It was a wonder none of the neighbors had noticed that
something wasn’t right with the house. Storm shutters
covered every single window, with locks keeping them
bolted in place. It might be considered normal during
hurricane season, but year-round? Definitely weird. The
pulse of pending mortality emanated from the building,
weak but growing stronger by the minute. Soon, death
would claim another victim, leaving Adam to clean up the
mess.

As a reaper, that was his calling. Day in and day out, he
claimed the souls of the recently departed and guided
them to the next stage in their journey. Often, that
meant a better place. Other times … not so much.
He’d been on the job for almost four years, after losing
his own humanity in the south side of Chicago on a warm
October night. Back then he’d been a cop, and a damn good
one. But that hadn’t stopped him from royally f**king up
and damning his soul in the process.

Shaking his head, he forced the painful memories from his
thoughts and focused on the house across the street.
Inside, the call of death intensified, gathering steam
until it buzzed through his blood like a chain saw. He
gritted his teeth when it reached a crescendo, his hands
clenched against the steering wheel. He hated this part—
not doing anything when you knew someone was about to
die. It went against all of his instincts. But Fate had
strict rules concerning interference, and he knew better
than to challenge her authority.

Less than five minutes later the garage door opened and a
silver four-door sedan backed down the driveway. Seven
little stick figure decals were lined up on the back
window, and Adam couldn’t help but wonder if they
signified actual family members or the number of people
he’d murdered. As for the killer himself, he seemed
deceptively average: white male, average height, average
build, with short graying hair and brown eyes. No visible
scars, tattoos, piercings, or other distinguishing
features. His mediocrity served as camouflage to conceal
a predator lurking in plain sight.

As soon as the car drove out of the subdivision, Adam
popped the lock to his door. “Call me if he comes back
early,” he told Martin as he stepped out of the truck.
From past experience and Dmitri’s notes, he knew the guy
would only be gone for about ten minutes. Just long
enough for the sick f**k to buy a half gallon of ice
cream from the nearby grocery store.

Under cover of darkness, Adam crossed the street and
approached the wood-frame house. He ignored the sign that
warned of an alarm, since it merely served as a
deterrent. No serial killer worth his salt would run the
risk of the alarm sounding off and triggering a visit by
local law enforcement. Retrieving the set of picks from
his back pocket, he worked on the locks on the front
door. The bottom one opened with little effort, but the
dead bolt gave him a minute of trouble before the
tumblers clicked into place. He took a deep breath,
mentally bracing himself for the horrors that waited
inside. The stench of fresh death and lingering decay
assaulted his nostrils the instant he crept into the
foyer. As a cop, he’d never gotten used to the smell, and
he doubted he ever would as a reaper. With the lights
out, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he waited to flip
the switch until after the door clicked shut.

The small foyer led into a large living room with a brick
fireplace. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture in
sight, and the vaulted ceilings and shuttered windows
gave the place a cavernous feel. Blue plastic tarps
covered the hardwood floor, probably to protect it from
stains. Or perhaps they were there to make it easier for
the killer to remove the body.

The victim was a male this time, barely out of his teens.
The poor kid had been chained by his wrists to the wall a
few feet away from the fireplace. He was clad in only a
pair of ratty black jeans, with a silver collar fastened
around his neck. The blade of a dagger was buried in a
chest so mutilated it was almost unrecognizable. His pale
green eyes stared into oblivion, his mouth opened in a
silent scream. The soul had already broken free from the
corpse, hovering close but not quite touching. Confused
and despondent, he retained his human form, unaware that
he no longer needed to conform to his prior physical
constraints.

Pushing back against a rush of anger, Adam stepped closer
to the body. The cop in him demanded immediate justice,
but that was no longer part of his job description. He
narrowed his focus, reaching out with his mind until he
locked onto the kid’s essence. He sensed no taint of evil
on the soul as he slowly drew it toward him. To calm the
spirit he sent out wordless reassurances, promising
safety, closure, and the end to physical pain.

Pacified, the soul offered no resistance, merging with
Adam’s body in a wash of benevolent warmth. The kid’s
essence carried a unique quality that Adam couldn’t quite
define. Demon, mage? Honestly, he couldn’t say for sure.
His experience with non-humans was limited. As the kid’s
spirit distilled to its purest form, it became aware of
the death of its body, and confusion gave way to panic.

“You’ve got to get out of here before he gets back!
Please! Go, and warn the others. If he finds them, he’ll
kill them all—oh wait! You need to free the girl first.
She doesn’t deserve what he plans to do to her. Please
say yes, I’ll do anything you want, please, please,
please …”

Adam squeezed his eyes shut while he contained the soul,
blocking out the unwanted flood of emotions for the sake
of his own sanity. During his time on the force, he’d
grown desensitized to crime scenes, but all that training
flew right out the window when the dead insisted on
talking. For him, it was one of the toughest parts about
being a reaper, so much that it came close to breaking
him during his first year on the job.

Finished, he turned away from the body, eager for a
breath of fresh air. And a beer. He was halfway to the
front door when a female’s voice shouted out from the
rear of the house.