I take a deep breath and force myself forward. My arms feel paralysed, refusing to push the door open.Please, no.With a silent prayer on my lips, I step inside.
Like the rest of the house, everything looks normal, but it’s as though all the life has been sucked out of the space, leaving behind an unsettling void. Then I see a crumpled form next to the bed. Time freezes, yet my body moves on its own.
I run forward and collapse to my knees, gathering Elara into my arms. She’s in her work clothes, hair in a neat plait.
“No, no, no…” I wail, tears trailing down my face. “Please, Elara… What happened to you? Wake up!”
I stroke her cheek. Her skin is cold. She’s not breathing.
My vision is blurred as I take in the signs. Her lips are wrinkled, eyes dull and glassy, and, most strikingly of all, her cheeks are emaciated, as if her soul, the very essence of her, has been sucked away. I search Elara’s fingers for the golden ring. She’s not wearing it.
It’s not on her nightstand. Not on her dresser. It’s gone. Any doubt about who’s responsible for this immediately dissipates.
This is the work of a Soulreaper –theSoulreaper from the cottage on the hill. The one who killed that old lady. I naively assumed that the Principal Guard had arrested her. Surely, her family would’ve reported the murder?
That’s when I realize. The Soulreaperwasthe old lady’s family – I know that from the vision.
What if she was the one who approached Alaric to have the cottage cleansed? Hiring me to cleanse the Soul Wraith was never about closure. It was a cover-up. The Soulreaper wanted me to erase the last trace of evidence tying her to the crime. I think back to how desperately she wanted those jewels.
How could I have been so foolish?The room closes in around me. Those jewels might’ve been hidden, but they were never forgotten. The Soulreaper had been searching for them, and I found them. Then I stole them…
I fold in on myself, shaking, hot tears streaming down my face as I cradle Elara’s body. The memory is marred now, but I can still see her face, her radiant blue eyes filled with gratitude when I gave her the ring. She called me the best sister in the world.
This can’t be real. She can’t be gone.
Last night, everything was normal. She was here, rushing around the cottage, nervous about impressing her boss with her cakes and excited about the future. How could someone steal her away like this?
She’s innocent. It’s me who is guilty.
I’m the thief. This is all my fault.
A scream tears from my chest, and it lights a spark of fury within me. A blazing, bristling vow to find the person responsible for this, and to make them pay for stealing the only light I had left in this world.
Chapter Six
Boiling, seething rage courses through my veins like fire.
It drives me east through the valley, away from Stellargrove to the densest edge of the forest, where the old, brooding cottage sits exactly as it did yesterday. As though mere seconds have passed since I left through the front door, and my entire life hasn’t just been yanked out from under me.
A vengeful energy swirls in the air around me, clinging like a swarm of bees, and I’m drawing strength from it as I press forward – the only action that seems to make sense right now.
Tears blur my vision, but I clench my jaw to stop them from falling. I reach the cottage door and try to throw it open, but it won’t budge. My knuckles pound against the wood, a rapid and desperate rhythm. I know the sensible thing would be to report Elara’s death to the PrincipalGuard and let them investigate, but being sensible is the last thing on my mind right now.
Whoever did this must pay.
The door groans open, and I prepare to fling myself forward. But, to my surprise, when I see the woman standing on the other side, I can’t bring myself to move.
The woman before me is nothing like the sullen Soulreaper I expected, but I know instantly it is her. She’s tall and slender with sharp, angular features, and she’s swathed in a button-up burgundy dress that cinches at her waist, made of fabrics that are too exquisite for anyone who lives around here.
I’m not entirely sure why she needs more Necroseals. Her hands are adorned with them – sapphires, ambers and citrines.
The Soulreaper’s posture exudes a quiet grace that’s entirely at odds with her wavy yellow-blonde hair and reddish-brown eyes. “Yes, dear? Can I help you?” she questions.
When I open my mouth, my tongue feels numb. A single tear falls. I’m not as good at hiding my grief as I thought I’d be.
“Oh, heavens. Please, come in and take a seat,” the woman says. “We’ll get to the bottom of whatever is distressing you.”
My feet carry me forward before rational thought can kick in. I’m retracing my steps from yesterday, steppingover the haphazard piles of old newspapers and scattered magazines. A harsh orange glow spills from the tulip fixtures overhead. I suppress a gasp. I didn’t see it yesterday, but a dark stain spreads along the ceiling of the entry hall. Like the roots of a poisoned tree. An illness that’s taken hold of the cottage from the inside.
