A Shadow in the Reaping

Shit. Scrabble.

Andy walks into the lobby of the Swan with a hopeful grin and the Scrabble board tucked under his arm. I do my best to give a sincere smile in response, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. I feel the weight of this week pressing on the bones in my face, laying its burden in my chest.

We play three games, and I make some morose words, like loneliness, and darkness, and wallow. Don't judge me. I'm a vampire. We like to be dramatic and melancholy at times. But it's ridiculous, I know that. I shouldn't feel sad at all. I should be rejoicing if the Reaper has disappeared from my life. And that's probably what's happened. My tattoo doesn't itch today. I've had no more disconcerting dreams. I'm shit at spellcasting, so the enchantment has probably worn off, thank fuck. Life will go back to normal now. So when Andy is leaving and finally plucks up the courage to ask me on a proper date to the movies, I nod yes.

I'm now staring at a crack in the paint on the ceiling of my room, wondering how in the fuck my five thousand years have culminated in this exact moment in time.

Three quiet knocks tap at my door.

"Vampire," a whisper sounds from the other side.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. I don't know whether I'm relieved, or disappointed, or both.

Rap. Rap. Rap. 

"Vampire."

I sigh and roll off the edge of the bed, landing with barely a sound on my fingertips and toes in a plank position. I've been pretending to be human for so long that it's kind of fun to remember I can do these things too.

I stand and fidget with the sleeves on my shirt, rolling them up to hide the worn cuffs. When I open the door, Ashen's hand is raised as though he's about to knock again, his other one positioned behind his back. As always seems to be the case, he looks immaculate. A freshly pressed black shirt, black jeans. I suddenly feel underdressed at the threshold of my own room.

"You don't look well," Ashen says, and I move to slam the door shut but his foot is in the way, "What's wrong with you?"

I draw a big circle with my index finger in the air in front of his face. You, I mouth.

Ashen catches my hand out of the space between us and brings my fingertips closer to his nose. "Why does your hand smell like that?" he asks as I pull it from his grasp. "It smells vile."

The bleach. Note to self: the demon does not like bleach. I give a sarcastic smile and mimic the motion of spraying and wiping the doorframe. It's called 'work', I mouth.

"It's called derp?"

I roll my eyes and shake my head, mouthing the word work again.

"Here," he says, pulling something from the hand behind his back. I smell new leather and unblemished paper. He passes me a notebook with a black leather cover and a long, thin box. I look at him for a moment before I take them in my hands.

The leather of the journal is embossed with a gold border of flowers and vines. I flip the sheafs beneath my thumb. The ivory paper is creamy and thick, the outside edges coated in gold. I glance up at Ashen, but his eyes are fixed to the box. I open it, and inside rests a fountain pen with a sparkling abalone body. It is all the colors of the sea. A gold ring with a design of tiny fish encircles the cap.

I swallow a sudden tightness in my throat.

"I thought it would be easier than trying to lip read," he says. His words are practical, his voice even and deep. I nod, but I don't look up and meet his eyes. "I also brought you this."

He holds a sheathed katana above the box and the book in my hands. I gasp. I set the other objects on the floor and he lays the sword across both my palms. My fingers start to shake.

"I noticed your dagger the other night. It's a silver-infused kaiken. I recognized the craftsmanship. You spent time in Japan many years ago, didn't you."

I nod. I hold my breath. I grasp the handle of the sword and pull the saya far enough down the blade that I can see the initials of its maker.

It's true. I can't believe it's true. I can't believe what I hold in my hands still exists.

I close my eyes. They burn with unshed tears.

"You fought with Tomoe Gozen?" Ashen asks, and I nod, not opening my eyes. I press my lips closed. "I reaped the werewolf that killed her, and then I took back her sword. It's yours now. It should be with someone that knew her."

It was many lifetimes ago, and yet the memories still overwhelm my soul. My throat burns as though I'm choking in the grip of a python. This is the hardest part of being a vampire. Trying to forget when you remember everything.

We stand in silence for a long moment until I'm sure I won't let a tear fall. When I open my eyes, I can feel their glow. I reach down and open the notebook. I uncap my new pen.

Thank you.

I hold the note up so he can read it. His gaze meets mine. My eyes are still glassy. My heart feels like it's been put in a blender. The Reaper watches me for a long moment before he gives a nod and turns back toward his room.

"Vampire," he says at the threshold of his door, looking over his shoulder at me. There is flame in his pupils, a dark look of warning in his face. "If someone asks, none of this came from me."

I tilt my head in question, clutching the sword and the book and the pen to my chest.

"I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression."

The Reaper's eyes hold onto mine for a moment that feels too long. Long enough for the hole in my heart to grow heavier. Long enough for me to understand. Long enough for me to be sure that when he says anyone, what he really means is me.

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Chapter 9

It's six in the morning.

I haven't slept all night. And by all night, I mean All. Fucking. Night.

I sat for ages turning the sword over and over in my hands, drowning in an inescapable sea of memory. The sounds and smells of war, of riding after Tomoe Gozen into the bloody Battle of Awazu. The images of escaping the from famed samurai Hatakeyama Shigetada. Those memories of risk and camaraderie and reward and death followed me into the dark hours and kept me from sleep. Such is the curse of the vampire, to remember everything, even that which we wish to forget.

I spent hours more tossing on my bed, stressing about not being asleep. I smelled the faint aroma of bleach on my fingers and thought of more ideas for killing the Reaper, most of which involved large quantities of Javex. Even that didn't seem to help.

I did, however, reach a valuable conclusion.

My life before the Reaper was a little boring, yes, but there was a certain level of comfort and predictability to it that I enjoyed.

My life since the Reaper has been neither comfortable nor predictable.

Therefore, the only way out of my current state of misery is to either:

A. Kill the Reaper

B. Kill the Alpha

C. Kill them both.

Despite how entertaining it's been pla

Killing the Alpha is a more achievable goal. I've killed Alphas before too.

Don't get me wrong, it's still tricky. Werewolves, as you'll recall from the Jessie Bates Di