Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel Vincent

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ height, Libby’s bright green eyes stared straight into Tod’s blue with enough intensity to make even me squirm. “Hi,” Tod started, and I had to give him credit for not stuttering.

      My own tongue was completely paralyzed.

      Libitina was very old, very experienced, and clearly very powerful—all obvious in her bearing alone. She was also so impossibly beautiful that I was suddenly embarrassed by the makeup I’d probably sweated off during the concert and the long brown hair I could see frizzing on the edge of my vision, in spite of my efforts with a flatiron.

      Libby wore a long, black leather trench coat, cinched at her tiny waist to show off slim hips. I would have said the coat was cliché for someone intimately involved with Death, except that as old as she was, she’d probably been wearing black leather much longer than it had been in vogue for hookers and superheroes alike.

      Her hair was pulled back from her face in a severe ponytail that trailed tight, black curls halfway down her back. Her skin was dark and flawless, and so smooth I wanted to touch her cheek, just to assure myself she wasn’t as perfect as she looked. She couldn’t be.

      Could she?

      “Yes?” Libby said, her piercing gaze still trained on Tod. She hadn’t acknowledged either me or Nash, and I was suddenly sure that, like most reapers, she hated bean sidhes. Maybe we shouldn’t have tagged along after all.

      Yet she hadn’t become invisible to us….

      “My name is Tod, and I work for the local branch office.” He paused, and I was amused to realize Tod’s cheeks were blazing—and this time that had nothing to do with the stage backdrop. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

      Libby scowled, and a chill shot up my spine. “You are dissatisfied with my services?” She bit off the ends of her words in anger, distorting an accent I couldn’t place, and we all three stepped back in unison, unwilling to stand in the face of her fury.

      “No!” Tod held up both hands, and I was too busy choking on my own fear to be amused by his. “This has nothing to do with the local office. I’m off duty tonight. I’m just curious. About the process …”

      Libby’s thin, black brows arched, and I thought I saw amusement flicker behind her eyes. “Ask,” she said finally, and suddenly I liked her—even if she didn’t like bean sidhes—because she could easily have made Tod feel about an inch tall.

      Tod stuffed his hands into his pockets and inhaled slowly. “What does it feel like? Demon’s Breath. You hold it … inside. Right?”

      Libby nodded briefly, then turned and walked away, headed toward a hallway identical to the one we’d followed to the stage.

      We hesitated, glancing at one another in question. Then Tod shrugged and hurried after her. We actually had to jog to keep up as her boots moved silently but quickly over the floor.

      “You breathe it in, deep into your lungs.” Her rich accent spoke of dead languages, of cultures long ago lost to the ravages of time and fickle memory. Her voice was low and gruff. Aged. Powerful. It sent shivers through me, as if I were hearing something I shouldn’t be able to. Something no one else had heard in centuries. “It fills you. It burns like frostbite, as if the Breath will consume your insides. Feed on them. But that is good. If the burning stops, you have held it too long. Demon’s Breath will kill your soul.”

      The shivers grew until I noticed my hands trembling. I took Nash’s in my left, and shoved the right into my pocket.

      A couple of technicians passed us carrying equipment, and Tod waited until they were gone to pose his next question. “How long do you have?” He paced beside the female reaper now. Nash and I were content to trail behind, just close enough to hear.

      “An hour.” Her lips moved in profile against the white wall as she turned to half face him. “Any longer, and you risk much.”

      “What do you do with it?” I asked—I couldn’t help it—and Libby froze in midstep. She pivoted slowly to look at me, and I saw time in her eyes. Years of life and death, and existence without end. The shivers in my hands became tremors echoing the length of my body.

      I should not have drawn her attention.

      “Who is this?” Libby faced Tod again.

      “A friend. My brother’s girlfriend.” He nodded toward Nash, who stood tall beneath her hair-curling, nerve-crunching scrutiny. Then Libby whirled on one booted heel and marched on.

      Cool relief sifted through me, and only then did I realize Tod hadn’t given her either of our names. Nash had practically beaten that precaution into him; it was never wise to give your name to Death’s emissaries. Though, if a reaper wanted to know your name, it was easy enough to find, especially in today’s world. Which is why it was also unwise to catch a reaper’s attention.

      Sirens warbled outside the stadium then, and another gaggle of official-looking people rushed down the hall toward the stage, but Libby didn’t seem to notice them. “There are places for proper disposal of Demon’s Breath. In the Nether,” she added, as if there were any question about that.

      “If a reaper wanted to get into that—collecting Demon’s Breath instead of souls—how might he get started?” Tod asked as we followed Libby around a sharp white corner, her feet silent on the slick linoleum.

      “By surviving the next thousand years.” Her accent grew sharper, her words thick with warning. “If you still live then, find me. I will show you. But do not try it alone. Fools suffer miserable deaths, boy.”

      “I won’t,” Tod assured her. “But it was awesome to watch.”

      Libby stopped, eyeing him with a strange expression caught on her features, as if she didn’t quite know what she intended to say until the words came out. “You may watch again. I will return in five days.”

      “For more Demon’s Breath?” I asked, and again her creepy green gaze slid my way, seeming to burn through my eyes and into my brain.

      “Of course. The other fool will release hers on Thursday.”

      “What other fool?” Tod demanded through clenched teeth, and I glanced at him, surprised by his sharp tone. His brows were furrowed, his beautiful lips thinned by dread.

      “Addison Page. The singer,” Libby said, like it should have been obvious.

      Tod actually stumbled backward, and Nash put a hand on his shoulder, but it went right through him. For a moment, I was afraid he’d fall through the featureless white wall. “Addy sold her soul?” Tod rubbed one hand across his own nearly transparent forehead. “Are you sure?”

      Libby raised her brows, as if to ask if he were serious.

      “When?”

      “That is not my concern.” The reaper slid her slim, dark hands into the pockets of her coat, watching Tod with disdain now, as if her hunch that he wasn’t yet ready to collect Demon’s Breath had just been confirmed. “Mine is to gather what I come for and dispose of it properly. Time marches on, boy, and so must I.”

      “Wait!” Tod grabbed her arm, and I wasn’t sure who was more surprised—Libby or Nash. But Tod rushed on as if he hadn’t noticed. СКАЧАТЬ