the register. The cash register chimed merrily as Mick prepared the needle.

  “It’ll all be a show, though. No bite.”

  “Hear that, Eden?” Aldric returned from the register and placed his hand on his well-groomed beard. “Be careful how you use your powers.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Mick glanced at me, reading glasses perched atop his craggy nose. “Get comfortable. This might sting a little.”

  I was about to fire off a witty retort when the needle touched my skin. Pain like I’d never felt before surged up my arm, and I tried to jerk free. A blue glow emanated from Mick’s fingers as he worked. More concerningly, there was a glow being transferred to my right wrist. His strong hands held me in place, his needle not missing a beat as the artwork came to life. After a moment, he paused and jammed the light colored piece of debris into the needle, which then obtained a radioactive glow itself.

  Without warning, Mick pressed the hot point against my skin, and the pain doubled in intensity. Sweat trickled down my neck, soaking the thin t-shirt through. I ground my teeth in an effort not to scream, but I couldn’t help it. A brief thought flashed through my mind: I needed to get out. They were doing something irreversible to me.

  Mick took the needle away, and said, “Done.” The roaring pain in my wrist subsided to about a seven, and I could see through the tears that he had etched a perfect lantern into my wrist. He looked at his handiwork and said, “Want to try it out?”

  “This will probably sting a little.” I dug the switchblade out of my pocket and unleashed it in a smooth motion. It caught him right across the face, raking him from cheek to eye. Now he was the one screaming, and I was sprinting toward the door, running toward freedom, when I found myself hoisted off the ground, sneakers dangling over the air. The bloody blade clattered to the ground.

  Aldric’s hawkish emerald eyes blazed with fury. “You cannot run from me Eden. You cannot escape. You cannot fight.” His arm didn’t seem to move at all, but his grip got tighter around my neck, so tight that I couldn’t even breathe. “So you will surrender. And you will stop costing me money.”

  Aldric released his grip, and I tumbled to the floor in a heap next to the crimson-stained blade. I heard, over Mick’s moans, the sound of metal slam against the counter—his money clip one presumed, to pay for the inconvenience. Then the bell rang, and he disappeared into the night, leaving me on the floor.

  After I regained my ability to breathe, I decided it was time to get the hell out of there. I grabbed the knife, plucked a few bills from the thick money clip on the counter, and darted out into the parking, rubbing feeling back into my sore throat. The SUV was nowhere to be found.

  In its stead was smartphone. I picked up the device, and found that it had been left for me, with a single message on the background.

  Start working on your quota.

  I flicked through the settings and changed it to a picture of a blue sky, then I called a taxi. After grilling the driver about places to stay—I didn’t have any money, and would need someone to retrieve my stash for me—I settled on a black sand beach that he said was deserted. He dropped me off at an old service road. I handed him a couple of the bills, leaving me with twenty dollars, a soul-stealing knife and a smartphone to my new name.

  The jungle murmured in the moonlit night as I walked along the warm, black sand. Despite the idyllic setting, I found my eyes welling up with tears. In a moment of despair, I dropped to my knees and said, “Please, if there’s anyone listening…”

  There was nothing but the chatter of monkeys and birds, and the gentle sound of the low tide lapping against the shore. It was a stupid notion. I rose from the beach, brushing sand from my jeans, when I heard a voice.

  “Hello, Eden.” It was ethereal, carried by the wind itself. With apprehensive excitement, I turned around to find a naked woman with a long, waist-length braid. Her straw-colored hair didn’t reflect the moonlight. She was the type of woman you would see and immediately forget. But I could sense something more, deep within my chest. Was it her soul?

  I said, “Hi.”

 
“You look troubled.”

  “Are you—are you a—” I couldn’t get myself to form the word goddess, so I cut myself off.

  “If there is something you desire, I can help.” The braid swished like a panther’s tail. “For a price.”

  “Is my sister dead?”

  “Is that what you are willing to pay for?”

  “What’s the cost?”

  “No weapons, Reaper,” the woman replied. “That will be your trial.”

  “Done.”

  “You should not be so quick to accept. Self-defense would be convenient in your line of work.” She flashed a smile that seemed either friendly or predatory, depending on how the light hit it.

  “Tell me.”

  “She is dead, trapped in the last tier of the Elysian Fields.” The woman shook her head. “That is not a good place to be. But you know that.”

  “I do?”

  “Perhaps you have blocked it out.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Lucille, goddess of rain.” The woman procured a bottle of whiskey from nowhere, and drank heavily. I could tell, now, that she was quite drunk already. I wondered, briefly, if I was simply talking to a crazy person. “Ah, yes, you want the little tour.”

  She flicked her finger in the air like she was getting rid of a gnat. A thunder clap sounded on the horizon, followed by a lightning bolt.

  I stared at the ocean in a sort of stunned silence until she said, “Will that be all, Eden Hunter?”

  “I want her back,” I said, the plea just a whisper.

  “That is a tall order.” The goddess paced back and forth, drinking from the bottle. “Most of my kind would decline. But they are not here, and you have caught me on a benevolent night.”

  She raised the bottle toward me and then took a long swig. “But such an endeavor will require a mighty trial.”

  “Whatever it takes.” I could feel the dried tears on my cheeks. Sierra needed to come back. No matter the cost.

  “No killing anyone,” the goddess said. “Do you agree to this additional trial?”

  I almost laughed. “Is that all?”

  “You will find that to be most troublesome in your new circumstances, Reaper,” Lucille said. “Especially when it comes to your own survival.”