Soulbound

12. Ashe

It was a quarter past three by the time I pull up to Silent Hills. It was an older building, the faded brick exterior weathered by time, but it was well-equipped for inconspicuously disposing of the supernatural. After all, no one would ever question why a crematorium was burning a body.

Nationally recognized as an efficient, affordable and eco-friendly cremation service with locations spread throughout all of North America, the Silent Hills brand was publicly marketed as a family-owned franchise and privately funded by the Tribunal's deep pockets. There was even a small chapel nestled inside each crematorium, should customers desire a ceremony for their departed loved ones. The bodies of those killed by a Reaper, however, were offered no such rites.

"Welcome to Silent Hills Cremation Services!" The lady at the reception desk, a young bubbly brunette with half-moon spectacles and far too much makeup on, beams as soon as I step through the double oak doors. "How can I help you today?"

"I believe you had a package delivered here earlier this morning."

I pull my wallet out and flash the receptionist my badge. I do not bother hiding a smirk as her eyes widen in recognition at the words 'LIQUIDATION DEPARTMENT, REAPER' embossed in gold along the black metal finish and the Tribunal's sigil engraved in its center: the depiction of a robed woman stepping out of an inverted triangle, carrying a set of balance scales in one hand and a sickle in the other while a third eye stared boldly from the center of her blindfold.

The symbolic personification of judge, jury and executioner. The supernatural emblem of fear.

"Y-yes, of course!" She jolts to her feet as she fiddles with a set of keys. "Your, um, colleague arrived a little while ago. Please, right this way."

She leads me through a side door, the homely atmosphere of the lobby giving way to a dim hallway with wood paneling and ornate paintings hung neatly between the open doorways of show rooms and offices. A few curious onlookers glance in our direction as we pass by. I avoid direct eye contact with a human couple as they peruse a selection of urns, not wanting their grief to assault my senses.

"My coven's been servicing the Fourth Ward for over one hundred and eighty years," the receptionist chatters on as we approach a heavy metal door at the end of the hall. "I've only started learning the business a few years ago, myself. Usually we get the routine visits from Public Affairs whenever these, uh, packages come in, but I've never met anyone from Liquidation before."

"Fascinating," I reply with a tone that signifies anything but. I really hate small talk, especially with witches. But I could not deny that the ones who ran this crematorium had a certain aptitude for this line of work. Devout practitioners of soul magic, they had a gift for consoling the living during times of mourning with whispers from beyond the grave and could do wonders with preparing the dead for their departure.

I may have held an appreciation for what they do if they were not so priggish about it.

The woman's eyes roam over me, flicking curiously from the black combat boots to the black leather jacket to my auburn hair, and a soft smile graces her lips. "You know, you definitely look the part."

I quirk a brow, the amusement in my eyes masked by the aviators I still wore. "What part?"

"Strong, capable, fierce. Every bit like how I'd imagine a Reaper to look." Her words are laced with a mix of apprehension and intrigue, though I suppose I could not fault her for her curiosity. Most people who meet a Reaper rarely ever live to tell about it.