Reaper: The Soul Seekers

Chapter Two

Death

As a dark Shadow

Beckons his prey

Into the unknown

By a soft whisper

In the soul

Cindy Cheney, "Death"

I rested my head against the tile of the shower wall as the events of the night played through my head. Why did the devil send Draven after me? That wasn’t like him. I was almost certain if there really was a problem the big man downstairs would have met me face-to-face to discuss it.

That left one option open to explain what had happened in the cemetery. I was being stalked by a necromancer. I had heard stories of necromancers that went a little loopy and killed for fun. I just never assumed one would pick me as their prey. I was a reaper for Satan’s sake! Shouldn’t that have entitled me to some kind of protection? Apparently not…

Shaking off the worry that was starting to consume me I focused on scrubbing off all the germs that filthy necromancer may have left on me. Necromancer cooties. I giggled to myself as I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. I stopped as I passed the mirror above the black counter in my bathroom and I poked at my blonde hair nervously.

Victims to necromancy always went through a change; their faces became more defined, their hair might lighten or darken a shade, all impurities vanished, their eyes faded into that disturbing white color. I couldn’t help but wonder what I might look like as a necromancer as I peered into the mirror. What would it be like to be permanently surrounded by death? I could see death, I helped people move on from the land of the living, but this was only temporary. The minute I paid my dues to the devil I would no longer have to deal with this. Necromancers though… they thrived on death. It was an uncomfortable thing to think about.

I plucked on my lip ring repeatedly as I made my way to my bedroom. My mom hated it when I messed with the silly metal ball but I couldn’t help it, pulling on it was almost like a nervous habit. In a way it was stress relieving. I dropped my hand from my face to dig through my dresser for a tank top and fuzzy pajama pants. They were my guilty pleasure. I would live in pajama pants if I could. Sadly my mom disliked my pajama obsession just as much as she disliked me playing with my lip ring.

Once I was dressed I turned around to find my bed seductively calling to me. It knew I couldn’t resist its warm embrace. I flicked off my light and jumped onto my bed, snuggling under the cozy covers. I was beyond tired from everything that had happened today. Yet I couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Draven’s face snuck up on me every time I closed my eyes. Damn him and his stupid necromancer charm. I dug my palms into my sockets in hopes it would erase his sinful aura that plagued my mind.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Did he hex me? He must’ve used some of his black magic on me during our little chat in the cemetery. That would explain this torment that left me tossing and turning in an insomniac fit. I punched my panda pillow pet in anger and suddenly a hand wrapped around my wrist to stop my assault on the stuffed creature.

At first I thought my exhaustion was playing tricks on me and I had just imagined the touch of an invisible hand but I was proven wrong as a deep voice whispered into my ear, “What do you think you’re doing Blondie? I didn’t take you for an animal abuser.”

Two glowing orbs blinked at me and a scream rose up in my throat. It never reached the surface though because another hand clamped over my mouth. All I could do was whimper pathetically.