Chapter Five
I’m sprinting as fast as I can, until my chest is on fire and a crippling stitch embeds itself into my side.
The winding cobblestone path is narrow and uneven, guiding me on a steep descent into the valley. Past the sprawling fields of wildflowers, past the pale stone cottages to the fringes of the forest, where a handful of smaller houses huddle together, their moss-covered roofs sagging with age.
On a better day, the little house Elara and I share would be bathed in warm, golden sunlight, but today, as I approach with bated breath, there’s an unsettling chill surrounding the place and the sky is ominously overcast.
Worry cinches around my heart, squeezing until it feels like a pair of strong hands are pressing down on my chest, harder with each breath.
I wade through the overgrown garden, suddenly acutely aware of the silence that surrounds me.
When I spot the front door ajar, my stomach churns.
Something is terribly wrong.
“Elara?” I shout as I burst through the door.
Upon first glance, everything appears as I left it a few hours ago. The small kitchen basks in soft, diffused light, and the air still smells faintly of sugar and butter.
Elara’s at work. Of course she is.
But then I see them, and something frigid snakes through me. Elara’s cupcakes sit on the edge of the dining table, neatly displayed in a ribboned box. She had her audition at the bakery today. There’s no way she would’ve left them behind.
“E-Elara, are you here?” I call out again, but the only answer is the haunting echo of my voice reverberating through the cottage.
My teeth sink into the tender flesh of my cheek. There has to be a logical explanation for this. Last night, Elara was a bundle of nerves. Odds are, she forgot the cupcakes. Or chickened out of taking them.
I try to ignore the fact that her coat is still hanging on its hook near the stairs, her work shoes still lined up beside the front door. My knees are weak as I pad up the stairs. I pause on the landing. Try to home in on any foreign energies that may lurk in the house.
The top of the landing is always dark – the solar lantern hanging from the ceiling has long run out of power. But today, the darkness seems to stretch, reaching across the matted carpet to Elara’s bedroom door.
I shiver. It’s ajar.
Oozing with dark energy.
The murky tendrils coil sluggishly through the air, clinging to the walls and seeping into the cracks near the ceiling. It tastes of ash, dry and choking, coating my tongue with a sharp acrid sensation that lingers. It’s the energy of despair.
I take a deep breath and force myself forward. My arms feel paralysed, refusing to push the door open. Please, no. With a silent prayer on my lips, I step inside.
Like the rest of the house, everything looks normal, but it’s as though all the life has been sucked out of the space, leaving behind an unsettling void. Then I see a crumpled form next to the bed. Time freezes, yet my body moves on its own.
I run forward and collapse to my knees, gathering Elara into my arms. She’s in her work clothes, hair in a neat plait.
“No, no, no…” I wail, tears trailing down my face. “Please, Elara… What happened to you? Wake up!”
I stroke her cheek. Her skin is cold. She’s not breathing.
My vision is blurred as I take in the signs. Her lips are wrinkled, eyes dull and glassy, and, most strikingly of all, her cheeks are emaciated, as if her soul, the very essence of her, has been sucked away. I search Elara’s fingers for the golden ring. She’s not wearing it.
It’s not on her nightstand. Not on her dresser. It’s gone. Any doubt about who’s responsible for this immediately dissipates.
This is the work of a Soulreaper – the Soulreaper from the cottage on the hill. The one who killed that old lady. I naively assumed that the Principal Guard had arrested her. Surely, her family would’ve reported the murder?
That’s when I realize. The Soulreaper was the old lady’s family – I know that from the vision.
What if she was the one who approached Alaric to have the cottage cleansed? Hiring me to cleanse the Soul Wraith was never about closure. It was a cover-up. The Soulreaper wanted me to erase the last trace of evidence tying her to the crime. I think back to how desperately she wanted those jewels.
How could I have been so foolish? The room closes in around me. Those jewels might’ve been hidden, but they were never forgotten. The Soulreaper had been searching for them, and I found them. Then I stole them…
I fold in on myself, shaking, hot tears streaming down my face as I cradle Elara’s body. The memory is marred now, but I can still see her face, her radiant blue eyes filled with gratitude when I gave her the ring. She called me the best sister in the world.
This can’t be real. She can’t be gone.
Last night, everything was normal. She was here, rushing around the cottage, nervous about impressing her boss with her cakes and excited about the future. How could someone steal her away like this?
She’s innocent. It’s me who is guilty.
I’m the thief. This is all my fault.
A scream tears from my chest, and it lights a spark of fury within me. A blazing, bristling vow to find the person responsible for this, and to make them pay for stealing the only light I had left in this world.