Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1)

by Cecilia Robert

  I have kids waiting for me and a concert to prepare for.

  Exactly five minutes later, he drops me at the school’s entrance on the third district a few blocks from the Landstrasse U-Bahn and leaves. Without a kiss. I’ll strangle him for that.

  As soon as I’ve emerged from my cloud of lust, I walk inside the auditorium on wobbly knees, swerve around, and groan. I have my violin but not my tulips. I must have left them on the dashboard or my seat.

  I smile. I just might get my kiss after all.

  RIGHT AFTER MY TEACHING CLASS, I step away from the escalator at the underground train U1 in the Schwedenplatz U-Bahn station. The time display indicates two minutes until the next train arrives. Two minutes consuming the stale air drenched in oil, perfume on sweaty bodies, and pizza someone’s lugging inside a paper bag. Aiming for my favourite lean-on white pillar, I skirt the crowd and plant myself beside it. The underground commuters are a strange bunch of people. Like now, most heads are tilted to the two information screens that display all kinds of news: events in Vienna, international news, advertisements, weather. If the eyes aren’t mesmerized by the screen, they skitter from one commuter to the other with usual polite disinterest. No one looks or talks to the other. Unless they know each other.

  I tune out the sound of the departing train on the opposite track, the donkey laugh from a man in front of me, and the rustle of newspaper from the midget dressed in a dark suit really close by.

  The class went well, if the excited kids’ chatter is any indication. It ended quite well, too: a hug from Dominik and his twin sister Aggie, two of the most hyperactive of the group, but also the sharpest. Constantly arguing who will do what better. Dominik plays the drums and Aggie the keyboard. Lovely, exhausting, talented bunch of ten, eleven, and twelve-year-olds. I’m looking forward to the concert in two weeks, and so are the kids. According to the school’s principal, the parents would like to retain me for the next term’s lessons.

  I pull my mobile from the back pocket of my jeans and text Lea to let her know I’ll meet her in their restaurant in the second district in ten minutes. Then I tuck it back and wait for her reply. I adjust my rucksack straps and shift my violin on the other hand and look around.

  My gaze clashes with the tiny man dressed in a dark suit and white shirt. When he realises my eyes are on him, his lips stretch slowly. Why is he smiling at me? U-Bahn commuters don’t smile at other people without a reason. His smile widens, displaying shark-like teeth. His face scrunches up, and his dark eyes glitter like a snake’s.

  I swallow, turning away, my heart thudding in my chest. When I lift my head again, Shark Teeth is still grinning at me, getting creepier by the second. The commuters go about their usual business: talking on telephones, reading newspapers or a book, slouching on walls, or completely ignoring one another.

  Shuddering, I wipe my hands on my jeans. My mind is exhausted after missing so many hours of sleep while soul collecting. Yes, that’s it.

  Something flutters at the corner of my eyes. Morbid curiosity propels my body around. I blink, then blink again. Yep. Tired is the word. My brain is messing with my eyesight. If it’s not, what would someone be doing swaggering along the train rails a minute before the train’s arrival?

  Blond hair tied back in a ponytail, giving a full view of his side profile, all sharp angles and curves. He’s tall with wide shoulders. He is beautiful as sin, beautiful in the most unfair way that life just thrusts in your face. Is he insane? My eyes dart to the time display. Gone is the time, replaced by a star indicating the train is close. Surely he must be mad. Or drunk. Like the commuter a few months back who had climbed down the platform, and for some reason lay on the tracks. Luckily someone pulled the emergency lever and the train was delayed until the station security arrived and hauled him out.

  Maybe this one is just like him and needs help.

  Abruptly, he extends his arms to his sides. His body sways from side to side as he places one foot in front of the other, terrifyingly and confidently resembling a tightrope walker. Then, he lifts his head, tilting it to the side. His gaze rakes the crowd as if he has all the time in the world, and when they focus on me, I jerk back, knocked by the pure force in them.

  He’s staring straight at me. Eyes as blue as the summer sky, straight nose, perfectly carved by the very hand of God, or Satan given that maddening gleam in his eyes and wide devilish grin directed at me. Why can’t anyone else see him?

  By the way he’s smiling—at me—like he just won the lottery, he’s a special brand of crazy.

  A breeze drifts from the tunnel and lifts strands of his hair, creating a halo-like effect. From a distance, the low rumble of the coming train moves closer. The squeal of steel wheels on steel rails punctures the air.

  Hell’s crap! The guy’s still walking on the rails, and the train is coming. Twisting to the side, I manoeuvre my way towards the red emergency lever, but the heaving bodies eager to get on the train block my way.

  Stupid crazy. Damn fool.

  The gust of air that precedes an oncoming underground train rushes at our faces, moaning as if to welcome the precious life it’s about to embrace. I can see the lever from here. Just a few more steps. I duck under an outstretched arm. It feels like ages before I reach the red lever. Before my fingertips touch it, the train zooms past me, past the commuters, and right through the blond guy.

  No!

  I slap a hand on my mouth and slam back the scream inside my throat. There’s a roaring in my ears, and in my chest my heart twists.

  Why wasn’t I fast enough? Why couldn’t I save him? Am I meant to witness people die all my life?

  No one seems to notice the train ran a someone over.

  Leaning back on the wall, I slide to the grimy ground, pull my knees up, and drop my head. What’s happening to me? Was the guy even real?

  Someone touches my arm. Startled, my head swings up, and I lock eyes with Shark Teeth. The smile is gone, not that it makes him look any prettier up-close. Quickly, I scoot away and leap to my feet. I bite a groan as my rucksack bangs painfully on my lower back. I blink several times to clear my blurred vision while edging away from him.

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?” I ask in a high-pitched voice I barely recognise as my own. The backs of my knees hit the bench and I stumble onto it, landing on my butt.

  “You are the one. His mark is all over you.” His eyes light up with excitement—or mad glee; I can’t tell. His tiny chest rises and falls in sync with his breathing.

  “Whoever you think I am, I-I’m not. I’m just…” My body recoils, and I shoot to my feet as he slinks closer. I get a clear view of his skin: crisscrossed unevenly in fine dark lines to form uneven squares. I squeeze my eyes shut. The image flashes behind my eyelids. Useless effort. My eyes flip open. He’s still there, eyes eerily curious. He takes a tentative step towards me. “Leave me alone!”

  He stops, wringing his hands frantically, a look of confusion on his face. He bows so low his forehead touches his knees; then he straightens to his full height of four feet. “Forgive me, my lady. I thought I’d introduce my humble self to Ernest’s new protégée. But I seem to have frightened you. Ernest doesn’t need to know about this.” Now his eyes plead with me.

  I nod my head quickly. Just go. Please, leave me alone.

  He bows again, then backs away from me, bowing all the way to the bottom of the escalators where he halts. Eyes still on mine, he twists his torso from the waist up, brings one shoulder forwards and the other back, arms spread elegantly in ballet pose.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Shark Teeth dips his head and strikes an arabesque pose I’ve seen in Lucy’s ballet classes, then swirls, flashes his shark teeth once, and poof… He vanishes.

  I slump back on the bench and focus on feeding my lungs with air while scanning the now empty station.

  The light attached to the train doors blinks as several beeps fill the air to alert that the doors are closing. They slide sh
ut, and the automated voice announces the train’s departure. Inside the train car, eyes observe me, full of curiosity, pity, and irritation. Several heads move from side to side. They probably think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.

  The train pulls away from the station and leaves me glued to my seat, my body a riot of nerves.

  And then I see him again, Blond Guy, unharmed. He swaggers towards me, and my heart stops altogether. He flashes me a mischievous smile, dips his head slightly in what I think is acknowledgement—or mocking, then half-shrugs and salutes me with two fingers. I blink, and he’s gone.

  I choke on my breath.

  It’s not real. It’s NOT real!

  Something—a detail I failed to recognise while Blond Guy was having the time of his life terrorizing me flickers in my mind. He was wearing a black trench… just like Grim’s.

  I snatch my violin where I abandoned it and dart towards the escalator, casting looks over my shoulder. Stumbling from the moving steps, I rush out into the warm afternoon air, trip on my trembling feet as I round the station, and brace myself on the glass wall next to an overflowing bin. I’d rather breathe the stench from it over and over than replay what I just saw in the underground. I drop the violin and slide down to sit on my heels. Yanking my knees up, I tuck my head inside my arms.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Swallow. Repeat.

  Fingers tap my shoulder followed by, “Entschuldigen Sie.”

  My head hoists itself from my folded arms. The elderly lady takes two steps back, eyes wide, and adjusts the pink and white hat perched on her head. “Young lady, is everything all right?” Her voice is strong, despite her fragile-looking body. I must look deranged.

  My head bobs and I mumble, “Thank you.” She says something, but my mind is too preoccupied to keep up. As soon as she shuffles away, I grab my violin from the floor and head for the taxi stand.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING FINDS ME DOZING in class during the fifteen-minute break. Grim appeared right before dawn to pick me up for collections. Right before his arrival, I tossed around in bed, the incident at the U-Bahn kept me awake for the better part of the night. When I finally slept, it was only to jolt awake two hours later at the presence of Grim in my room.

  Now, I need my sleep desperately. And I need to study for my finals.

  “You stood me up.” Lea’s voice slaps me back to the present. I groan inwardly, pulling my head up, and blink up at her. Her hands are propped on her hips, her eyes narrowed. Any tiny hope I had that she’d forgotten about my no-show for girl’s day out yesterday wilts and dies. I sigh and rub my eyes, then glance at the clock. I wish the day was over already so I can nap. Behind me, one of my classmates lets out a hyena-like laugh, and I wish the short break would end so the lesson can begin.

  “I replied to your message, then waited and waited. Look.” She tugs a few strands of her lustrous, curly hair towards my face. “See, white hairs.” She pushes back her hair, rearranging it.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Lea. I got home, did some house chores, lay in bed for a while, and before I knew it, I drifted off.” She stares at me, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. “Please, let me make it up to you.” When I got home last night after the U-Bahn incident, I was shaking and cold. To stop Mom from freaking out, I had an early dinner and blamed the exhaustion on the unusually hot May weather.

  “Sure you’re feeling okay?” Lea asks, her voice dropping a notch.

  I feel like my body has been tortured by a thousand pins. “I promise, I am.”

  She pulls the chair from her desk and lowers herself into it, crossing her jean-clad legs, then leans across my desk and whispers. “You look super-fab today. Rolf can’t seem to take his eyes off your legs in that pleated skirt.” One thing is for sure; Lea’s chances for taking part in any kind of whispering contest are next to nil. She jabs my arm with her finger. “Look, look, he’s staring.” She uses a singsong voice on the last word.

  Heat surges up my cheeks. I’m not sure I want see his face. When I woke up in the morning, I found the tulips in a vase on the computer desk in my room with a note from Rolf. Mom told me he brought the flowers up—which was a huge surprise. Mom and Dad rarely allow him in my room. Hope I wasn’t snoring, talking in my sleep, or drooling. Ugh! I sneak a peek over my shoulder. His eyes walk every inch of me, from my curly obnoxious hair to my heeled feet. His eyes are darker than three nights combined. He winks, but doesn’t break his conversation with Reiner. I shiver. Probably no drool. I smile at him and turn to face Lea, who’s smiling slyly at me.

  “So let’s hang out at Copa Cagrana tomorrow after school for a few hours,” I say, cutting whatever remark is bubbling on her tongue. My face has heated enough for one day. Anymore and I’ll explode.

  She grins. “Or you could come with me to the exhibition at Belvedere Palace. I have an assignment to complete on Gustav Klimt’s work.”

  I shake my head. “I’m on babysitting duty today. Mom and Dad have a date.” I smile, knowing I look all dreamy, but I can’t stop myself.

  “Things seem to be looking up at your place.”

  “You have no idea.” I laugh.

  “Fine. Tomorrow then. Copa Cagrana. Are we still on for Saturday?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Oh, I need help with bio and studying for my finals.”

  I smack my forehead and scoot away from my chair. “Yikes, I forgot. I’ll be right back.” I snatch my rucksack and dig inside for the music sheets I’ve been working on.

  “What’re you looking for?”

  I pull out the folder and skim through to check if everything is there. “I meant to take these to Herr Schuster on Monday.”

  “Another of his ‘niece’s music composing problems’?” I stop and swing around. I raise an eyebrow at her air-quoting. Lea’s the most wary person I’ve ever met. “Why can’t he just refer his niece to you? Would be easier if she came to you for clarification or whatever.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s just a few corrections.” No need to tell her I composed the whole thing. As usual, she’d rant about how I’m too nice for my own good. “His niece was having problems with how some notes weren’t coming together. I promised to work on it over the holiday.”

  Lea shakes her head, unfolds her legs, and stands up. “His sixteen-year-old niece has had problems catching up every month for the last what… year? That’s how long you’ve been solving notes problems for her. You take your niceness too far, my friend. You should at least charge Herr Schuster for it.”

  “That’s like charging my grandfather. Besides, I’m planning on adding him as my reference in my Conservatory application. It’s a win-win thing as far as I can see.”

  She grunts in disgust and pulls her seat to where Reiner and Rolf are slouched in their seats, conversing. “He isn’t your grandfather. And you need that money if you ever dream of getting that violin you keep ogling.”

  I grin. “I have my tutoring class for that.”

  Lea shakes her head. “You need a cure, Ana. You think with your heart too much.”

  I frown, my hands propped on my hips, and tilt my head to one side. “And that’s a bad thing, how?”

  “Your heart needs a break every now and then. You need to try it sometime.”

  I roll my eyes. “Be back in a few.” I have seven minutes before break’s over. Enough to rush to the teacher’s lounge and back. I dash out of class, the tap tap of my heels echoing in the empty hallways.

  Probably it’d be better if I taught his niece. I’ve literally been tutoring her through the music sheets Schuster gives me anyway. Wouldn’t hurt to meet her face to face. Maybe I could suggest this to him.

  As I round the corner, I catch a glimpse of Herr Schulz and Frau Ivasec. Bulldog and Golden Retriever. They seem to be arguing. Frau Ivasec stretches on her tiptoes, nose to nose with Herr Schulz, whose eyes are narrowed at her, lips curled in a snarl. Oh, definitely juicy. At least I’ll have some gossip for lunch break.

  I take a few steps back, and lean on t
he wall, listening. How many times has Schulz snapped and glared at me, and practically everyone else he comes in contact with? I’m torn between where my excitement lies: seeing a woman as tiny as Ivasec face him bravely, or sharing this titbit with Lea.

  What has he done to break through the woman’s usual calm posture?

  I fight the giggles bubbling in my throat. Such a rush. Calm down, Ana, or you’ll excite yourself right into heart failure.

  I take my advice and regulate my breathing, then peek around the corner. Frau Ivasec is pointing her index finger at Schulz, lips moving so fast she looks like she is having a mouth seizure. I focus my hearing.

  “Keep your vigilance. Everything is working accordingly,” Schulz says.

  “Vigilance my foot! Just because he appointed you doesn’t mean you will mess around with my charge. Take care of yours, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  Herr Schulz’s glare is so intense Frau Ivasec should be smoking where she stands, but she doesn’t even flinch. I’m in awe. “Vala, you are not in a position to tell me what to do. You, my lady, are just the Keeper. Nothing more.”

  A what? And did he just call her Vala?

  Before I have time to mull this over, they launch into an argument, each speaking over the other. I frown. The words bursting out of their lips like bullets are…

  What language are they speaking?

  I must have leaned too far because I lose my balance and tumble . I manage to right myself before hitting the floor. My head jerks in their direction. I wish it hadn’t. My heart rattles in my chest, my mind racing a marathon in search of an excuse. The full force of their combined, shocked glares sear me.

  With Schuster’s music sheet tucked under my arm, I straighten and wipe my hands on my skirt. No use pretending I wasn’t caught. Talk about horrible sneaking skills. Private investigator is definitely out of my list of careers.