Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel Vincent

I twisted to glance at Nash with one brow raised, but he only shrugged, his mouth set in a hard line. “Why would anyone steal souls?”

      “Good question.” Tod fingered a box of disposable thermometer covers. His grin widened, and I was reminded of the way movie-goers sometimes cheer during murder scenes, secure in the knowledge that they’re seeing fake blood and movie magic. “There’s not much use for detached souls in this world….” The reaper left his last word hanging, and a sick feeling twisted deep in my stomach.

      “But there is in the Netherworld?” I finished for him, and Tod nodded, evidently impressed that my newbie roots were no longer showing.

      “Souls are a rarity on the deeper plane. Something between a delicacy and a luxury. They’re in very high demand, and every now and then a shipment goes missing in transit.”

      “A shipment of souls?” A bolt of dread shot through me at the very thought. “In transit from where? To where?”

      Nash answered, looking simultaneously pleased to know the answer and annoyed at having to provide it. “From here to where they’re … recycled.”

      “Reincarnated?”

      “Yeah.” Tod stood straighter and bumped his head on an upper shelf, then rubbed it as he spoke. “But sometimes a shipment doesn’t make it, so those souls aren’t passed on. They’re replaced with new ones, which is one of the reasons you’ll run into a brand-new soul sometimes.”

      I made a mental note to ask later how one might identify a new soul. “So these poached souls are going to the Netherworld?” I asked, trying to simply stay afloat in the current of new information. “You mean Meredith, and Julie, and the others were killed so some monster in another realm could make a midnight snack out of their souls?” I gripped a shoulder-height shelf for balance as my head spun. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what I’d just said.

      “That’s Levi’s theory.” Tod picked up a roll of sterile gauze and tossed it into the air, then caught it. “He said the last time this happened, they were being collected as payment to a hellion.”

      My hand clutched the shelf and a protruding screw cut my finger, but I barely noticed because of the dark dread swirling in me like a dense fog. “A hellion?”

      Nash exhaled heavily. “Humans would call them demons, but that’s not exactly right, because they have no association with any religion. They feed on pain and chaos. But they can’t leave the Netherworld.”

      “Okay.” My pulse raced, and I flashed back to the gray creatures I’d seen during Emma’s soul song. Were those hellions? “Payment for what?”

      The reaper shrugged. “Could be anything. Sometimes deals are struck. Under the table, of course. Levi’ll take care of it, as soon as he finds the reaper responsible.” He caught the gauze one more time and shrugged, having evidently given us everything he knew. Which was much more than I’d expected. “So …what about this reaper you saw?”

      “Tell Levi he’s looking for a woman.” I shifted closer to Nash and accidentally bumped a shelf. Several boxes of medical tubing fell over, spilling their contents like clear plastic worms.

      “A woman?” Tod’s eyes widened, and I nodded.

      “Tall and thin, with wavy brown hair,” Nash said. “Sound like someone you know?”

      Tod shook his head. “But Levi knows every reaper in the state. He’ll take care of it.” He hesitated, as if unsure whether or not to say the next part. “But he thinks you’re going to get your own souls poached before he can get everything back under control.”

      “Is that what you think?” I wasn’t sure why his opinion mattered to me, but it did.

      Tod shrugged, fingering his makeshift ball. “I’d say that’s a very real possibility. Especially if you keep wiggling your fingers in front of the tiger’s mouth.”

      “We had no choice.” I bent to restack the boxes I’d spilled. “The tiger was about to eat my best friend.”

      “You’re something else, Kaylee Cavanaugh,” Tod whispered, and I knew from Nash’s blank, angry expression that he hadn’t heard that part either, though he’d clearly seen the reaper’s lips move. “It could have been you, instead of that cheerteader. It might be, next time. Or it might be him.” His gaze flicked to Nash and back, and his irreverent expression darkened.

      “Let Levi handle it,” he said. “If you won’t do it for me, or even for yourself, do it for Nash. Please.”

      Tod looked truly scared, and I didn’t know what to make of fear coming from a grim reaper. So I nodded. “We’re out of it. I already promised my uncle.” I reached back for Nash’s hand as Tod nodded. Then he disappeared, still holding the gauze, and I was alone with Nash in the cramped closet.

       18

      “WHAT DID HE SAY?” Nash shifted in his seat, staring out the passenger’s side window at the passing streetlights. We were almost to my house, and those were the first words he’d spoken since we’d pulled out of the hospital parking garage.

      “Is there anything else I should know about reapers?” I couldn’t keep annoyance out of my voice; I was tired of being left in the dark. “Can they read my thoughts or see through my clothes?” Which would actually explain a lot… “Or make me stand on my head and squawk like a chicken?”

      Nash sighed and finally turned to face me. “Reapers are like a supernatural jack-of-all-trades. They can appear wherever they want and can choose who sees and hears them. If they want to be seen or heard at all. They have other minor abilities, but nothing else as infuriating as the whole selective-hearing thing.” He wrapped one hand around the armrest, his knuckles white with tension. “So what did he say?”

      I hesitated to answer; if Tod had wanted Nash to hear, he’d have broadcast on all frequencies. Then again, he didn’t make me promise…. “He asked me not to get you killed. He’s trying to protect you.”

      I glanced away from the road in time to see Nash roll his eyes. “No, he’s trying to protect you, and he knows you’ll be more cautious for my sake than for your own.”

      “How do you know that’s what he’s doing?”

      “Because that’s what I would have done.”

      An adrenaline-soaked warmth spread through my chest, even though I knew Nash was wrong. Tod was looking out for him, at least in part.

      Squinting into the late-afternoon sun, I turned into my neighborhood. Two lefts later, my aunt’s car came into sight, parked in the driveway next to the empty spot mine usually occupied. My uncle had taken the day off, expecting my father to arrive around midmorning. And surely Sophie had already made it back from the memorial. The gang’s all here….

      Nash followed me into the living room, where my uncle sat in the floral-print armchair, angled so that he could see both the television—tuned to the local news—and the front window. He stood when we came in, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his anxious gaze searching my expression immediately for any sign of trouble.

      “Sophie told us what happened. Are you okay?”

      “Fine.” I collapsed onto one end of the couch and pulled Nash down with me.

      Uncle Brendon’s gaze captured mine and held it. “Val …isn’t feeling well today. I just put her back in bed.”

      Now? I glanced out the front window to see the last rays of afternoon light just then sinking below the rooftops across the street. It wasn’t even five-thirty.

      “This may not be the best time for company,” he continued, glancing briefly at Nash.

      “I