“What do you expect us to do? Rip out their souls?” the raver asked, and I frowned. “Even that one”—she pointed at Death—“isn’t that foolish—yet.”
“And we intend to keep it that way,” the gray man muttered from the other end of the seat.
Why do I get the feeling I’ve landed in the middle of a long-running argument? “So why are we al crammed in this backseat together?”
“Like I said, we reached a consensus.” The raver twisted so she could look at me better. “You already know too much
—”“Though he swears he didn’t tel you.” The gray man tapped the skul -topped cane on Death’s knee.
“—So we’ve decided to employ your help,” the raver said, though she didn’t look happy about it. “You can go places we can’t.”
The gray man cupped his hands over the skul . “Namely, Faerie.”
I frowned at the col ectors. “You can’t go to Faerie?”
I frowned at the col ectors. “You can’t go to Faerie?”
The raver shrugged and her dreadlocks brushed my shoulder. They were stiffer than they looked. “Our planes don’t touch. There is no death in Faerie.” She smiled like she’d made a joke.
I didn’t laugh. “If you want me to go anywhere, I have to get out of this car first.”
“We can’t interfere with such mortal matters.” The gray man focused on Death, not me, as he spoke.
Right. So much for this being a rescue. “So what’s in Faerie?”
The raver glanced at the two male col ectors. Then she said, “You are aware we have a . . . situation.”
I nodded. The rogue reaper. “But if you can’t go to Faerie, he can’t either, right?”
“No. But he has a mortal accomplice.”
“Who is the one who cast the constructs,” I said. I’d already reached that conclusion. While the constructs might have been fueled by stolen souls, they were control ed by witch magic. Those copper disks existed in the mortal plane—a col ector wouldn’t have been able to touch them.
The raver nodded. “Our magic debased to vulgarity and tarnished with mortal conjurings,” she said, her mouth twisting like talking about it carried a bad taste.
Nice to know her apparent dislike of me is nothing personal—she dislikes mortals in general. I rol ed my shoulders, trying to ease the pain in my arms and back. Not exactly easy in this situation. Or real y, more like not possible. The itching around my wrists had turned to a dul burning and my fingers were slowly fal ing asleep.
I glanced at Death. He’d been awful y quiet throughout this conversation. “So you want me to find the accomplice in Faerie?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, and the gray man rapped him on the knee again with his cane.
“But we do need you to find the accomplice,” the gray man said, shooting Death a glare.
man said, shooting Death a glare.
The constructs were souls wrapped in glamour and control ed by charms etched with runes that hadn’t been used in half a mil ennium. That did seem to point to Faerie, but...
“The accomplice isn’t in Faerie. Hol y was kidnapped and a note was left demanding that I go to the old bridge at two tonight. The magic in the seal is similar to that in the constructs. The accomplice you’re looking for wil be there.”
Which was al the more reason for me to get free of this car.
Death’s arm tightened around my shoulder, but it was the gray man who said, “Then we wil be at that bridge, but this rendezvous has the markings of a trap. The accomplice might not appear.”
Like I don’t know that. I slouched lower in the seat. Of course, at this rate, there was a good chance I wouldn’t show either.
“What makes you sure the accomplice is in Faerie?” I asked. After al , it was possible that a fae living in the mortal realm was working with a witch who found an old grimoire, maybe a book passed down through a family.
Then an even better question hit me. “And how are they communicating with the reaper?” The only mortals who could see col ectors at any time other than the moment of their death were grave witches. There might have been some varieties of fae with the ability, but I wasn’t sure of that.
Al three col ectors went stil .
They glanced at one another, not saying a thing. The car hit a bump, jostling me. They stil hadn’t spoken by the time I resituated myself. From my lifelong acquaintance with Death, I knew that a col ector couldn’t be pressured into speaking, so I glanced out the window, trying to figure out where Bel ’s goons were taking me. We appeared to stil be headed south, out of the city. The gray man shook his head, one quick twist of his neck, but the raver shrugged.
Final y Death turned to me.
Final y Death turned to me.
“We . . . lost one of our own. He was hunting for the accomplice and was on Faerie’s doorstep when it happened.”
L o s t? What could hurt, let alone destroy, a soul collector? I chewed at my bottom lip. “How is that possible?