The Reaper's Kiss

by Abigail Baker

  “With these rules,” Brent continued over the confusion, “Master Scrivener Dormier will return to her post and continue her service to Styx far away from Lethe. I will carry half of her soul until her service is complete. Should she refuse or attempt another mutiny, I’ll send the rest of her to Erebus without delay. That is my word as her assigned Reaper.” Brent stared down his nose at Marin and I swore, if for only a second, I saw the shift in power between them.

  Whatever it was, or I mistook it to be, it vanished when I blinked.

  But as I watched Marin and Brent’s standoff, it was not their words that clarified the details—it was something else, something out-of-body. I knew like I was inside Brent’s mind that he was the final barrier Marin would have to cross to get to me.

  What would become Brent’s future was a void that he didn’t want to look into. Because of this, I was scared for him, even as he stood before the top Grim Reaper with the confidence of an intrepid king of old.

  “You have half of my soul?” I finally voiced, on the off chance that if Brent heard me, maybe he would clarify, and maybe he’d tell me exactly what it meant to own part of a soul. Did he keep it in his heart or brain or in his back pocket, or was it already in some unknown afterlife? Did that mean he could see into me now? Or could I see into him? Was I half-alive?

  Marin’s mouth opened, but an “Off with their heads” kind of reprisal didn’t come out. “I should have expected this from you. You’re the only one stupid enough to do it. Refusal to do your job, Eidolon Hume, half-ferrying her, is worth a far worse penalty than you know. Do you really want to hand your life over to my will?”

  I wondered if Marin could off us both now and be done with this part of the rebellion. Something about the flicker in his blacked-out eyes said no.

  How could this be? How could he not use his leverage to his gain?

  I tried to reach to Brent to offer thanks, or to ask for an explanation or a redo, and for the answers to these very questions. He pulled his hand away and stepped to the side as if to say there was nothing I could do to change his mind. By refusing before all of Styx to complete the job, he had cemented his destiny.

  Our destiny.

  “I will do what I have to do,” Brent whispered and hung his head.

  “Bring Chadwick back in,” Marin said to no one in particular. The door where Chad had disappeared opened again. The Eidolon didn’t emerge straight away, but that door called him back to duty. Whatever obligation it was, I prayed it wasn’t Brent’s ferrying.

  Marin’s nostrils flared. A hint of red threatened his ashen cheeks. “Chadwick will escort you back to your cell. I will handle the details of Scrivener Dormier’s exile, and if you attempt to intervene, Hume, I’ll make her wish she were dead. Understood?”

  Brent didn’t budge when Chad reappeared at his side and put a hand around his bicep. “I would like to make a request.”

  “You have worn out any chance for requests, Hume.”

  “Please.” He resisted Chad’s pull on his arm. “You—”

  “Enough!” Marin’s voice was cannon fire. And with it, everyone grew quiet. I put my mitted hands to the lotus pendant when he knelt onto one knee and curled his fingers under my chin. Around his slim shoulder was Brent’s angry but helpless stare—the same one I had given him hours ago when I’d busted into Lethe to save him.

  “Beginning today,” Marin said, his voice full of ire, “I exile you, Olivia Iris Dormier. Stone Balanchine will be your warden, who will suffer a Level Ten Offense if he lets you stray from your duties. I strongly suggest you mind him from here on out, or he’ll follow the same path as your beloved Lorelei.”

  Brent’s face grew ashen, even for his silvery complexion. And I couldn’t be sure, but as I had felt Marin in my head before, Brent was there, too.

  “In addition, Dormier, it will be a crime of treason if you lock eyes with Eidolon Hume. I cannot have you two plotting against me, because if you do, you are plotting against Styx. Do you understand the rules?” Marin asked.

  I nodded, slowly. And he rose and marched back toward the pedestal desk.

  I tried to reach to Brent, but Chad’s grip on his arm tightened. There was no time for the kind of good-bye I wanted. I managed to give him a frail smile. It was the best thanks I could give.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Brent murmured. “Change is coming.”

  “You will begin servitude to me at once, Eidolon Hume.” Marin’s voice was acid. “Go back to your cell. You will be given your official sentence after I consult with my council. If you sabotage this, you won’t live long enough to earn back your human skin.”

  Brent stood taller than I had ever seen him. His barrel chest and long limbs, scalloped in muscle, emanated relief and pride. But with every step he made toward the door that held his bleak destiny, I sensed his apprehension. Reapers dove aside when he and Chad stalked toward them. They seemed dumbstruck by his nearness, like there was a sudden reverence for the rebel Eidolon they wanted to rip limb from limb just hours ago. The door swung open, and Chad and Brent disappeared into a flood of Stygian reporters, cameramen, and spectators.

  Brent didn’t answer my question.

  And now he would not have a chance to.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Revolutions are not resolved in a day.

  Stand strong, rebels.”

  —HermesHarbinger.com, 12:30 pm August 28th Sunday

  “How much for the drawing?” an elderly lady with a silver, waist-length braid asked.

  I perked up from my sketch of Dudley jumping midair for his tennis ball. For the majority of the day, visitors had walked past my art booth uninterested. It was October. Most people who came out for Kalispell, Montana’s autumn festival, were seeking fried cheese on a stick and a pumpkin for their Halloween decorations, not artwork done by the newest resident tattooist.

  When the old lady lifted a charcoal drawing from the table, I spied the tattoos encircling her thin wrist before she pulled the sleeve of her black leather jacket over them. I liked her already, though she hid her artwork.

  “The drawing is ten dollars,” I said.

  Her eyebrow rose over her black-rimmed glasses. “That’s quite a deal for this level of art.” She brought the sketch closer to her face. “It’s dark but stirring. What inspired you?”

  “I had a dream. He was in it. Figured he was too good-looking not to draw.”

  “That must’ve been quite the dream.” She winked.

  I forced a laugh. If only these “dreams” left me sweating from a post-orgasmic afterglow. But no, he—Brent—came to me almost every night, though not in the flesh or with sexual prowess. In these out-of-body, dreamlike moments with him, I learned things about Styx—ghastly, terrifying visions of Death.

  I wasn’t sure if Brent meant to show me the nightmarish exploits Marin forced upon him, but those glimpses were all I had left of him. Guess that’s what happened when your Reaper owned part of your soul and was forbidden contact with you. You went with him in spirit, and nothing was censored for your viewing pleasure.

  “I like his flannel shirt. Reminds me of a handsome lumberjack.” The old lady gave a sweet smile. “You drew him with a scythe, not an axe. Is he the Grim Reaper?”

  “That’s one name for him.”

  “I love him. I’ll take it.” She dug into her Harley Davidson fanny pack and pulled out a crisp ten-dollar bill. The money caught the mountain breeze, but I grabbed it before it floated off into another group’s booth.

  “Thanks. I hope you enjoy him.”

  “I will. This gorgeous devil wouldn’t be so bad to see on my deathbed.” The black fringe on her leather jacket rustled in the breeze. And then she disappeared into the bustling crowd.

  I started to sit on my chair when I felt a tennis ball under my buttocks. Dudley sat to one side, giving me his best play-fetch-with-me eyes. He had been waiting hours for a game. He was getting impatient, not that I blamed him. I checked the sky. Through the wi
sps of souls, I spotted the setting sun. It was close to five o’clock.

  “Papa will be by to pick us up in an hour, Duds. We can play when we get back to the cabin.” But more than likely, we would go home, and I would fall into bed and sleep for fifteen hours before rolling out for another day of Deathmarks at the studio.

  I’d been sleeping a lot for the past months. Papa insisted it was because I was missing half my soul—that what’s left of me longed to be whole again, and the only way I could be was through those out-of-body moments with Brent.

  Of course, he told me this after popping anxiety pills and a chaser of sugar water. Papa tended to say the strangest things nowadays. We weren’t handling Mama’s absence very well, but we were doing our best.

  “How much for the drawing?” The question was posed in a Southern brogue.

  A towering man wearing a hooded black sweatshirt and dark jeans stood across the table from me. The sun backlighting him prevented me from seeing what little of his face was visible underneath the cotton hood.

  My pounding heart sensed who he was. And I would have jumped over the table to pull him to me if it weren’t for Marin’s rule driving a wedge between us.

  Did he escape Lethe? Or was he here on a mission?

  I was flooded with seemingly endless questions about this new life and what it meant and what Brent meant to me and… now this. But whatever the reason, I could not allow emotion to overrun reason. Besides, if Watchmen were afoot, waiting eagerly for us to reunite in a passionate display here in the middle of the festival, I would not satisfy them. I was a rebel. I would play this out with a level head and steady heart. And from the coolness in Brent’s approach, he was playing the same role as me.

  He pointed at the self-portrait I had done several months ago. It was my first attempt with the colored pencils Papa had picked out for me this past summer.

  “No charge,” I said.

  He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and placed it down on the table. Several hundred-dollar bills stuck out from between his gloved fingers. “Courtesy of your assigned Grim Reaper, darlin’.”

  The scenery around me spun upon hearing that endearment, and my tears yearned to surface, threatening my calm appearance. I ached to pull the hood of his sweatshirt aside to see him better, to lock eyes with his for the first time in months. What I would’ve given to say anything and everything to him, to thank him, to kiss him, to embrace him.

  I casually glanced from side to side for Watchmen who I was sure were nearby, spying. Why else was this happening except to entrap me? I turned around to see who was behind me, in case this was a set-up and the male figure wasn’t actually Brent Hume.

  Just when I found a pocket of air in my lungs to say his name out loud, I spun back to face Brent, and, like he was simply an apparition, he disappeared. The only thing that assured me that anyone had been there at all was the pile of money on the table—and the self-portrait was gone. A little note was scribbled on one of the hundred dollar bills.

  I inspected the handwriting, which still looked in the style of serial killer, and smiled.

  “How does it feel to be Styx’s finest rebel?”

  I fingered the lotus pendant still housing Eve’s soul as I gave the question some thought. I wasn’t sure how I felt. No one—not even Papa—asked me what it was like be the rebel I had become. I was half-ferried into my assigned Grim Reaper. I was serving out my time in a manner that many others were not so fortunate to receive. Fortune was on my side even now. So, how did it feel to be Styx’s finest rebel?

  I decided to say the first thing that came to mind, because in the end, doesn’t the heart speak first?

  “It feels like we have a lot more work to do, Eidolon Hume,” I whispered, sure as sugar is sweet that he heard me, wherever he had gone off to.

  Did you love this Entangled Select? Check out more of our titles here!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Entangled Publishing and my fabulous editor, Tracy Montoya. You took this story and helped me shape it into a pretty package of which I am proud. You make me a better writer.

  Thank you to my agent, Suzie Townsend, and all the lovely people at New Leaf Literary. Suzie, you gave me a chance, you guided me through the publishing process, and without your dedication, I don’t know where I’d be.

  A special thanks to Danielle Poisez. Because you believed in Ollie and Brent, their story is in print.

  Thank you to my beta readers Doug Alderman, Lara Ehrlich, Jennifer Hilt, Michelle Marison, Mary Pekar, Rich Pekar, and Sara Walsh. Much love to each of you for your time and comments.

  Thanks to the friends and family who have been there for me in one way or another, particularly my kickass sister, Bebe, Bob, Ann, Mike, Amy, Stephanie, Lillian, Anna, Carrie, Andrea, Syl, Penny, Melissa, Liam, Ram, Jessica, and my beloved Tom.

  Dad, thanks for believing in me and for all the popcorn and Moscow Mules to get me through the long days and nights of editing. Mom, you have read this book countless times and each pass you read with enthusiasm. My guess is you did this with enthusiasm out of unconditional love for your quirky, youngest child. Thank you both for encouraging me to always be creative. A life without that gift would be dull indeed. And please, stay away from Chad.

  Most of all, thank you, dear readers. Without you, a writer is nothing.

  Peace and light.

  About the Author

  Abigail Baker shares her home with a Siamese cat endearingly named “The Other Cat” and two rescued mutts with mundane human names that people think are cute. In addition to writing about rebellious heroines, she enjoys hiking, discovering craft beers, baking the perfect vanilla bean cupcake, and rock climbing (going as far as scaling 800 vertical feet to the summit of Devil’s Tower National Monument in 2013).

  Abigail won first place in RWA’s Golden Network’s 2011 Golden Pen in Paranormal Romance for Tattoo of Your Name Across My Soul, the book now known as The Reaper’s Kiss (Deathmark Book One). She regularly blogs about life observances at abigailbakerbooks.com, lives at the base of the Rocky Mountains, and can be easily found hiking any of Colorado’s best trails.

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