Grave Witch

I shook my head. I had too much to worry about to waste time thinking about Jenson. I needed a better look at the facade of the warehouse. But I knew already.

The claws of dread had sunk deep into my skin, and I just knew. This was the same warehouse Roy had taken me to. And, I knew that whatever was inside was worse than Jenson imagined.

I stumbled around to the back of the warehouse. A security light buzzed in the humid air, illuminating three boarded-up loading docks—the center dock with loose paneling. I planned on turning back once I confirmed where I was. Really, I did. I’d felt the magic that had occurred in that warehouse. I didn’t need to see whatever was inside. But standing in front of the middle dock were three people I could make out clearly, as if they were standing in bright sunlight. One of them was Death.

Considering that the cop standing between the three figures and me was shrouded in shadows, I was seeing Death’s companions on a psychic level. Which meant they were all soul collectors. Death was the only collector I’d ever seen. I’d never even heard of a grave witch who’d had contact with more than one collector at once.

I ducked under the tape.

I was halfway to the dock before I remembered the officer guarding the perimeter, and I remembered him only because he caught my elbow.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.You have to stay on the other side of the—oh, Miss Craft. I didn’t recognize you.”

I looked at the officer, who I guessed was younger than me and probably fresh out of police academy. New cops trended toward two categories: everything exactly by the book or unsure and wet behind the ears. I was seriously hoping this young officer was the latter.

“Evening, Officer,” I said, smiling at him. “Detective Andrews brought me.”

It was true. Falin had driven me here. The officer could take it any way he wanted.

The young officer released my arm. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Craft. No one told me you’d be on the scene. If you haven’t seen her yet, it’s easier to get in the front.”

Her? “I’m just going to poke around a bit, thanks.” I flashed the officer another smile. I had to say one thing about working a recent scandal—everyone in the department knew my name and that I raised the dead. But if he checked my story, I was going to be so busted. I quickened my steps.

Death looked up at my approach, but the other two collectors didn’t appear to notice me. Or maybe they didn’t care. Well, if people can’t see you, no point hiding.

The three collectors couldn’t have been more different.

As usual, Death wore faded jeans with a tight black shirt. I’d always assumed black was the dress code for a collector, but the woman to his right wore a bright orange tube top with a pair of white PVC hip-huggers and knee-high boots. Her dreadlocks, dyed the same bright orange as her top, fell to the middle of her back. I’d heard of female collectors before, but she looked more as if she was headed for a rave than to collect souls.

In contrast to the raver’s brightness, the third collector was drab. He wore a gray-on-gray suit complete with a wilted flower in his lapel. His gray hair was slicked back from his face, and at his side he carried a cane, a silver skull serving as a handle.

As I drew near, Death touched the woman’s arm, silencing her before I was close enough to overhear their conversation. She glared at him and then followed his gaze to me. She dismissed me with less than a glance, but the man in gray strolled into my path.

I hesitated. Death had a tendency to walk through mortals, giving them a chill, but collectors were solid to me. Letting Mr. Gray run into me to prove the point wasn’t a great a plan. I stepped out of his way, my eyes locked on his. His eyebrows lifted, and I noticed that the face surrounded by all that gray was youthful.

The woman put her hands on her waist, her bright nails pressing into her skin. She glared at Death. “What—did you advertise?”

He ignored her and held out his hand. Holding hands wasn’t normally in our repertoire. A social norm among collectors, maybe? I didn’t know, so I accepted his hand.

His icy fingers closed around mine, his palm sending shivers up my arm despite the humid air.

He tugged me forward, closer to his side. “Why are you here, Alex?”

I could ask him the same question.Actually, I already had a pretty good idea. “Did you collect the victim’s soul?”

The raver growled, a sound more at home coming from a tiger’s throat than anything human-shaped. Of course, human-shaped didn’t mean human. She looked down at my hand in Death’s, and her lips curled back.

“You’re a fool.” She stepped back and looked at the gray man. “You know what? I’m out of here. You fools can deal with it yourselves.” She vanished.

What was that about? I glanced at Death. His lips, so often smiling, were drawn in a serious line, and his eyes held no spark.

I leaned close enough that his chill permeated the air around me, causing goose bumps to lift on my flesh.

“What is going on?”

His tired eyes were a heavy weight on my skin as he studied my face. Then his gaze slid lower, tripped over the scratches on my shoulder, and hesitated before climbing to my face again. “I think you can help us.”

The gray man shook his head. “I want no part of this.”

“Then we all leave, and that’s the end of it,” Death said, but his fingers tightened around mine.

The cane swung like a pendulum below the gray man’s clasped hands. He shook his head, but it was a slow, unsure movement. “No. No, I guess we can’t do that.” The cane stopped. “You’ll take precautions,” he said, his gaze flicking to me.

Death nodded, and his grip on my fingers changed.

He stepped around to face me and guided my arm so our hands were clasped between our bodies.“I need you to swear you won’t tell anyone our part in what will happen. What you learn tonight.”

He leaned, his face only inches from mine, intimately close, but there was no hint of teasing in his eyes. “It might be dangerous. You don’t have to agree,” he whispered.

I swallowed. Dangerous and I can’t tell anyone? The age of hiding and secrets among witches was supposed to be over. The OMIH encouraged sharing knowledge so we’d advance. But twice Death had stalled collecting a soul because I’d asked. And he’d saved my life.

He’d never once asked anything of me. I could do this, whatever it was, and whatever the stipulations. I nodded.

Death smiled, but the way his lips tightened and the corners of his eyes pinched betrayed that it wasn’t a happy smile, more concerned acceptance of my decision.

His hand moved to my face, sending shivers down my neck. “Your oath.”

I opened my mouth just as footsteps stopped behind me.

“Miss Craft, you okay?” the young officer from earlier asked.

Death frowned at him, which the officer couldn’t see.

I probably looked crazy standing here talking with invisible people. I turned.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m … preparing to go inside.”

He nodded, but the suspicion didn’t fall from around his eyes.

I waited until he was out of earshot before I turned back to Death. “I won’t say anything.”

The gray man scoffed, and Death shook his head. His hand fell from my face, wrapped around the fingers in my free hand, and then lifted it until I was staring at my own obsidian ring.

“A true oath, Alex,” he said.

Damn. I hate binding oaths. Everything was in the wording. If I made the oath too encompassing, I’d be bound not to discuss anything I saw. Too limiting and we’d have to negotiate. Taking a deep breath, I tapped the power in the ring, then added the magic to my voice.

“I swear on power not to discuss without your permission what I see tonight as it relates to the secrets of soul collectors.”

He nodded. “I accept and promise to share what secrets you require to aid you this night.”

His power met mine, cool mixing with heat. I could almost see it twisting, changing. Then the power-spun oath sank under my skin, and the binding settled on my mind, my heart, my soul. I closed my eyes and arched my back, feeling the slight heaviness of the oath. I’d get used to it soon.

Death dropped my hands and turned. He nodded to the gray man, and they both walked through the paneling and into the warehouse. Yeah, great, guys. I can’t exactly walk through solid objects. Actually, I wasn’t about to grumble much. I hadn’t asked Death for anything in exchange for my oath, but he’d promised me aid. I could only hope that extended to the spell sucking on my soul.

The panel was still pried open from where I’d snuck inside before, and I wiggled through the opening, trying not to snag Tamara’s dress. The last time I’d been in the warehouse, it had been midafternoon, and sunlight streaming in had illuminated the crates scattered in my path, but in the twilight, the warehouse floor was dark.

Death and the gray man were already on the other side of the room. A little bit of light leaked from the inner door where I guessed the body was located, but it wasn’t enough to help. I reached out with my hands, taking slow steps, but I made it only a yard before bumping into a crate. Dammit.

Death looked up and, realizing the problem, moved to my side. He knew about my eyesight, though, in truth, even someone with great night vision would have had trouble in the dark warehouse. Death took my hand.

“Step where I step.”

Easier said than done. Not to mention that being led around by someone who normally didn’t worry about solid objects meant he kept forgetting I needed to be warned when small objects I could step on or over were in my path.And he didn’t take into account the fact that my dress would snag if I brushed against a crate. By the time we reached the door I was thankful my boots had saved my ankles and shins, but I had serious concerns about the condition of Tamara’s dress.

The gray man waited right inside the door, twirling his cane as if it were a skull-tipped baton.“So, your little girl is going to go in there and work magic?”