A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 11

Dusk is falling behind a curtain of heavy fog when we arrive at the Ashen's 'corridor'. I retrieve the katana from the back seat as he grabs our bags, and we stand for a moment in front of the country home of the Reaper. Its red brick facade looms above us in the growing dark, two cast iron gas lamps lighting the sweeping grey staircase to a mahogany door. The house is framed by ancient elms and ferns that grow in their shadows.

I expected more unicorns. Maybe also a 'live, love, laugh' welcome mat, I write, and hold it up in front of the Reaper's face without taking my eyes off the house.

"Why am I not surprised," he says, and I can hear the faint trace of a smile in his voice.

We ascend the steps and Ashen pushes the door open. The interior lights come on as we enter but it still seems dim and atmospheric. There are oversized paintings on the walls and marble vases on ornate narrow tables, all flowing down a corridor of checkerboard tiles into the darker recesses of the house.

"Would you rather we leave for the Shadow Realm now or wait until the morning?" he asks as we near the end of the hall. It opens to a wide living room with high ceilings and windows that span the height of the wall. The grey light of the fog obscures everything beyond the sloping lawn.

How about not at all, I write.

"Not an option, I'm afraid."

I thought you might say that.I let him read the note and then clutch the journal and pen to my chest as I stand in front of the window and look out at the mist. I breathe steam onto the glass and write HELP! I'VE BEEN KIDNAPPED! backwards as the Reaper watches.

"Is that necessary?"

I turn and give him a nod and my sweetest, most innocent smile. We watch each other for a long moment until my smile fades and I look away.

I'd rather go tomorrow. I need to eat before we leave. I doubt your realm caters to my tastes, I write, passing him the note.

"There are blood bags in the fridge," Ashen suggests. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. His grip tightens on the strap of my bag. "I stocked up the other day when I came to retrieve the sword."

Thank you. But it's not quite the same.

"I know." I hear the intake of a breath and I think he's about to say something else, but Ashen presses his lips together instead. His gaze roams my face and then drifts to a wide staircase in the corner. "I'll show you to your room."

I follow him up the stairs and down another corridor, this one narrower than the first but with higher ceilings. Ashen stops at a door painted in black and pushes it open for me but doesn't enter.

The room is more feminine than anything I've seen in the house so far. There are pink and gold curtains framing a tall window and a matching bedspread neatly laid across the bed. Gauzy white curtains drape between the posts of the bed frame, swaying in the humid breeze from the open window. There's a collection of flowers on the sill, a crucifix orchid with bright orange flowers, a wind orchid with blooms like white stars. I walk to a small vanity and notice a thin film of dust across the wood frame of the mirror. The bedding still has creases from where it was folded in its packaging. It's brand new.

I look to the Reaper who waits at the threshold of the door. He sweeps his eyes across the room and gives a curt nod. When they find mine again, the flame within them gives light to the room. "There's nowhere on Earth that I can't find you, vampire," he says, and turns toward the unlit hall as he keeps hold of my gaze over his shoulder. "Just in case you're thinking of running too far."

I want to write something snappy, like fuck you too, dickhead, but for some reason I can't. I just watch him break his gaze away and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

I stay in my room only long enough to get changed, then I head out the way we came in. I don't see Ashen. I can smell his scent. It's unlit cigars and brandy. It's silk and ink. It leads down the hall, down the stairs, and into a dark corridor on the other side of the living room. There's a light on there. I stop at the mouth of the corridor for just a moment. Part of me has an urge to see if Ashen is there and what he's doing. I imagine myself stopping at the doorway, our gazes meeting with no words spoken. I imagine his eyes simmering with something other than fury. My heart ratchets with the temptation of it, but my bones are fused to the floor. I don't go down the corridor.

I pass through the living room, but instead of going down the hallway to the front door, I detour through an unlit dining room and into the kitchen. It's all granite countertops and dark green cupboards and stainless-steel appliances. Expensive. Tasteful. There's an antique crystal chandelier that drips from the ceiling like a waterfall. There's a window the height of the room with an arch at the top. For some reason, I feel like this house is always dark, despite the tall windows and the grandiose lights.

I see the fridge and smile.

My canines elongate in anticipation as I open the fridge door and the cool air presses its kiss across my skin. It's not the blood I'm here for, though I'll take one of those for the road.

It's the butter.

I take the package out and carefully unwrap the edge of the foil, then I sink my fangs into the salty, creamy slab to leave an unmistakable vampire calling card.

That's for touching my underwear, motherfucker. I fold up the foil and place it back in the butter compartment.

I sip a bag of blood on my walk into town. I know the movies will tell you otherwise, but controlling your thirst is not the hardest part of being a vampire. Sure, that takes practice, but after a few decades you get the hang of that... most of the time, anyway. Even the emotional turmoil of eating people isn't that bad. You get over that surprisingly fast too. And you can make sustainable choices, like I do. My diet is exclusively douchebags like Jessie Bates. I'm doing the planet a favour. I'm playing my part in manifesting a better world.

It doesn't take me long to find a candidate.

You know those dudes that drive Honda civics and install a huge muffler on them so they sound like some kind of fucked-up race car but with the engine of a hairdryer and the body of a beater? Like a Frankencar? Yeah. I pick one of those guys. I'm doing us all a solid here, so you're welcome.

It's nearly three thirty in the morning when I finally make it back to the Reaper's country estate. I slip in the front door and glide down the hall, silent and lethal. I glance back at the corridor as I start up the stairs but it's dark. As I slide down the hallway like a shadow, I notice a door ajar across from mine. The lights are off. I have another wild thought, that I could push it open, that I could see what's on the other side. I could see if the Reaper is there in the dark. But I don't. I close my door and change into clothes absent of the scent of blood, and I lie down next to my katana. As I close my eyes, I hear the click of the door closing across the hall.

In the morning, the first thing I sense isn't the light or the chill from the cool air flowing through the open window.

It's the smell of coffee.

I get changed and clean myself up. I even put on a little bit of makeup. Just a little bit. Like... maybe a full face but natural. I know what you're thinking but I'm not catfishing so fuck off. If you were going to the Shadow Realm you'd probably do the same. Besides, I don't know who's there. I need to be presentable, and I'm sure the Reaper will be immaculate, as always, so I'm just trying to even the playing field.

When I arrive downstairs, Ashen is in the kitchen, pushing down the plunger of a coffee press. His back is to me but I know he heard me enter. I climb up onto a stool and sit at the island to watch.

It's a dark blue shirt today, the shade of midnight in the far North when the summer sun skirts the horizon but doesn't go down. When he turns his head, I see the edge of the tattoo skirting up from beneath his collar, the wing of a bird that disappears below his shirt.

"Good hunting?" he asks, and glances over his shoulder enough to see me nod. I smell something cooking and I can barely contain my smile.

Toast.

"It's not the same as your... blofee... but hopefully this will do," Ashen says as he turns and sets a steaming mug before me next to a small pitcher of cream and one of blood. I smile in reply. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize who I am. There's an element of confusion on his face. I wonder if I've drawn a wonky eyebrow. Then I have the idea that I should draw slightly messed up makeup every day and see how long it takes for him to say something. A wonky brow here, a little asymmetrical contouring there... I'd probably end up with a full clown face before he utters a single word about it.

The Reaper seems wary of the delight this idea has sparked in my eyes and turns away as though I'm plotting his demise. Which maybe I am.

And suddenly I think up a new game. The Attraction and Annihilation game. I will subdue him with my feminine charms and then I will destroy him. Maybe I'll destroy them all. It's a plan that has the element of impossibility that I enjoy.

As I'm mulling over this idea, the toast pops.

I can barely contain myself as he turns away to retrieve the butter from the fridge. I busy my hands with making my coffee, watching as he brings the plate of toast and the package of butter to the island and sits across from me.

"We will go to the Shadow Realm first and try to gather any additional information we can find. From there, we can take a corridor to Cairo," Ashen says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I nod, tapping my pen on my notebook.

Ashen takes the butter and starts unravelling the foil. I'm already writing a note, but I keep my eyes on him. As he peels the foil away from the fang marks, his gaze collides with mine in a dead-eyed glare. "Seriously?"

I spin my note to face him and push it across the polished marble. The question is, Reaper... did I lick it?

He stares at me, unblinking. I think I might have broken him. My smile blooms. The Reaper picks up his butter knife and flips it across his knuckles, and for a moment I think he might fire it at my chest. He looks at me the way he did the other day, like a puzzle, but this time he's understood something fundamental that he didn't see before. That it's not a puzzle after all, but a maze. And unless he keeps his head, he'll never find his way out.

The rotation of the blade in his hand stops when the serrated edge lodges in the butter through the imprint of my fangs. Something wicked flashes in Ashen's eyes. "If you think that is a disincentive, you're wrong," he says as he cuts a square of butter and deposits it on his toast, waiting for the heat of the bread to melt the edges. He looks at me with a gleam in his eyes, and I can't tell if it's fury or something more dangerous.

I give the Reaper a sweet smile as I pass him my reply. Next time, I guess I'll just have to put it down my pants.

The warm brown of his eyes seems to shimmer in the dim morning light. He gives me a lazy half smile. Ashen leans across the island, holding my gaze. His eyes land on my mouth for a fraction too long and my heart thuds a heavy beat in my chest. "That's not what I thought you meant when you said make it cream."

I nearly let out a roaring laugh but I'm scared to make the sound. I almost busted myself the last time I did, when I imagined him reaping donuts. But I do give him a vibrant smile. I can't dampen the delight in my eyes, and I catch a glimpse of something in his that I didn't expect. Something real beneath the performative mask. It's like the ember of truth beneath the smoke that blinds you.

Desire.

And I know, better than anyone, that desire can get you killed.

I mustn't let myself forget. Not my sister's hands as she pushed me from the cliff and into the sea. Not the silver blade through her heart, the hellfire shimmering in the sun. Not the blood that spilled from her hands as she gripped the sword, taking it with her as she fell after me. I can't forget Aglaope. The second I do, I'll be next. And no whisper of desire will stand against the storm of their vengeance if the Reapers find out who I am.

Ashen is no different from the rest of his Realm. He's probably already planning my demise. It might not be his hand on the blade, but it will be his kill. Unless I kill first.

I write a note. I hold his gaze. I lean a little closer and there's only a whisper of space between us. I pass him my message, hiding my fangs behind my smile.

Be careful, Reaper. You're in danger of convincing yourself you know what to do with a woman like me.

I can see every shade of gold and honey in the rich brown depths of his eyes. I can see the ember brighten beneath the smoke. The Reaper can try to hide it, this spark of desire, but I'll still find it. I'll hunt it down. I'll fan it into a flame. And then I think I'll use it.

I think I'll use it to burn them all.