A Shadow in the Reaping

Chapter 11

Dusk is falling behind a curtain of heavy fog when we arrive at the Ashen's 'corridor'. I retrieve the katana from the back seat as he grabs our bags, and we stand for a moment in front of the country home of the Reaper. Its red brick facade looms above us in the growing dark, two cast iron gas lamps lighting the sweeping grey staircase to a mahogany door. The house is framed by ancient elms and ferns that grow in their shadows.

I expected more unicorns. Maybe also a 'live, love, laugh' welcome mat, I write, and hold it up in front of the Reaper's face without taking my eyes off the house.

"Why am I not surprised," he says, and I can hear the faint trace of a smile in his voice.

We ascend the steps and Ashen pushes the door open. The interior lights come on as we enter but it still seems dim and atmospheric. There are oversized paintings on the walls and marble vases on ornate narrow tables, all flowing down a corridor of checkerboard tiles into the darker recesses of the house.

"Would you rather we leave for the Shadow Realm now or wait until the morning?" he asks as we near the end of the hall. It opens to a wide living room with high ceilings and windows that span the height of the wall. The grey light of the fog obscures everything beyond the sloping lawn.

How about not at all, I write.

"Not an option, I'm afraid."

I thought you might say that. I let him read the note and then clutch the journal and pen to my chest as I stand in front of the window and look out at the mist. I breathe steam onto the glass and write HELP! I'VE BEEN KIDNAPPED! backwards as the Reaper watches.

"Is that necessary?"

I turn and give him a nod and my sweetest, most i

I'd rather go tomorrow. I need to eat before we leave. I doubt your realm caters to my tastes, I write, passing him the note.

"There are blood bags in the fridge," Ashen suggests. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. His grip tightens on the strap of my bag. "I stocked up the other day when I came to retrieve the sword."

Thank you. But it's not quite the same.

"I know." I hear the intake of a breath and I think he's about to say something else, but Ashen presses his lips together instead. His gaze roams my face and then drifts to a wide staircase in the corner. "I'll show you to your room."

I follow him up the stairs and down another corridor, this one narrower than the first but with higher ceilings. Ashen stops at a door painted in black and pushes it open for me but doesn't enter.

The room is more feminine than anything I've seen in the house so far. There are pink and gold curtains framing a tall window and a matching bedspread neatly laid across the bed. Gauzy white curtains drape between the posts of the bed frame, swaying in the humid breeze from the open window. There's a collection of flowers on the sill, a crucifix orchid with bright orange flowers, a wind orchid with blooms like white stars. I walk to a small vanity and notice a thin film of dust across the wood frame of the mirror. The bedding still has creases from where it was folded in its packaging. It's brand new.

I look to the Reaper who waits at the threshold of the door. He sweeps his eyes across the room and gives a curt nod. When they find mine again, the flame within them gives light to the room. "There's nowhere on Earth that I can't find you, vampire," he says, and turns toward the unlit hall as he keeps hold of my gaze over his shoulder. "Just in case you're thinking of ru

I want to write something snappy, like fuck you too, dickhead, but for some reason I can't. I just watch him break his gaze away and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

I stay in my room only long enough to get changed, then I head out the way we came in. I don't see Ashen. I can smell his scent. It's unlit cigars and brandy. It's silk and ink. It leads down the hall, down the stairs, and into a dark corridor on the other side of the living room. There's a light on there. I stop at the mouth of the corridor for just a moment. Part of me has an urge to see if Ashen is there and what he's doing. I imagine myself stopping at the doorway, our gazes meeting with no words spoken. I imagine his eyes simmering with something other than fury. My heart ratchets with the temptation of it, but my bones are fused to the floor. I don't go down the corridor.

I pass through the living room, but instead of going down the hallway to the front door, I detour through an unlit dining room and into the kitchen. It's all granite countertops and dark green cupboards and stainless-steel appliances. Expensive. Tasteful. There's an antique crystal chandelier that drips from the ceiling like a waterfall. There's a window the height of the room with an arch at the top. For some reason, I feel like this house is always dark, despite the tall windows and the grandiose lights.

I see the fridge and smile.

My canines elongate in anticipation as I open the fridge door and the cool air presses its kiss across my skin. It's not the blood I'm here for, though I'll take one of those for the road.

It's the butter.

I take the package out and carefully unwrap the edge of the foil, then I sink my fangs into the salty, creamy slab to leave an unmistakable vampire calling card.

That's for touching my underwear, motherfucker. I fold up the foil and place it back in the butter compartment.

I sip a bag of blood on my walk into town. I know the movies will tell you otherwise, but controlling your thirst is not the hardest part of being a vampire. Sure, that takes practice, but after a few decades you get the hang of that... most of the time, anyway. Even the emotional turmoil of eating people isn't that bad. You get over that surprisingly fast too. And you can make sustainable choices, like I do. My diet is exclusively douchebags like Jessie Bates. I'm doing the planet a favour. I'm playing my part in manifesting a better world.

It doesn't take me long to find a candidate.

You know those dudes that drive Honda civics and install a huge muffler on them so they sound like some kind of fucked-up race car but with the engine of a hairdryer and the body of a beater? Like a Frankencar? Yeah. I pick one of those guys. I'm doing us all a solid here, so you're welcome.

It's nearly three thirty in the morning when I finally make it back to the Reaper's country estate. I slip in the front door and glide down the hall, silent and lethal. I glance back at the corridor as I start up the stairs but it's dark. As I slide down the hallway like a shadow, I notice a door ajar across from mine. The lights are off. I have another wild thought, that I could push it open, that I could see what's on the other side. I could see if the Reaper is there in the dark. But I don't. I close my door and change into clothes absent of the scent of blood, and I lie down next to my katana. As I close my eyes, I hear the click of the door closing across the hall.

In the morning, the first thing I sense isn't the light or the chill from the cool air flowing through the open window.

It's the smell of coffee.

I get changed and clean myself up. I even put on a little bit of makeup. Just a little bit. Like... maybe a full face but natural. I know what you're thinking but I'm not catfishing so fuck off. If you were going to the Shadow Realm you'd probably do the same. Besides, I don't know who's there. I need to be presentable, and I'm sure the Reaper will be immaculate, as always, so I'm just trying to even the playing field.