Candy Bones Read online

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t go with you?” Oz asks. Part of me wants to tell him yes, but that seems to be the part that can’t stop staring into his green eyes. Should non-nuit have eyes that bright?

  Instead I play it cool. “I’m okay. This part’s a solo gig. Besides, you’ve given me all I need,” I tell him referring to my shiny new scythe. It's made of the magical type of metal that will help me kill demons now too. Inside I’m happy dancing, and maybe more than a little willing to give him a thank you kiss, but I keep my demeanor the same outside.

  “Um-hmm.” Eris smiles evilly at me. Little priestess could always read me, she can tell I’m having all sorts of a reaction to Oz. I glare at her in warning.

  “Well if you need any help, don’t hesitate.” He hands me a slip of paper with his number on it. “M’lady.” He nods to me. I try not to smile at his stupid use of antiquated language and manners. A grin spreads across my face anyways.

  After they leave Bran comes to perch on my good shoulder. “Caw!” he announces.

  “I know,” I tell him, “I saw the names in the ledger too.” One of these is going to cause big ripples in the morning.

  “Afraid to go out tonight? It’s not every day you see death quiver.” Rickets mocks from behind me. “Don’t worry fear of the dark is normal.”

  “There are no days off for me Rickets, you know that.”

  “You could take one just this once. Heal up that arm of yours,” he says nodding at my sling.

  “If one didn’t know better, one might think you’re worried about me.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I’ve seen enough lately. There are some things I wouldn’t wish even on my worst enemy. One such as yourself might just want to take a vacation right about now.” Rickets leans against the brick wall; he lowers his hat over his eyes. Then he fades out of existence.

  I pull out my scythe, causing my cloak to fall over me. “I can’t,” I remind him wherever he is before walking away.

  I’m not lying either. I actually can’t take a night off, one usable arm or not. Even if I left, new names would show up in my ledger, souls of those wherever I am that need reaping. If I were to ignore it and just not reap the souls, it would have horrible consequences. One, it would physically hurt Bran. He would squawk and howl in pain until I did my job. He may not actually be an animal, but he does feel and I couldn’t bear it. Two, it would hurt the souls as well. They would still die, only they would be trapped inside or next to their bodies, their souls tormented by whatever was happening to the body. I would have to be heartless to allow them or Bran to endure that while I went on sabbatical. Reapers can retire, but it more or less happens to them. At some point they lose the ability to call on their scythe and viola they’re retired.

  It’s never bothered me to do what I do. Every night is new and interesting. Besides everyone dies, it’s kind of nice knowing what happens to them after that, bringing them comfort when I can and seeing the pure joy on their face when they cross over. It brings me peace. My favorite reaping was when an elderly couple of non-nuits died together in their sleep. The husband went first, but he refused to cross, he knew his wife was coming without me even telling him. For two hours he regaled me with the tale of their love story and their life. When his bride passed finally, they embraced and crossed over together as if I wasn’t even there.

  Bran and I reach the home of one of the counsel’s most prominent members. Counsel Varkus’ home is a lot nicer than I expected. I suppose when I think of him, an old rickety haunted house comes to mind. Instead it’s all marble and cherry wood. The front door opens for me and I ghost my way into his home. Bran stays perched on my shoulder as we move silently through the home. Upstairs where I feel myself being pulled there’s a loud thump. I follow the pull of the counsel’s soul, reaching a room with floor to ceiling double doors. The doors open showing one mostly dead counsel in his bed. A methodic creaking stops me from checking on him. One of his bedroom windows is unlatched. The multipaned window is slapping against the frame in the night breeze. Considering he has an electric fireplace heating the room and thick blankets on him, I doubt Counsel Varkus would leave his window open. A strange whispering captures my attention before I leave the window. Down below on the ground a shadow catches my eye under a street lamp, it half runs, half crawls away on all fours.

  Counsel Varkus looks wide awake, his eyes are open. I leave them. It’s not my job to mess with things. Using my shiny new scythe, I reap the counsel’s soul from his body.

  “Wha-“ He turns around in a circle before his spirit eyes focus on me, “What are you doing in my room?” he demands.

  “I’m here to help you cross over,” I tell him frankly. Not all spirits are aware or accept that they are in fact dead. Sometimes they block out the moment of death or are asleep during it and it confuses them.

  “I don’t think so. You can’t just come in my home and take my soul! You’ll regret this! Do you know who I am?”

  “You Counsel Varkus are a spirit, and it is my job to help you cross over.” I point to his body on the bed.

  “What did you do to me? Put me back!” He stomps his foot, actually stomps it. Like a child.

  “Sir, while I have a great respect for the position you held prior to your death, and I would normally never disrespect a man of your title, please allow me to be the first to tell you; you’re a jerk.”

  He starts bumbling something that sounds like “how dare you.” I hold up a skeletal hand to stop him.

  “And for once being a jerk isn’t going to get you what you want. You abused your title when you used it as an excuse to stop having common courtesy for anyone but yourself. You obviously hated your job, based on that alone you should have retired years ago. That being said, I’m sorry if you’re upset over your passing, but I didn’t kill you. It was your time. Now if you don’t mind, take my hand and I will escort your mean wrinkled old butt to the other side where you will for once in your miserable existence find true bliss.” I hold out my hand to him. I can’t force him across. If I could; I would just toss him to the other side. I doubt they want him over there anyways.

  I didn’t expect it, but counsel Varkus takes my hand, “It’s Eli. My name is Eli,” he says. I nod and pull him across the realms.

  A few hours later Bran and I are headed to my next reaping. For some reason it’s at a cemetery. I have never reaped a soul in cemetery. My grandmother did once, it was a man who had a heart attack while on a fake ghost tour. The touring director had teen girls paint themselves up as ghosts and walk through the woods next to the cemetery. The sight of one of those plants gave the poor man such a fright his heart gave out. Ironically, he refused to cross over and he did in fact haunt that same cemetery long after his death.

  Now though, there are no ghost tours going on at this hour. Instead I find a group of teen non-nuit girls circled around a Ouija board with candles strewn about them. Ah. Maybe this will be another death of fright. I perch myself on one of the tombstones to watch, Bran sits next to me.

  “We call upon the spirits to hear us and commune among us,” one of the girls says with her eyes closed.

  My girl giggles to herself.

  “Bethany, quiet. If we don’t concentrate, they won’t come,” the leader says to her.

  “As if they’re coming anyways,” another girl says under her breath.

  “Let’s try again,” the leader yanks on the sleeve of her friend’s jacket. “Close your eyes and keep your fingers loose on the planchette.” They all obey, but she opens one eye to check on them anyways. “Spirits! We ask that you hear us and commune among us!” The girl yells this time. She keeps chanting.

  “Should I go over there and move it?” Rickets voice comes out of nowhere making me jump.

  “Good grief! Rickets you startled me!” I yell at him. The girls can’t hear us. I’m still in my cloak and Rickets is a ghost.

  “That’s just icing on my cake. So, what do you say, should I move it?” He asks
fiendishly.

  “Be my gues.” I say. That may be just how one of them is about to die. Who am I to interfere?

  “Watch this.” He slinks over to them as if he’s afraid they’ll notice him. The girls are still chanting, with their little fingers on the board. Rickets walks up to the board and nudges it with his toe. A chorus of squeals release from the girls, but surprisingly they don’t move. Rickets leans over them and holds on to the planchette, he moves it slowly to the HELLO written on the board.

  “Hello!” the leader says. “We would like to commune with you, what is your name spirit?”

  The other girls gasp and Bethany holds her breath.

  Rickets moves the planchette over individual letters, T, A, C, O, S.

  “Tacos?” Bethany asks.

  “Lee this is you, you’re pushing it.”

  “I swear I’m not,” Lee hisses. “Are you saying your name is Tacos?” Lee asks Rickets.

  Rickets moves the piece again over the NO. Then he slowly moves it over individual letters again. B, R, I, N, G, M, E, T, A, C, O, S.

  “Bring me tacos.” The third girl laughs.

  Rickets keeps moving the piece, O, R, D, I, E. Then he grabs up the board and tosses it.

  The girls all scream and stand up.

  I can’t help it, I laugh. “You just gave them a story to last a lifetime,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. The girls are still screaming, looking around the graveyard.

  “CAW!” Bran screams suddenly flying up into a tree scared.

  “That’s my cue to scatter!” Rickets tells me. “Be careful,” he says then wisps away.

  I jump up off the gravestone. So far Bran has only reacted that way when there are demons around. I hold my scythe out. I cannot interfere if a demon attacks them, I remind myself, but I will defend myself and Bran. The girls have started to pick up their board and candles, no clue that the danger has only just begun.

  Behind them in the woods I hear chanting again. Only this time it’s whispers, strange words but ones that carry weight with them. The girls don’t seem to hear it. Multiple sets of orange eyes pop up just along the tree line. Everything in me wants to stop this. The whispers of chanting gets louder, it’s a language I don’t know but I recognize. I saw what the gallu did to Mr. Stone, I do not want to see that done to these girls. The gallu break through the trees growling.

  The girls look up and scream. Two of them bolt, running with all their might towards their car. Bethany Cane does not run. She tries to hide behind one of the tombstones. Her body starts glowing and I can see it is this point, this moment in time that caused her undoing.

  The other girls reach their car with one gallu ramming into the door causing a dent. They don’t hesitate, they don’t wait for their friend, they speed off into the night. It is the only thing that saves their lives. The other gallu are sniffing around. One jumps on top of the large tombstone Bethany is quivering behind. She squeaks. It’s a small sound, so tiny. But it’s the last sound she will ever make. I run towards her. I can’t let her feel that pain. Some of the gallu see me and begin chase but I don’t care. I keep my eyes on the light behind the tombstone. I run past her holding out my scythe as I do. Bethany’s soul is taken from her body right before the gallu on the tombstone jumps down to devour her. The others become distracted by the blood and join in.

  I stand by a scared and quivering spirit glowing like a beacon as monsters devour her.

  “Hello Bethany,” I say, lowering the hood of my cloak.

  Fat tears roll down her cheeks. “We would have brought the tacos.” Her lip quivers.

  “You poor thing,” I say crooning. I realize she believes, and her friends probably also believe she died over a spirit desiring an offering of tacos.

  “I couldn’t have eaten them anyways,” Rickets' voice calls out to her.

  “Rickets! What are you still doing here?” I ask him.

  “I’m here to let the girl know she has a choice. You were about to run through you’re spiel about how you’re her friend and going to help her cross over to a place of only joy. When really, she has another choice, she can stay. She can stay here on earth with more power than she’s ever known in life.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks him.

  “Rickets you need to leave, now,” I tell him.

  “I want to hear what he has to say,” the girl says.

  “What do you want right at this moment sweetheart?” Rickets asks her.

  “To not be in this cemetery anymore.” Bethany tells him.

  “Then come with me,” Rickets says, “If you change your mind you can always find Wraith again and she can cross you over. But if you go with her now without knowing your other options, you can’t ever come back.”

  “Sorry,” she says to me and follow Rickets into a void.

  Bran flies down and perches himself on the fence surrounding the cemetery. I guess the gallu finished and left. The whispering is gone. I had fully planned to come back and hunt them down and bring justice for Bethany once she had crossed over.

  “Wow. And here I thought reaping a member of the counsel would be the strangest part of my night.” Thankfully this night wasn’t a total bust. I think I know what may be causing the demons to get loose.

  Chapter Ten

  “I think I know who’s opening the rift to the underworld.” I tell Eris and the others when I get to the speakeasy the next day. Counsel Varkus’ death was all nocturnus news was talking about. Not even one mention of Bethany and her demon attack. “Last night, I heard whispering, witchling chants. That’s got to mean something.” I turn to Oz, “You said you were cursed by a witch and that’s why you are aware and can see nocturnus.”

  “Oh um, I was exaggerating. I called Mina a witch to make a point.” Oz says diverting his gaze.

  “I may know of someone we can talk to.” Eris tells me.

  That shocks me. Almost as much as finding out Eris is nostrae nocte. Witchlings and priestesses don’t exactly get along. They both practice magic but to differing degrees. Necromancers are powerful. They are born innately magical, much like reapers, and their magic is unique to them aside from the fact they can all raise the dead. Witchlings are very connected to the earth, mostly elemental magic. They were once strong and a lot more powerful, much higher in the nocturnus society. Over time their lineage became diluted with non-nuits. Not to mention some of them teaching non-nuits about their magic, spilling familial secrets and breaking down the barrier between worlds. Priestesses are high society and claim witchlings have copied much of their rituals and sold them as their own, it’s not as severe as the wars the immortals had with necromancers, but the bitter backbiting between the covens make it hard to believe Eris is cozy with any witchlings.

  She must see the disbelief on my face she starts to explain herself. “I’ve never spoken to her, but I’ve heard good things about her. She’s young, but someone nostrae nocte is watching to possibly become a future member. She seems more, open, than other witchlings.” Eris shrugs.

  “Alright, where do we find her?”

  “We could probably grab her up after her classes,” Oz says, ruffling through some papers that I’m assuming give them all the details they know about the girl.

  “You all realize there’s other ways to handle things besides kidnapping people?” I ask.

  “There are; but are they as efficient?” Oz asks.

  “You’re all ridiculous. Come on. I’ll talk to the girl myself,” I tell them.

  “Before you go, I need to discuss something important with you,” Counsel Hawthorn tells me. “Coming down here to an abandoned bar isn’t something I like to spend a lot of time doing. The less time we spend around each other the better. At the counsel meeting today, we discussed the death of Counsel Varkus. It didn’t seem natural. Eris mentioned you were the reaper who helped him cross over.”

  “I was,” I say, although I don’t generally like many people knowing which souls I reap.

  �
��It didn’t look natural, there was reason to believe it might not be. You know we don’t investigate every unnatural death; magic comes with repercussions. Being nocturnus also has consequences at times. With members of the counsel we have to wonder, if there might be more to a death like his.”

  “You mean like whether or not a certain secret society might have put a hit out on him to get another one of their own voted onto the counsel? Yeah, that crossed my mind too. But you’re in luck, I can’t tell you if or what I saw. Reaper’s code and all. I’d think someone who sometimes runs on four legs would be grateful for that,” I say. I watch her features. I had multiple suspicions about what I saw, I was just waiting to investigate. The thing about werewolves is their volatile anger. Even one as posh as Counsel Hawthorn would give off some signals of the telltale seething werewolves are known for if challenged in a way they feel naturally defensive over. That’s one reason she works so hard to keep a firm hold on the daily counsel meetings getting out of hand. She works incredibly hard to keep control of her own instincts which makes her such a good member of the high counsel. There’s a reason why so many of our own counsel guards and most of the Apres LaMort police are werewolves as well. As a species they learn young about keeping order and self-control.

  “What are you saying?” Her eyes are clear, confused. No werewolf anger. No signs of deception.

  “Oh good! I guess it wasn’t you that I may have, but definitely didn’t witness running away from Counsel Varkus’ home half on two legs and half on four legs as many werewolves are prone to do.”

  “I see,” she says. I can see the wheels in her head turning. She holds up a finger, “There is one more thing, and the counsel does plan to call upon you and the other reapers for a more specific type of help.”

  “We cannot give you access to our ledgers,” I warn her.

  “Nothing like that, but it is something some of you may be opposed to. The counsel would like you all to inform us of any demonic attacks you may happen to come across as soon as they happen. We need to be able to clean these attacks up before the non-nuits notice. Whoever is doing this doesn’t seem concerned with exposure, but that still needs to be a priority. As of now we’ve been monitoring the 911 calls, but that doesn’t always get us there in time to clear the area. Just last night a non-nuit girl was attacked in a cemetery and we just barely got the remains out of there and cloaked ourselves before their authorities began to canvas the scene. Thankfully I know a few werewolves that infiltrated their department, so they were able to clean up any trace evidence. Nocturnus are scared enough, we can’t control the fear of outsiders and our own while still trying to stop whatever this is.”