Chapter Six
Boiling, seething rage courses through my veins like fire.
It drives me east through the valley, away from Stellargrove to the densest edge of the forest, where the old, brooding cottage sits exactly as it did yesterday. As though mere seconds have passed since I left through the front door, and my entire life hasn’t just been yanked out from under me.
A vengeful energy swirls in the air around me, clinging like a swarm of bees, and I’m drawing strength from it as I press forward – the only action that seems to make sense right now.
Tears blur my vision, but I clench my jaw to stop them from falling.
I reach the cottage door and try to throw it open, but it won’t budge.
My knuckles pound against the wood, a rapid and desperate rhythm.
I know the sensible thing would be to report Elara’s death to the Principal Guard and let them investigate, but being sensible is the last thing on my mind right now.
Whoever did this must pay.
The door groans open, and I prepare to fling myself forward. But, to my surprise, when I see the woman standing on the other side, I can’t bring myself to move.
The woman before me is nothing like the sullen Soulreaper I expected, but I know instantly it is her.
She’s tall and slender with sharp, angular features, and she’s swathed in a button-up burgundy dress that cinches at her waist, made of fabrics that are too exquisite for anyone who lives around here.
I’m not entirely sure why she needs more Necroseals. Her hands are adorned with them – sapphires, ambers and citrines.
The Soulreaper’s posture exudes a quiet grace that’s entirely at odds with her wavy yellow-blonde hair and reddish-brown eyes. “Yes, dear? Can I help you?” she questions.
When I open my mouth, my tongue feels numb. A single tear falls. I’m not as good at hiding my grief as I thought I’d be.
“Oh, heavens. Please, come in and take a seat,” the woman says. “We’ll get to the bottom of whatever is distressing you.”
My feet carry me forward before rational thought can kick in.
I’m retracing my steps from yesterday, stepping over the haphazard piles of old newspapers and scattered magazines.
A harsh orange glow spills from the tulip fixtures overhead.
I suppress a gasp. I didn’t see it yesterday, but a dark stain spreads along the ceiling of the entry hall.
Like the roots of a poisoned tree. An illness that’s taken hold of the cottage from the inside.
The Soulreaper ushers me into the parlour. Her hand is surprisingly gentle on my back as she guides me to the sofa. I lower myself with hesitation, stealing a look at the corner of the rug beneath me.
It doesn’t look disturbed. You can barely see the edge of the floorboard curling up underneath.
My mind clings to fragments of the last day. Am I dreaming? None of this makes any sense. I was only late for work this morning, and now my sister is gone.
The Soulreaper disappears for a moment, leaving me to gather my breath before returning with a steaming cup in her hand, swirling with a frothy indigo liquid.
“Here we are,” she sings. “A cup of nightsage tea for the nerves.”
I shake my head to say no. The sweet leafy smell reminds me of my mum – she used to brew us a cup of nightsage whenever we got hurt as children – but I can’t stomach the thought of food or drink right now.
“Please, dear, I insist,” the woman says.
I take the cup from her, gazing upon her smiling face.
I don’t see anything at first, but then, with a blink, something in her eyes shifts, just for an instant.
It feels ominous and dark, hauntingly familiar.
It dawns on me why. It’s the same feeling of bitterness I experienced yesterday, here on this very sofa, when I touched the Soul Wraith.
It’s the taste of corruption. Murder.
I rest the cup of tea on the chest beside me and lift my gaze to meet her eyes once more. The Soulreaper blinks again, and dark wisps of negative energy slither across her features, the innocence in her face at once replaced by something sinister and rotten.
“Something wrong with the tea?” she asks.
I don’t care to answer. I’ve had enough of this charade.
My hand shoots up to snatch one of the dark wisps swirling around her shoulder and, as I absorb it, a vision forms in front of me. Elara, standing at her mirror, tying a ribbon around the end of her plait. She adjusts the bow, lost in thought.
Then, in the reflection of the mirror, she sees two reddish-brown eyes lurking in the corner of the room, framed by tangled yellow-blonde curls. Before she can move, another figure, a hulking man, grabs her, his filthy hands smothering her scream.
I hear her voice tremble. Broken pleas escape between her captor’s fingers.
The Soulreaper approaches as the man holds Elara tight. She runs a nail along Elara’s cheek before wrapping her hand around her neck. She doesn’t squeeze, but Elara gags.
There’s a pull, like a cord under too much pressure. And a snap. Elara’s soul tears free, unravelling from the core of her being. Then … a void.
A silent, gaping tear where Elara’s vibrant light should be. My lungs burn, choked by a scream that refuses to break free. She … she took her. Ripped her away.
“You killed her!” I scramble to my feet and lunge at the woman. But she’s faster than me. The woman pushes me back down on the sofa, her fingers pressed against my chest, almost as though to force them through my ribs.
She starts to pull at the essence of my soul, and it feels like I’m underwater, trying to break the surface. I gasp, but it’s a dry, heaving sound.
There’s the pull again. The straining cord. I feel my life force draining, and the world starts to blur. I’m slipping away. It’s strangely easier than I thought it would be, far less painful to let go than I imagined.
In some twisted way, I crave it. My parents are gone, and my sister, too. I want to yield to her power and let go. But then I think of Elara. She didn’t deserve to die, and I can’t let this monster get away with it.
I summon every ounce of my strength and reach out with an arm, groping blindly for the cup of tea on the chest. Managing to hook my finger around the handle, I grasp it and hurl it at the woman.
She screeches and leaps away from me, covered in boiling liquid.
She looks down at her chest, where a dark stain spreads across the burgundy fabric.
A line forms between her brows as her charming facade crumbles away.
When she looks back up at me, her eyes are bristling with anger. “Don’t you dare come at me again, girl!”
I lurch to my feet. “You’re a Soulreaper…”
“You’re a thief!” She smirks at my surprise. “Yes, I know it was you. Just goes to show – you never know who you’re stealing from, do you?”
“Soulreaping is forbidden by law.” I rub my throat where she grabbed me.
It still feels like her fiery fingers are pressing into my skin.
“You killed those merchants … and my sister. There’s no way you’re getting away with this.
The Principal Guard will trace everything back to you. You are a monster!”
“Let them try,” she says, her tone oozing with confidence. “They can’t trace someone who doesn’t exist.”
“What do you mean?” I narrow my eyes. This woman – no, monster – has murdered four people in cold blood, and she doesn’t seem to care. If she gets caught, she could be looking at the death penalty. The Soulreaper’s Decree will see to it. I don’t understand how she’s so confident. Who is she?
“Let’s just say I’m a ghost. One who has eyes and ears everywhere,” the woman whispers. “I don’t normally go out of my way to make myself known. It causes a bit of drama, you see. But when a young Emo girl goes around pawning stolen Necroseals that belong to me…”
Her long, bony fingers reach for me again, but I sidestep her grip.
“No need to be afraid of me.” She tuts. “I simply want to thank you. Without you, my dear, I never would’ve found my precious rings.
The old crone who lived here – my sister-in-law – thought she and my do-gooder older brother could hide them from me.
Sweetly na?ve, those two. The dead tell all their secrets, eventually.
” Her words are laced with a frigid detachment.
“Can’t say I’m sad they both met such tragic ends. ”
“But … why?” I ask. “You already have Necroseals of your own. How can you justify killing members of your own family, my sister and those two merchants in the market over a few stupid rings?”
“Stupid rings? Those Necroseals are blood rings, girl!” Her response is visceral, a sudden burst of frustration. She composes herself. “They’re family heirlooms. Cursed and infused with the essence of an extremely powerful ancestor of mine, carrying the final remnants of their powers.”
The Soulreaper waves her hand through the air.
Her own Necroseals, engraved with similar geometric runes as the one I gifted Elara, pulsate with energy, a dark haze that swirls in inky patterns.
It’s staining the woman’s skin, too, slithering up her fingers, coiling around her wrists and seeping into her veins.
“When my brother died, those rings became rightfully mine. But that vile woman thought she could hide them for ever, cloaked in her foolish little Flora spells.” Her gaze fixes on me suddenly, her expression softening again.
“I knew they were here somewhere in the house. But that Soul Wraith was a pesky thing, constantly getting in the way…”
“You were the one who hired me,” I say, confirming my theory.
“Thank the stars I did. I never expected you to find the rings, but it’s a delicious bonus indeed. When you cracked open that box…” Her steps trace the full length of the sofa, hands anchored on her slender waist. “You at long last revealed them to me. How did you find them, by the way?”
“I felt them. Beneath the floorboards.”