Rose Reborn (Death's Contract Book 1)

by KJ Harlow

  His face was knitted in concentration as he looked to be putting some finishing touches on a document in front of him. He broke his focus for a second and glanced up at me. His eyes were hazel with flecks of bronze.

  “Please, take a seat,” he said, unsmiling, waving away the hand that I had extended to shake his.

  So he didn’t do handshakes. I sat in the huge velvet armchair in front of him. The only sound that filled the room was the scratching of his fountain pen on the paper in front of him and the crackling of the fire place.

  Honestly, he was quite pleasant to look at. He was wearing an ivory suit that he filled out quite nicely. His hands were big but his fingers were slender and unadorned with jewelry. He was left-handed and held his pen with authority. If he was a billionaire, I got the feeling that he had signed off on a lot of deals. I wonder who he did deals with?

  I became conscious that I was ogling him. I broke my gaze and looked at his desk again. That’s when I saw it. I couldn’t hear the pen scratching or the fire crackling anymore. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears that was growing louder and louder by the second.

  There was a gun on his desk but that wasn’t the alarming part. What was alarming was that this gun was the same one that the blonde man used to blow my brains in and send me here. This guy in front of me wasn’t any ordinary billionaire. He was the head of the of some underworld mafia gang. I had been called into his office so that he could finish me off personally.

  The ringing in my ears just kept increasing in volume. I squeezed my eyes shut to try and block out the noise. If I was going to be finished off, so be it. I didn’t know what I had done to deserve this, but I was sick of suffering for it. I was doing everything I could to not clamp my ears shut with my hands. If I was to die for good, I wanted to die with some dignity.

  This ringing continued on for a minute or so before I opened my right eye just to see if the billionaire mafia gang leader was pointing his gun at me yet. He wasn’t. His pen had stopped scratching and he was looking up from his document, an eyebrow slightly raised.

  “Are you OK?” He asked.

  I blushed furiously. I might be about to die, but I still wanted to maintain some semblance of sanity. Both of my eyes were open at this point as I nodded and waved off his concern. He caught my glance at his gun.

  “Oh, my apologies. Why am I leaving that lying around?” He pulled open the drawer, slid the gun in and pushed the drawer shut. The ringing in my ears abruptly ended. I relaxed my shoulders and visibly exhaled in relief. With a satisfied grunt, he put his fountain pen down.

  “You must have a lot of questions.”

  “I do.” That was the understatement of the century. I was drowning in questions, but I only needed to know the answer to one right then. “Are you going to kill me?” He let out a booming chuckle that made me wriggle nervously in the armchair. He smiled at me, but his mirth didn’t reach his hazel eyes.

  “How can I kill you if you’re already dead?” So I was dead then. I absent-mindedly rubbed my forehead where a gun had blown my brain to smithereens. Mr. Mafia Boss noticed my rubbing and frowned.

  “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that is no matter. Even though my agent had let the enemy get away, he followed the right protocol.” Agent? So the blonde guy was with Mr. Mafia Boss. I knew it couldn’t have been a coincidence that their guns were the same.

  “What do you mean, protocol?” I probed. Now that I knew that I was dead, I felt braver.

  He weaved his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands, looking at me thoughtfully.

  “The man you saw that night, Mortimer,” he spat the name out, “you were as good as dead the moment he shot you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘as good as dead’? Wasn’t I actually dead? I work in a forensics lab and know precisely zero people who survived a gunshot to the head.”

  He smiled gently. There was something else there – pride? But it was gone from his face as quickly as it appeared.

  “That’s because Mortimer didn’t use any ordinary gun to shoot you.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Did you feel,” he paused, deep in thought for a moment as he chose the right words, “a tidal wave of regret when you were shot by Mortimer?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up as he saw the recognition flash in my eyes. He continued.

  “You became what we call a Conflicted, a corporeal being who’s unable to go to the Waiting Room until their soul has been purged.”

  I blinked incredulously. “So,” I said, elongating the word, “you’re telling me that I became a zombie.”

  The impressive man in front of me considered what I had said before nodding silently.

  “In a way, yes.”

  I paused to remember the feelings that had wrought havoc through my mind after I had become a Conflicted. I shivered as I remembered feeling the last of my consciousness disappear as it was replaced with an aching regret that had dredged up all the unresolved problems in my life. Stan’s warm smile swam up through the memories. I scrubbed my eyes, determined not to let Mr. Mafia Boss see my weakness.

  “So the guy who was facing off with Mortimer. He’s one of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “When he shot me again, I remember feeling the urge to kill go away.”

  The man looked at me sharply. “Urge to kill?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Just before I had fully become Conflicted, I remembered hearing a voice say,” I paused as I remembered the exact wording, “‘cease him’.”

  The man brought down his massive boulder of a fist onto the table, sending his fountain pen spiralling onto the carpeted floor.

  “Damn it. He’s close then.” He growled. He recomposed himself, folded his hands in front of him and looked at me intensely.

  “Rose. I brought you here today because I need your help.” My eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of being lost in my hair. What could this billionaire mafia gang leader want me to do? Did he want me to join his gang to fight Mortimer and his army of undead?

  Regarding me intently with his bronze-speckled eyes, he let the statement hang in the air before continuing.

  “We have gathered some intelligence that someone you know may be targeted by the Tormented,” I leaned in.

  “Tormented? I thought you said Conflicted a moment ago?”

  The man in front of me moved to wave his hand impatiently as if dismissing my question, but he checked himself. Clearing his throat, he proceeded.

  “Yes, they’re part of the same group. You can think of the Conflicted as foot soldiers. The Tormented are,” he paused and looked towards the fire in introspection, “generals, if you like.”

  “Mortimer. He was one of them, wasn’t he? He was – is – one of the Tormented.” I asked quietly.

  “Yes. He and the other Tormented were hand-picked by…” his voice cracked. For the first time, I saw this man’s defenses drop. He seemed to be remembering something painful. Was this a ruse? Was he trying to draw me in? Because it was working. My arms were on his desk as I waited for the name that created a chink in his armor.

  He took a deep breath, sat back in his arm chair and gave me a serious look. His deep, melodious voice was back.

  “I digress. Someone you know is in danger. It’s unfortunate that you were brought here but Natasha,” he nodded towards the door behind me, “had set up an alert to bring anyone in who may be of interest in relation to our suspect.”

  “OK. So what do you want me to do?”

  “Two things: you have to protect him from being taken by the Tormented and you have to talk to him.”

  “Talk to him?” I asked, confused.

  This time, he didn’t even try to try his impatience. “It’ll take a bit of time to explain but yes, you have to talk to him and help him make peace with the Torment that binds his soul. Do it before the Tormented get to him and he’ll be useless to them.”

  Visions of the unresolved conflict that raged through m
y being after I was shot by Mortimer threatened to bubble up again, but I clamped down on it.

  I leaned back into the comfy arm chair. OK. It seemed simple enough. Someone I knew was being threatened by an undead terrorist cell. I had to get to them before they did and neutralize the target. Suddenly a light bulb went off in my head. I leaned back, crossed my legs and rested my arms on the fuzzy velvet armrests.

  “So what’s in it for me?” I said, a hint of a smile playing across my lips. I was never this confident when I was alive. I guess being dead had its benefits.

  The man in front of me was ready. He smiled too, dipping his head conspiratorially. He rested his elbows on his desk, locked stares with me and said one word.

  “Stan.” I didn’t move. How did he know about Stan? It took just one mention of my boyfriend to crumble my defences. How could I still feel this way when I was dead?

  Not wanting to let the deal maker sitting in front of me feel like he had the upper hand, I retorted sharply.

  “Yeah? What about him?”

  “You had some unfinished business with him, didn’t you?”

  I wasn’t that surprised hearing that he knew about this. Even though I’d only been gone a short while, I had already gotten used to the fact that there wasn’t much privacy in the Underworld.

  “Yes, but there’s a slight problem, I’m sort of dead,” I snapped sarcastically.

  The man’s face cracked a dazzling smile that illuminated his face. “It’s a slight problem that I’m able to help you with,” sensing he had an opportunity, he paused dramatically for longer than I liked before saying in a low voice, “I can bring you back to life.”

  We both didn’t move. There was a loud pop from the fireplace before the merry crackling resumed. Words escaped me. All I could do was sit still letting my emotions roll across my face like a slide show for him to see.

  He was the first to break the silence. Making a big show of the sudden power he had, he threw his hands back and crossed them behind his head.

  “If you would rather stay dead, I’ll just send you back the way you came and you’ll be sorted with the next lot that comes in.”

  I guess I was right about him being a deal maker. On paper, this seemed like a pretty good deal. Help him find a person of interest, stop them from falling into enemy hands and then get a second chance at life.

  “So how does it work? I’m reborn or something?” I asked suspiciously. “Because Stan’s in my last life, not my next one.” Why did I say that? It sounded like we had broken up. Only because I was dead, didn’t mean that we were done. Not in my eyes, anyway.

  “No, not being born again. At least not in the way you’re thinking of,” he said, waving dismissively again.

  “You’ll be brought back into your current city and time. You’ll still be Rose Eaving,” something imperceptible flashed across his face, “and people will still recognize you. For all intents and purposes, you’re still alive. It’s just that, you’re not.” He ignored my blank look and continued.

  “Everything will seem normal from the outside. You will bleed if you’re cut. You will need to eat and sleep like a normal human. If you’re killed, it will still hurt like hell,” he chuckled, “but you’ll just come back here.”

  You will be imbued with some special abilities that will allow you to make it that much harder for you to die though, but you’ll learn about all that in due time.”

  My mind went back to that night. How strong Mortimer seemed to be as he supported my weight with one arm. How the blonde man seemed to just disappear after he shot me. My eyes traveled down to the drawer where the man’s gun lay dormant.

  “Yes, you will get your own gun,” He answered as he saw where I was looking.

  I jerked my head back towards him.

  “When will I actually get to see Stan?”

  “Whenever you want. Just not while you’re on a mission.”

  “So what, I’ll just be bound to you, doing missions for the rest of time?” The man’s expression grew grim.

  “No. Thankfully, there are a finite number of Tormented. There are just three… for now. But they’re looking to grow their ranks. Rid the Tormented and you’ll be free.”

  “And after that? We’ll just come back here and spend the rest of time in heaven or hell?” He looked at me like I was a dog that was refusing to learn how to sit.

  “Didn’t I say that you’ll get a second chance at life? I meant that. After we rid the world of Tormented, your mission is complete. You won’t be bound to me anymore and you’ll be alive, on the Overworld free to live out the rest of your days before...” he stopped abruptly, bringing his voice under control again, “you come back here.”

  He delicately passed the document that he had been working on across the desk to me. Reaching down, he picked up his fountain pen that had rolled away after his sudden outburst and handed it to me, nib facing him.

  I took the pen and was surprised how heavy it was. It was engraved with intricate, golden fibers that crisscrossed and weaved together, forming a web that encased its body. The cap was on the back of the pen. There was a letter “D” that sparkled up at me.

  “Have a read of this contract. It goes through everything I just said. I’ve made it as straight forward as possible.” A mysterious smile flickered on his face. “There is no fine print in the Underworld.”

  If paper could be described as majestic, that’s what the paper this contract was printed on was. It was a creamy white that glowed in the light of the fire. The terms of the contract were handwritten in cursive. I was amused that English was also the universal language of the Underworld.

  The man had gotten up and was now standing by the fireplace, silent and seemingly deep in thought. He stoked the flames with a poker that hung on the side, sending embers swirling up before disintegrating mid-air.

  I didn’t have much to lose. I was dead already. As far as I was concerned, this was far better than Hell. It might even be more exciting that what Heaven had to offer. I hesitated as the pen hovered inches above the dotted line. Slowly, I dropped it until the pen touched the paper. In one fluid movement, I signed my life away.

  Hearing the scratching on the paper followed by the clinking of the pen on the table, the man came up behind me and looked at my signature on the contract. He picked up his pen and signed on the dotted line next to mine. It was a fancy signature, but I could just make out the letters of his name. My eyes widened. I jumped out of the arm chair and took a few steps back. Why didn’t I ask who he was at the beginning?

  “How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself earlier.” He extended his hand, half a smile on his face. “I am the Angel of Death, but you can just call me Death.”

  Four

  His arm was suspended in the air as I gaped at him. Realizing that I wasn’t going to shake it, he brought it to his head and raked his auburn hair sheepishly.

  “I should have introduced myself when we met but,” he looked at the contract on the table, “it was important that I got that right.”

  My mouth hung agape. If there were flies in the Underworld, I was pretty sure that a few could have flown in, realized there wasn’t anything interesting in my mouth and flown out again. I raised a trembling hand, pointing accusatorially at Death. I didn’t care about social etiquette now. Did it really matter now?

  “You’re… you’re…” I stammered.

  Now that I was standing, I could see just how tall he was. I guess it wasn’t surprising given that he was an angel. They should be taller than humans, right?

  He looked down at me curiously, turning his head slightly to the right and raising an eyebrow. He opened his arms as if expecting a hug.

  “Devilishly handsome?” He joked. He smiled broadly and this time it did reach his eyes. They twinkled mischievously. “I shouldn’t say that. The Devil’s pretty competitive and he has a habit of bugging out my office just to see what I’m up to.” He narrowed his eyes as he patted under his desk.

&
nbsp; “You’re Death!” I blurted out.

  “Yes. That’s what I said.”

  “But… what about the robes? The scythe?” I demanded. I didn’t know why I was getting so worked up about this. I didn’t care when I was alive, why should it matter when I was dead?

  “Oh please. Those were so last millennium. I had a word with the Big Man upstairs and put in a request for an update to the wardrobe.” He proudly tugged the collar of his suit. “Is this too white? They only had this shade of white and I thought I would try it out.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had just signed a deal with Death and he was asking me for fashion advice. I was rendered mute with astonishment. He kept talking, not aware of my stupefied state.

  “Now the scythe… that was harder. I had grown so accustomed to it that I couldn’t truly let it go, so…” he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled out a necklace. “I had it shrunk. That way, it’s with me all the time.”

  He put it back inside, patting it gently where it lay against his torso. “The Lucent Gun is what we use now.” He explained, eyeing the drawer where his firearm was.

  He stopped talking and noticed me standing there, mouth still open.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “I just did a deal with Death…” I muttered to myself, sitting down in the arm chair shakily.

  “Oh, I get it. This whole stigma around being the Angel of Death. Look, it doesn’t concern me so it shouldn’t concern you. I don’t actually kill people. I just guide them to where they need to go once they come down here.” He crouched down so he could get my attention.

  “Rose. I still need your help. Everything I said is true. Someone you know is still in danger and we need to get to them before the Tormented do.”

  Expect the unexpected. That was a motif that I lived by. I’d only been dead a short while but it was much harder to live by this motif when everything was unexpected. I had to accept it. Looking up, my eyes met the steady gaze of Death. He was crouching in front of me. It wasn’t just the concept that your life was ending soon. Not anymore. He was now a being that existed in front of me and in a way, my boss. That would take some getting used to. I had a sudden thought.