Candy Bones Read online

  A Candy Shop Series Novella

  Bestselling Author

  Yolanda Allard

  Dedicated to the sweethearts of the world. Those kind and genuine souls, who occasionally also drink out of the skulls of their enemies in secret.

  Chapter One

  “You’re not going to take me, Reaper!” Ichabod Carcan bellows. His hands are still swinging wildly around his glowing form as if he is swimming away from me. He had jumped into the river moments before, just as my scythe reached his back and ripped his soul from his body.

  I laugh, “It’s a little late there, buddy,” I tell him.

  Ichabod stops moving and he looks around, his spirit a beacon in the night. He turns around just in time to see the hand of his lifeless body get pulled under the black waters of the river. He had known who I was when I came for him tonight. His first instinct was to turn and run, which I would find ironic since Ichabod Carcan is probably the most gangly, uncoordinated man I have ever met. I couldn’t even find it in myself to chase him at first. It was too sad watching him stumble and trip over the cobblestone streets down to the river. Sometimes it’s difficult being a reaper when the souls you reap are ones you know well from around town. Some are even customers of mine at the candy shop I recently inherited from my grandmother.

  “But why?” Ichabod asks me. The fight has left him, now he is but a spirit standing on the bank of the river. The waters swiftly taking his empty body down river where it will be found likely by a non-nuit. That’s someone else’s problem though. Seeing Ichabod sad makes me a little sad too. It used to be rarely that it affected me so. After losing my grandmother eight weeks ago though, I guess even death gets a little tender.

  “You showed up in my ledger,” I say plainly. Letting him see me emotional won’t help him with what has to happen next. “I do have some good news.”

  Ichabod raises a shimmering eyebrow at me, “Yeah?”

  “Now you get to cross over. Take my hand, I’ll show you the way.” My scythe has disappeared. It only appears when I need it. I lower the hood of my cloak, so it no longer masks my face into a skeletal illusion. My pale curls whip around me in the wind. I try to look warm and inviting now, not the scary skeletal death that stalked him moments before.

  “Wi-will it hurt?” he asks, staring at my pale little fingers.

  “Only if I bite,” I tell him. His eyes widen. I grin at him, “But you’re not that tasty. I promise Ichabod, it’s a better place. You’ll be more than at peace, you'll be full of joy.”

  He places his glowing fingers into my palm, “Shouldn’t I check on my family first?”

  “They’ll be fine.” I reassure him, “I’ll make sure to look after them.”

  Despite the fact that Ichabod Carcan has said all of twenty sentences to me in his life, his family even less, his spectral shoulders relax. He believes I will look after them. Frankly I won’t, but him believing it is all that matters. Holding his hand that still feels electric if not quite as it did when he was in his body, I take a step forward. Mists pick up around us as we cross into a holding room of sorts. A gateway to the other side. Even I can go no further, but a portal opens next to us in the mists of pure light. Ichabod stares into it.

  “Do you see it?” he asks me. I can already feel the tension from Earth, the tiny invisible strings of life that tether us to the world, snapping free of him. He’s going to cross over.

  “I don’t, but you do. This is all for you Ichabod,” I tell him, smiling.

  “Thank you,” he says as the last tether snaps and he stumbles running towards the light.

  I wait as the portal closes and the mists clear around me, leaving me back on the bank of the river.

  “Well Bran, it’s back home we go,” I say.

  “Caw!” Bran yells back at me from his perch in a tree.

  Chapter Two

  “Well look what the bell troll dragged in!” a disembodied voice yells at me just as I make it to Grim Sweets.

  “Rickets,” I say, acknowledging the ghost I cannot see.

  “Your Deadness.” Rickets appears nodding his head. Along with him are five other ghosts, all of them are souls I reaped. I did not reap Rickets, but that has never stopped him from harassing me. Rickets died well before I ever moved to Après LaMort, he is proof of what happens to souls if they don’t cross over, they become pests. He likes to hang around my grandmother’s candy shop, Grim Sweets, and harass me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he has something against me, but my best guess is he has something against reapers in general and latched onto me for some reason. He used to pester the shop, move things around, and mess up the front windows. My grandmother, who ran it at the time, decided to ban him from the shop with magic. He only ever makes smart alec comments about not being allowed in. Most days he’s just leaning against the shop waiting to say something nasty to me when I come out. Today he’s blocking the door.

  “What do you want?” I ask him.

  “I was just wondering how your reapings went on this fine evening? Nothing out of the norm I hope.” He stares at me with dead glowing eyes. There’s an intensity behind them that confuses me.

  I squint at him. “Why so interested? Is that how you’re getting your jollies now, asking about souls passing over.”

  Rickets moves out of my way. “Why don’t you get back to the kitchen and make me something sweet.”

  I snort. That’s a new one. Still, something seems off with him. The other souls chuckle to each other and it makes a chill run up my spine. As Death, I am still not entirely immune to the effects of being around ghosts. Sometimes if you’re not paying close attention their laughs sound like bones rattling. It gives even us nocturnus chills. I’ve always wondered if Poe himself wasn’t a reaper with how accurately he described the dead. He was definitely nocturnus. Humans, or non-nuits as we call them, don’t have as keen of senses as us. Nocturnus cover any multitude of beings who either have some sort of paranormal or otherworldly abilities or are themselves monsters. We thrive at night. The sunlight doesn’t hurt all of us, but it can and does dampen our abilities. Some nocturnus are allergic to sunlight rather, the vampyr, mummies, several species of zombies and any number of demonic hybrids. We aren’t evil, we are just not humans. We do have to hide among and from the non-nuit though, towns like mine, Apres LaMort, are havens for our kind. Magically protected, they are places that enhance us, and it’s easier for us to hide from prying non-nuit eyes in our own cities. It also attracts us, including uncrossed spirits like Rickets to them. Here in Apres LaMort we lean into that and use our spooky vibe to attract non-nuit customers to us. It’s a proverbial Halloween town, making it a tourist trap for any number of non-nuit who want to hunt spirits or just want to don on some fangs and play vampyr. Although nocturnus can always sense a non-nuit when we see one. The inherent lack of magick in their blood makes them look like matte figures in a glossy painting for our eyes.

  A ring sounds out as I open the shop. It’s still hard thinking about this place as mine. Anya has been gone only a few months and before that she had all but stopped coming to the shop. Choosing instead to retire to her home with Euphrates, her personal undead valet. Euphrates passed on as soon as Grandma Anya died. That made it real for me. Euphrates was gone too. He had been bound to her after death and he remained undead until she passed, with him gone Grandma Anya was completely gone as well. I did not reap her and for that I am thankful. I had been living in the shop, above it, before my grandmother died to get a sense of my own space. I haven’t had the heart to move back into her house yet. In fact, I’ve barely been there at all.

  Bran perches himself right in front of me. When sitting he is almost as long as my arm. “Caw!” he hollers at me, his silken black feathers ruffling up. Bran
always knows when I’m upset. I give him a pet right under his ear.

  “I’ll be okay,” I tell him. Bran wasn’t too keen on the idea of living in the shop. He wants to live in Anya’s home, more room for him to roam there when he is in raven form. That’s still too hard for me though. Bran himself is not actually a raven. He is a living transmogrification. Originally Bran was created as a book, a magical ledger given to every reaper. Each day his pages fill with a list of names. The list glows gold letting me know it’s time for their reaping. Once I reap the souls, their names turn to black ink and appear in the back of the ledger with a short bit of detail of their passing added. How and where they died, if they crossed over. His cover is covered in the same silken black feathers and one of his eyes still blinks at me from between them. Each ledger is unique to their reaper and forms an unbreakable bond. When he is not in ledger form Bran turns into a raven. He is more than just a magical ledger, more than a pet, he is my closest companion. He can sense how I’m feeling and though he doesn’t speak in literal terms, we both can sense what each other is trying to communicate. He does try and succeed to annoy me when he can as well. I love him dearly.

  Chapter Three

  I run.

  Chasing down a target isn’t something I generally like doing. This week is not at all going as planned. My cloak flutters behind me and I can hear the beat of Bran’s wings up above me. My target, Kensing Stone, is much faster than his withered frame gave away. I don’t often chase the elderly. My breath comes out in huffs. If this is going to be the new thing around here to run from reapers, I may need to start doing more cardio. In between my huffs I swear I hear a strange growl. I hope Mr. Stone doesn’t believe growling at death will scare me away. The growling fades.

  My target runs into a dead end at Hemlock Alley. A brick wall meets his hands instead of the door he was apparently hoping for. That weird noise I keep hearing gets louder. I should know it, but I don’t. The cobblestone is shining, it looks wet. It shouldn’t be wet; it’s been unseasonably hot for a while.

  The elderly Mr. Stone turns and faces me finally, “This isn’t what you think. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” He raises his hands, his eyes dart around nervously, never directly focusing on me.

  “I have to say you are spry for your age Mr. Stone, but you know how this goes. I’ve never missed a soul. I can’t, it’s your time.”

  “No! You don’t understand!” His eyes focus on the rooftop next to us. “Please!” he pleads.

  The growling gets louder suddenly, we are surrounded. Mr. Stone and I both cover our ears as the growling turns to inhuman howls that pierce my brain. What is that?

  Shadows drop down into the alley between me and Mr. Stone. Small and grey with orange eyes, I know what they are immediately even though my brain is telling me not to believe it. This can’t be possible, gallu don’t leave the underworld. The gallu turn all of their attention on Mr. Stone as if they don’t even notice me. Before I can think to swipe my scythe at them, the pack of gallu pounce on Mr. Stone, covering him. I cannot interfere. I was here to reap him, once one of the names from my ledger is set on their path to death, I cannot save them. His screams are loud and quickly turn wet. There must be at least twenty of them. Pinpointing the final moment when Mr. Stone’s screams stop, his soul leaves his body easily. He quivers turning his ghostly face to the brick wall unable to watch as the gallu keep eating his body. Without saying a word as not to announce to the gallu that I am here, I hold my hand out to the spirit of Mr. Stone. He takes it desperately, without fully looking at me. Moments ago his biggest fear was dying, he now must want nothing more than to leave the horrors of his final moments. We cross into the room of fog. He still doesn’t speak, it’s common for spirits who die tragically. If he were to stay on earth eventually, he might speak again, or he would only give off moaning wails that creep out whatever passersby dare cross into where he decided to haunt. A light appears for him, I can see his spirit relax. He looks at me with one final glance as if he wishes to tell me something, but the fear in his face overtakes him and he rushes towards his light. I sigh.

  Walking back out of the mist and into the alley the gallu, if they were gallu because they couldn’t possibly have been, seem to be gone. All that’s left of Mr. Stone is a wet pile of bits of bone. If he had any last words Kensing Stone took them to the grave. Not even my best friend Eris could bring him back with her necromancer abilities. Nothing I can do about the mess here, so I turn and get ready to reap the next name on my list. Only, Bran is nowhere to be found.

  Making my way out of the alley, my eyes scan the rooftops. Bran doesn’t generally wander far from me, unless I send him out on an errand. I almost call out for him until I remember the gallu. They couldn’t have hurt Bran. They wouldn’t. They must have run back to the underworld no matter how they got out. I had idly planned to bring up the sighting to the nocturnus society in the morning, a few gallu was unheard of but then again, I’m not as connected as other nocturnus with high society comings and goings. Either way, there’s no discernable reason why Bran should be missing. My heart starts to pick up its pace. I begin running from street to street looking for my lost little companion. No matter where I am, Bran can always find me, it’s part of our bond. Something must be wrong.

  “Bran,” I whisper circling back to Hemlock Alley. “Bran!”

  Instead of Bran’s telltale cry, a faint growl responds. A chill runs down my spine. I had assumed before that the gallu were only here as a means to take Mr. Stone off to the other side, instead they’re diving back into the alley all around me. My blood runs cold. I pull out my scythe again. Gallu don’t have souls but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to a reaper’s tools of the trade.

  “I was going to ask you all what you’re doing here, but I believe you made that pretty clear with what’s left of Mr. Stone there,” I say.

  A chorus of snarls echo back to me. Their grey skin almost blends in with the cobblestone around them, you can only tell they exist by the glowing orange.

  “Fine. You guys want to party, bring it. You better pray you didn’t hurt my Bran,” I tell them. I won’t go down eaten by underworldings without a fight. I raise my scythe ready to kill the little freaks.

  “Dun dun dun dun!” A voice sings out from the shadows.

  I turn, instinctively ready to attack the sound but I stop when I see a shining silver sword. Shining is an understatement the sword is practically glowing.

  The voice jumps down into the alley, it’s a man. More importantly it’s a non-nuit man. As he jumps down, he immediately starts swinging his sword which the gallu seem to recognize and be afraid of. He swings and slices at the gallu, when his sword connects with one it sizzles and burns. I notice one gallu sneaking it’s way up behind him. I swipe my scythe at the beast. Instead of cutting it down the force of the blow tosses the gallu into the brick wall to my right.

  The non-nuit with the glowing sword turns. “Thanks,” he says until he gets a full look at my face. “Woah, no one told me Death is so hot!” He winks at me then turns back to fighting off the gallu who are jumping and scrambling up the walls of the alley to get away. I realize my hood must have fallen down. When it’s up, to any passerby I look skeletal, to non-nuit’s they don’t see me at all unless I’m coming for them.

  I hear the snarls of the last gallu running out of the alley. One races past me again, uninterested in anything about me with the shiny sword-wielding non-nuit on it’s tail. Literally.

  “Wait!” I yell out to the guy before he turns the corner.

  He hesitates but is bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he’s about to keep running at any moment.

  “Who- who are you?” I ask, completely baffled.

  “My apologies, they call me Oz m’lady.” He bows.

  “What?” I don’t know what to make of his weird mannerisms. “Just Oz?”

  “I would love to chat more with you, but I must continue my quest to save your life and the lives
of those living here. That is, unless you would like to pay me with a kiss from death herself?”

  I gape at him. For the first time in probably my entire life, I am left speechless.

  “Later then. Goodnight fair maiden of the dead, sleep well tonight.” He runs, inhumanly fast too. I chase after him but even with my reaper powers I cannot keep up.

  “Who was that? What did I just see?” I ask into the dead of night.

  “Caw!” Bran’s glorious voice responds to me instead.

  “Bran!” I cry, thrilled to see the little imp, that is until I realized he must have been hiding this entire time. “You were hiding weren’t you?”

  “Caw, caw!” he hollers, unphased by my accusation. As if to say ‘what do you expect?’

  I purse my lips at him. “Chicken.”

  “Caw, caw, caw, caw!” He ruffles his feathers objecting to my taunt.

  Despite that he flies down landing on my shoulder, his beak picks at my hair affectionately. “Yeah I was worried about you too,” I tell him. “Now let’s get to the next name on that list, I don’t want to run into any more surprises tonight. I stare at my scythe that now has one tiny dent in its enchanted metal. I’m no match for whatever attacked me, I would have died if Oz with no last name hadn’t come to save me.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re sure he was non-nuit?” Eris asks me the next morning in the donut shop she works in. The shop is empty. Months ago, Eris did what no other necromancer has the guts to do, she stood up to and arrested an entire clan of immortals who had taken Apres LaMort hostage.

  Since then though it has come to light that she is dating the head of the immortal clan’s son, Tre LeVain, who was also instrumental somehow in taking his father down. Even so, it has not gone over well with the society. Non-nuit still visit but for now the society doesn’t have much to say to Eris. It’s a wonder her boss has been so forgiving. Her claim to fame was short lived, thanking her one day and all but shunning her the next. Nocturnus can be a callus and cold bunch at times. Then again so can non-nuit so we have that in common.