Deathless (Ethereal Chaos #1)

Chapter One

Jackson

D eath smells the same everywhere. Whether walking through the filth and rat-infested trenches in France during the First World War or the antiseptic and plastic halls of a modern hospital in England. It doesn't matter what's happening around it; however horrifying or benign, the underlying scent of death never changes.

I should know. I've been smelling it for over a hundred years.

Walking through the busy hospital, I make my way to the intensive care ward. I know this route. I've stalked these halls a thousand times and visited this room over a hundred. There's probably only a handful of hospitals in the entire world whose halls I haven't graced.

When I reach the small, private room, I quickly glance down at my phone. A couple of flirty texts from the curvy redhead I'd met last week and a few more from my ex in accounting. Skimming and then quickly disregarding the messages, I shift my attention to the time. I have five minutes. I double-check that the Scythe app is active and slip into the room, safe in the knowledge that no one living can see me until I set it back to being inactive. The inside of these rooms is the same as always: the faint sounds of machines beeping, textured beige walls, and uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Lying on the bed is the frail form of a woman. Her illness has stripped so much from her bones and flesh that she looks decades older than her years.

Her name is Eva Nightingale. I know because it's my job to know.

The two most important people in Eva's life are sitting silently in two of the three chairs surrounding the bed, their eyes red and swollen from crying. In one chair sits Roisin Gardner, a woman in her late thirties who has known Eva since they were gap-toothed toddlers. She sniffs and rubs the back of her hand across her face to collect her tears.

But it's the girl sitting next to her upon whom my eyes linger that makes my chest feel compacted like a vice is squeezing my heart. I know who she is. I know her name's Millie and that she's Eva's daughter. Except for a moment, just a second, I think she's someone else. And I can't breathe. I know it's not her. I know because my first love died over a century ago. Still, I move to the chair on the other side of the bed, sitting opposite her. And I take her in. Deep chocolate brown hair falls around her shoulders in waves, her naturally creamy skin stripped of warmth by sadness and lack of sleep. She's about my age, or at least the age I appear to the world.

She's not Camille. She's not Camille. She's not Camille . I replay the words over in my head like a mantra. Until wave after wave of stirring memories darken and fade. Until the smell of ash and dirt, the feel of my limbs on fire, and the sight of a blackened husk of a church on the horizon flatten back into the corners of my mind, where such thoughts and memories belong.

My phone beeps, and I know it's time. I'm yanked back into the present, into what I'm here to do, and clarity descends like a gift.

I look at the woman in the bed properly for the first time. Her hair is the same dark shade as her daughter's but clipped tightly to her skull. Her skin is not so much pale but an absence of colour, the blue of her veins visible underneath translucent skin. Through lips that are dry and chapped, her breathing is rough and coarse.

Getting up from my seat, I move to stand above her. This close, I can't ignore the pain written across this woman's face: the time lost, a body ravaged, the dreams dashed. I feel the sadness of that, the weight of it as always, but I know why I'm here. What I need to do.

I check the countdown on the app. I have nearly ten seconds. I move my hand so my fingers are over her wrist, just above her pulse. The heart monitor slows down a fraction. The girl looks up, her beautiful leaf-green eyes turning wide. I feel an ache in my chest and sigh. When the app beeps, I place my fingers on the woman's cool skin. The heart monitor steadily slows down until it's just one long beep.

“Who are you?”

Eva Nightingale furrows her brow as she looks at me, her petite form now standing next to the bed. She looks around the room, and I give her a second to adjust. When she sees herself lying in the hospital bed, she gasps, her hand covering her mouth.

“Am I? Is that?”

I move away from her body, take a seat in my original position, and pull down my black hood, showing her my face.

It's unnecessary to go full reaper—completely cloaked, skull-faced, scythed up. I leave that to the Big Guy. But I like the hood; it means something to people, and besides … I look good in black.

As the machines scream, a nurse rushes in. Roisin and Millie are sobbing, with Roisin holding Millie tightly to her chest. The nurse checks the machine and Eva's body. There's no sign of life.

“Oh god …”

Eva watches all this, her eyes torn between her pale, vacant body and the two figures sobbing at her bedside. She puts her head in her hands and touches her hair. She frowns, realising it's longer. A spirit takes on the appearance most known to them in life. In this case, Eva has a dark wavy bob, feline-flicked eyes, and a faded leather jacket.

“I'm dead, aren't I?” she whispers, looking me in the eye for the first time.

“Yes.”

She swallows hard, slowly absorbing the information.

“Which makes you … him?” she adds quietly before frowning at me. “You're a little young, aren't you?”

Shooting her my most charming of smiles, I lean back, stretching my arms across the backs of both chairs. I'm used to that question or some variant of it.

“I'm one of his associates. I'm Jackson.” I hold out my hand, and after a brief hesitation, she takes it and shakes it firmly.

“So … I got the apprentice? Does he only do royalty? Rock stars? Not single mums who empty bed pans for a living?”

I laugh. I like this woman. It doesn't always happen. It makes my job both easier and harder.

“Trust me, I graduated from being an apprentice a long time ago. And the Big Guy? Yeah, he's pretty choosy, but it takes a lot more than wearing a crown or holding a guitar to get his attention.”

She smiles at that and nods.

“Good. I like that. Still, if you're the last person I see, well … at least you're easy on the eye.” She winks at me, and I laugh.

Her smile fades, and she turns back to her daughter. The nurse is looking intensely at both Roisin and Millie, her voice soft and low.

“I'm so sorry, but she's gone. I'll give you some time with her.” The nurse lightly touches Millie's shoulder and then walks out of the room. The machines are silent. The only sounds are the faint noises of life as it continues in the rest of the hospital.

Millie sobs into Roisin's arms, the sound of her soul breaking apart. Her life is now a before and after of this moment. I swallow hard, and the ringing of church bells fills my mind. Not from this time, not from this place, but from another life. I shake my head and get back to work. I stare up at Eva.

“You can touch her. She won't feel it, but you will.”

She nods and slowly, almost fearfully, makes her way to her daughter. She stands behind her and gently strokes her hair as Millie continues to weep.

“There's nothing I can do for her; no way I can make her pain go away.”

“You did everything you could when you were alive to prepare her, to make her feel loved so she'd know it even after you were gone.”

Eva turns to study me, her fingers still entwined with her daughter's hair.

“You know us?”

I nod.

“It's part of the job. I know about all the people I come for, about their lives, about their families. I know all about you, Eva.”

Before every job, I get a file—an old-fashioned manila folder filled with documents, data, and photos—a whole life reduced to ink and paper. I read it from cover to cover, preparing myself to guide that person on to the next step.

Eva looks back down at her daughter.

“Will she be OK? Can you … do you know …”

I shake my head, and she turns away in disappointment.

“I'm sorry. I know the past and the present, but I don't know the future.”

“How long do I have with her … before I need to … move on?”

I lean forward in the chair, watching her gently as she bites her bottom lip.

“As long as you need,” I say in answer. How long do people need before they're ready? It varies from person to person. Some are happy to leave only a few moments after their death. They'd led happy lives and were content to move on to whatever came next. Others are filled with fear, anger, or regret. They fight moving on with everything they have left.

And some run. It doesn't end well for those.

“Do you know where I'm going? When I … pass over,” she asks casually, but I can hear the fear between the words. Most people are afraid, even the ones whose files are full of kindness and love.

Everyone asks this question, and every reaper makes a choice in how they answer it. Do you lie and comfort the dying? Or tell a frightening truth? That even reapers don't know what comes next.

“When you're ready to move on, I'll make a door appear for you. You'll walk through, and what's through it, I don't know. Heaven, hell, nothing. Or something else altogether. You're going to find out before I do.”

I stand up and watch her. Eva nods, but I can tell she's afraid.

Roisin lets Millie go and wipes her eyes.

“She's at peace now. No more hurting, no more treatments. She's free.” Her voice is a raw whisper.

“Oh, Roisin, I'm gonna be fine. I'm gonna be more than fine. I know it.” She leans forward, placing her forehead against her friend's. “Take care of my girl. I know you will; I know you will.”

She moves backwards then, her eyes wet with tears.

“I don't know if I'm ready to leave them. Dying is one thing, but saying goodbye to my daughter. I just … I've been so worried about how she'll cope without me. I never thought about how I'd feel leaving her behind.”

I walk around until I'm standing beside her. I lean against the wall, and with a sigh, she joins me.

“If I could just know she's gonna be all right.”

“We never get to know that. If you'd lived, you still wouldn't know that. But she has all the tools she needs to survive whatever is thrown at her. The tools you gave her.”

“You're really good at this, you know?”

“I'm not just a pretty face.” I grin at her.

She looks down at herself in the bed, her frail, broken body. Nothing there connects with the vibrant woman standing next to me.

“I think I'm ready,” she whispers.

“Sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Nodding, I take my phone out of my pocket. I tap twice, activating her door. It appears on the back wall of the room, next to the window. No bright flashes or loud bangs; just one second, there's a wall, and the next, there's a door.

Each door looks different. Eva's is painted in peeling black paint, a patchwork of faded rock band logos and carved with initials and early-hour wonderings. Like always, every door is different. It suits her. She moves towards it, and I closely follow. She stands a foot away, her breathing increasing, and I can feel the panic radiating off her.

“Everything is going to be OK.” I mean every word.

She turns back to stare at her daughter, who's now standing over her mum's body. Millie leans down and tenderly kisses her forehead.

“I'm not ready to leave her,” Eva utters quietly. She turns to peer up at me, and I gently touch her shoulder.

“And you never will be, but you've done all you can for her now. This next step is for you.”

She swallows and looks away from me, but not without a glance back to her daughter. I follow her gaze and allow myself another look: at the dark strands falling across her face even after she brushes them aside, at the soft freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose, her full pink lips. The instinct to comfort this girl is strong. Magnetic. It's not the first time I've felt this way, but it's never felt so powerful.

If I could let Eva live, I would.

“I don't even know if I'll ever see her again, do I?”

I shake my head, unable to give Eva the comfort she needs, but she's too smart to lie to.

“I like to think that if there were nothing through that door … then I wouldn't be here. Whoever or whatever decided that someone like me needs to be here … well, that seems like an act of kindness. And if there's kindness in the afterlife, then there must be more than nothing, right?”

She smiles and screws up her nose gently.

“You're assuming I'm going up and not all the way down? I could have been a very bad woman in my life.” She gives me a faux flirty look, and I chuckle.

“You were a good person, Eva, I can tell.”

“Well, that's disappointing. I'd like to think of myself as a bit of a femme fatale.” She adds a playful wiggle that makes me laugh and look away.

“Are you ready?” I dip my head towards the door.

She stifles a sob and turns back to it.

“Just once more.” Sharply, she rushes around the bed to stand by her daughter. She leans down, tears pouring down her face as she inhales the scent of her daughter's hair.

“Goodbye, my beautiful girl. You were the best thing I did with my life. Thank you for everything you've done for me. You'll never know how grateful I am, and I'm so sorry my illness took what was left of your childhood. It's time to get your life back, time to live again. I'm just sorry I won't be there to see it. I love you.”

She stands up straight, wiping her eyes. She groans and runs her trembling hands through her hair.

“I'm ready now.”

I nod and back away, giving her room. Slowly, she walks back to stand in front of the door. Some people have told me that the door calls to them, that they can feel the energy of what's behind it enticing them forward.

Eva gulps and lifts her hand, curling her fingers as she meets the door handle. She turns to look at me and smiles sadly.

“Will you stay? Until I'm completely through.”

“Of course.” I put out my hand, and she takes it, squeezing it lightly. Opening the door, she glances back at her family before breathing deeply, straightening herself and taking her first step. She looks at me and lets go of my hand.

“Thank you.” She smiles and takes another step and then another. When she's finally through the door frame, the door shuts quietly with a click.

Once the door has shut, I press confirm on the app, and the door disappears. As always, I'm left in a strange sort of emptiness after the soul has departed. All alone in a life that isn't mine. The Scythe app beeps at me again. My shift is over. I press a sequence of buttons, and another door appears. My ride's here.

I take one last glance at Millie, knowing with heaviness in my chest that there's no place in this girl's life for someone like me and no place for her in mine—that she's a ghost of memory and nothing more. Even as I think the words, something scratches away at me uncomfortably. Roisin is taking her hand and gently trying to guide her out of the room. Reluctantly, she follows, glancing back at her mum's still form with every slow step.

I feel a familiar ache in my gut, a void I've never been able to fill.

They leave the room, shutting the door behind them. I expect silence, but I'm greeted with a strange tapping instead. I follow the sound to the window. There, perched outside, is a large raven, its black-blue glossy wings shining in the streetlights. It's pecking at the glass. And if I didn't know any better, I would say it was staring right at me.

I glance down at the app and check. I'm still in the Death realm, unseen by anything living. When I look back, the bird is gone, and the window is once again a soulless square of grey. Shaking my head, I laugh at my paranoia. Exhaustion and an unprecedented trip back into my past was making me paranoid.

Now, the room is still. I open my door and walk through, finally letting myself feel the heaviness of my limbs and the tiredness making my eyes sore.

Shit … it had been a long shift.