Reaper's Novice (Soul Collector #1) (4 page)

B
Y THE TIME WE SETTLE OURSELVES
around the table for dinner, I’m drunk with joy. And from the odd looks I keep getting from my family members, they probably think I’m crazy. The more I see them, the greater my hunger to hug or touch them Every time they stray from my sight, tiny bullets of panic stab at my chest, leaving me breathless. Today, I think I might’ve raised stalking to a professional level.

I scoop a forkful of rosemary chicken into my mouth and almost moan as my taste buds explode in joy. It’s been a while since I tasted food this mouth-watering, or sat at a table which looked as though it had been transported from some Romantic Times Magazine.

Mom has gone full throttle with the whole dinner event. The table is decked in an off-white runner with orange, yellow, and red rose petals sprinkled on it. She hummed most of the afternoon, then later while setting the table, she whipped out her favourite porcelain dishes, which were a wedding gift from my grandparents on Mom’s side.

I smile to myself. Things don’t look bad at all.

Beside me, Anton gulps down his food like the world is going to end. As usual, he has a date with his Playstation. At fourteen, he’s all gangly arms and legs and orange-dyed, curly-fro-mohawk, his latest hair experiment.

Dad and Mom are a different story altogether. Since Dad came home from work, they’ve been on this, well, love overdose or something. At first, it was amusing to see them tripping their way for a chance to brush a hand or catch a smile from each other. A complete contrast to this morning when they seemed to be holding their breath as if breathing the same air would offend the other.

Now hours later, the gooeyness has given a whole new meaning to the word love-struck. Right now they are kissing like it’s going out of style.
What did Grim do to them?

Mom giggles. She’s practically sitting on Dad’s lap, and Dad’s face is a hairbreadth away from Mom, his brown eyes intense. This is a side of them I’ve never seen before. I mentally pat myself on the back. It’s like they’ve never fought a day in their life since they got married. Probably they don’t remember, or Grim wiped everything, gave them a clean slate to start over.

As if to confirm one of my theories, Mom leans to Dad and whispers, “Why did we ever argue?”

Dad kisses her nose. “Because we were foolish. It did make for some exciting moments, eh?”

Mom’s face goes all red. Dad chuckles as his lips zero in on Mom’s. The meaning hits me.
Good Lord.
Do they realise their kids are still in the room with them?

Then another thought hits me and my stomach twist painfully. Will this last? If they had problems the first time, the issues are bound to bounce back, right? After all, history does repeat itself, or so the saying goes. I wish I’d thought about all these details before I left Grim in my room earlier. Right now I’m caught between an overwhelming need to ask Grim these questions and a staggering hope he wasn’t serious when he made—
we made
—the deal. The deal where my soul is bound for eternity—or until he releases me.

I glance around the table again, my breath coming out fast. I’ll watch them die again when the time comes. I wipe a hand across my forehead, my eyes glued to the food on my plate. I’m no longer hungry.

Someone nudges my arm. Tiny fingers flutter like dragonfly wings on my skin, followed by a voice so gentle it could only be Lucy’s. “Look at this, Ana.”

I shift to face her, and smile. I’ll have enough time to freak out in the privacy of my room. My family shouldn’t be here, but they are here. To me, that’s a miracle.

Lucy hands me a paper, grinning shyly. Light brown eyes framed by eyelashes so thick and long stare up at me, hopeful. My heart tugs. It’s so Lucy. I slip my arm around her shoulders and, for the hundredth time, fight the urge to crush her in my arms. I look at the sketch. Two names are scrawled on top of each stick-like figure: Lucy and Leo, a boy in her class she insists she’s in love with.

“Lu! Not your boyfriend again,” Anton muffles around the food in his mouth. I narrow my eyes at him. He rolls his eyes, chewing vigorously, then swallows and scoops another spoonful. “It’s annoying is all I’m saying. Leo this. Leo that. Blah, blah, blah.”

Lucy takes a deep breath, as if inhaling all the air in the room, her tiny chest expanding. “Then stuff your ears with—” She halts abruptly and seems to struggle to come up with a good enough insult. “With your dirty socks.” She juts her chin and folds her arms across her chest, eyes swimming in tears. Anton, looking neither insulted nor bothered, shrugs and scrapes his plate with his fork.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. At least this is one thing that hasn’t changed after their souls returned.

 “How’s Rosa? Seen her lately?” At the reference of the girl he was obsessed with two years ago, Anton jerks his head up and glares at me. His hazel eyes scream murder. The effect is spoiled by full, dark lashes. Definitely a heartbreaker, in a few years when he’s all filled out.

He turns back to his plate, mumbles something close to an apology, and crams his mouth with another helping. This seems to mollify Lucy. A grin splits her face in two, and displays an impressive gap from missing upper teeth.

Unable to resist, I mess up Anton’s fro-hawk. He scoots away, scowling. I chuckle, then turn to look down at the daisy chain tattoos on my fingers and hands. This is how we are connected to one another. The scars born from fights and sadness that haunted our family for the last two years are already healed and gone, unlike the scars hidden beneath these flowers on my skin, which I’m probably stuck with forever.

I shudder, rubbing my arms to banish the chill slithering down my spine and body.

“Are you all right, Ana?”

I look up and lock gazes with Mom. How the hell could she notice what’s happening around her, yet seem completely absorbed in Dad?

But then, that’s Mom. She has this gift to sense when something’s wrong. Sometimes her intuitiveness scares me to death. Like now. I wonder if all mothers are wired this way. Sensing things their children try to hide, even in the middle of life’s turbulence or love-struckness.

Mom’s eyebrows dip, and I realise I haven’t answered her. I nod a little too vigorously. “Yes, Mom.” I avert my eyes, pretending to focus on my meal. Mom’s eyes are hot coals on my face, scorching and tracing every angle. I can taste the worry pouring off her.

If I were to tell them what happened today… I try to picture their reaction and fail miserably. What happened is out of this world. Mom would freak… then freak again. The result? Apocalyptic meltdown.

 “Don’t lie to me, Silvana Maria.” I cringe at Mom’s tone, a warning I should flee the room and scurry for safety.

My head shoots up in time to see her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She springs to her feet and rushes towards me, a pinched look on her face. Before I can protest, my fork is snatched from my fingers. Her startling blue eyes flash like lightning, quick and intense as they dart over my face. “You look fevered. Doesn’t she look fevered, Peter?
Liebling
?” she asks, calling Dad the endearment I hadn’t heard pass through her lips in a long time.
Darling
..

“Oh, she looks fine, Katya. Stop fretting.” Dad sounds relaxed and happy, and it hits me again. It’s been a while since I heard him use that tone of voice.

Mom spears him a dirty, but playful look. Yesterday, a look similar to that one—without the playfulness—would’ve wilted Dad. He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I see some semblance of me in him: full lips, brown skin, eyes slightly tilting at the corners. The similarities end there. Dad’s as tall as a giant sequoia, sturdy, and handsome. I, on the other hand, am a dwarf willow, curvy like Mom. I’m caught between big and small. Eyes that seem too large for my face, and hips a bit too big for my frame. But Rolf tells me he likes how I look in tight jeans.

I grin back at Dad, but somehow my sight is blurred. I blink twice, and my vision clears.

“Ana, why are you crying?” Mom’s fingers flit all over my face. She’s about to switch to freaking mode, and that will just blast the evening to pieces.

I catch her hands in mine, stilling them, and smile up at her. At least I hope I’m smiling. “I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

Her hands escape the prison of mine and return to my face, prying my eyes wider with her index finger and thumb. I’m glad Mom’s a florist and not a nurse. I’m guessing if she was a nurse, things would be much worse. Mom needs to touch. That’s the only way she reassures herself everything’s fine. Come to think about it, I’ve been using every chance I get to touch Mom, Dad, Lucy, and Anton, even fleetingly. I’m more like her than I thought. So I let her probe to her satisfaction. As if hearing my thoughts in the strange way Mom seems to possess, she halts and peers at me.

“You’re not resisting me. You’re grinning and look delirious.” Mom sounds perplexed.

I didn’t realise I was grinning. The delirious part, maybe. Today my emotions have been twisted and straightened, wrung and hung to dry enough times to last me two lifetimes.

Untangling myself from her hands, I shift on my seat and look at Dad for rescue. No help there. He’s talking with Lucy. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little hot from staying out in the sun, waiting for you guys.” The words slip out unchecked. Everything inside me freezes. The air in the room stills. Even the candles look frozen.

“What? Why?” The perplexity on her face has taken a wary edge to it.

Crap! This is what you get for getting too comfortable, Ana. A loose tongue and unchecked words. Guard up!

Various inappropriate answers rush through my head. Mom’s staring; her curiosity meter is rolling up.

I clear my throat, deciding to test my theory of what happened today. “It’s the heat, um… while I stood outside the school gate waiting for you to pick me up.”

Fingers drop from my face. Her frown has gone beyond concern and is colliding with confusion. She shakes her head and looks at Dad, whose attention is solely focused on us now.

I breathe out. Even though I was sure they had no idea what happened today, confirming it makes it more… real. Tangible.

“You’re right, Mom.” I gulp the urge to call her Mommy. The day is doing all kinds of wonders to me. “I should go to bed. I’m feeling feverish.”

“Good decision. Anton?” Anton’s head comes up, and he blinks at Mom. “Escort your sister to bed.”

Wait… what?
Did Mom just summon my fourteen-year-old brother to help me upstairs? What’s going on?
I’m
the caretaker. I should be taking my siblings to bed, not vice versa. “I can make it upstairs on my own.” I lift my plate from the table.

“Leave it, honey. Get some rest. God knows you need energy with finals coming up.” She snatches the plate. “I’ll do it. Anton and Lucy will help.”

A tide of grumbling voices rises at my sides. Mom whips her head around and glares. The grumbles die instantly. Twin dagger looks are hurled my way. Anton and Lucy’s combined look would wilt a weak heart, but not mine. Not today. My heart is blooming inside out.

Life is back on track. Mom is back with a bang. My siblings have combined their efforts and are mad at me, which is quite refreshing after a two-year hiatus. By the look on Dad’s face, he’s lounging on seventh heaven, swathed in clouds. He’s here nonetheless. I want to punch the air, whoop, and dance around. Instead, I scoot away from the table, plant a kiss on Anton and Lucy’s foreheads—amid their glares—then round the table to where Mom has perched herself on Dad’s lap. She’s still watching me like a hawk, though. Dad seems more than content to have Mom cuddled into him. Seeing them like this reminds me of two spoons fitting each other perfectly.

I lean down for a kiss from Mom, then Dad, hoping, come tomorrow, the public pawing will have toned down a notch. If my friends see this, I’ll never hear the end of it.

“Goodnight, Silver,” Dad says, brushing a kiss on my forehead. He’s called me that since I was a toddler because I was born with silver-grey eyes. Later, they settled to light brown.

I plod my way down the hallway, limbs heavy, heart soaring. At the bottom of the stairs, I pause and look over my shoulder one last time, before forcing my legs upstairs.

When will Grim come for me? Will Dad and Mom ever find out what really happened today?

I shove the questions aside and for the first time in as long as I can remember, retrieve my purple diary from the bottom desk drawer. After blowing the dust away, I flip to a fresh page and press my palm on the pages to flatten them, pen in hand. Grim reversed everything, and gave my family a fresh start—with an extra piling of romance for my parents. Given what happened during dinner, I’m the only one who knows this.

I begin to scribble on the soft purple paper.

Dear other self, my second chance at life began today. I won’t throw away this chance for anything. I promise.

M
ONDAY MORNING,
after the four days off school, I make my way to the second lesson of the day: PE class. I join my classmates running laps on the track to warm up. Herr Schulz, our PE teacher and administrator of torture, is standing in the middle of the field, hands on his rotund waist, barking orders and frowning. Moments later, Schulz blows his whistle. Everyone halts in various phases of breathing, sweating furiously, and shuffles closer to him, keeping a healthy distance all the while. I weave my way in and out of the cluster of students and finally settle behind Niklas, the tallest boy in our class. And also the widest.