I looked from one collector to the other, and the goon gave me a shove. “I said to get in the car.”
Okay, so he might not have been able to see the collectors, but they were very real, and very physical, to me, and right now the raver was blocking my path. As if she’d just realized that, the collector glanced back at my abductor and then ducked into the car. I followed because the goon gave me no choice. I expected the gray man to follow, but the body that slid across the seat after me was much more familiar.
Death.
“What’s going on?” I whispered as I scooted over to give him and the gray man more room.
Death didn’t answer, but reached out and touched the cheek the goon had slammed into the taxi. Muscles clenched along his jaw as he gritted his teeth. His gaze went dark and shot to where the two goons were climbing into the front seats. The gray man pressed the length of his cane against Death’s chest, not holding him back exactly, but more like giving him a reminder.
The backseat really wasn’t meant for four people, especially when two of them were well-built guys. The old beater lurched into motion and I ended up squished, my hips wedged between the raver and Death, my hands still cuffed behind my back and a dog in my lap. The raver was crammed against the far door, and the gray man ended up twisted, with one hip more on the door than the seat.
As my bare shoulder pressed against the raver’s, she jumped, her eyes flaring wide. “What the—”
“It’s Alex,” Death said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, which gave everyone a smidgen more room. “She’s touching you and the car.”
The raver’s eyes were still a little too wide, like she wasn’t sure if she was impressed or pissed. She trailed her fingers over the molding on the door, and I wondered, not for the first time, what the collectors actually saw and felt in this plane. She had, after all, climbed into the car, but clearly it hadn’t been entirely real to her until now. Just as long as I don’t accidentally pull them far enough across for them to become visible. Or maybe I should. It would give the goons a good scare if three extra people appeared in their backseat.
“Freaky,” she said, dropping her hand.
“So, uh, hi, guys. You might have noticed, I’m handcuffed in the back of a car and am being taken against my will. So is this a social visit, or are you planning to help?”
Goon Two twisted in his seat and looked back at me. “Did you say something?”
I dropped my gaze, focusing on PC. He was trembling in the purse, clearly aware that something was very wrong but not sure what to do about it.
“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 all 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 tell you.” The gray man tapped the skull-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 skull. “Namely, Faerie.”
I frowned at the collectors. “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 collectors. 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 controlled by witch magic. Those copper disks existed in the mortal plane—a collector 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 rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the pain in my arms and back. Not exactly easy in this situation. Or really, more like not possible. The itching around my wrists had turned to a dull burning and my fingers were slowly falling asleep.
I glanced at Death. He’d been awfully 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.
The constructs were souls wrapped in glamour and controlled by charms etched with runes that hadn’t been used in half a millennium. That did seem to point to Faerie, but...
“The accomplice isn’t in Faerie. Holly 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 will be there.” Which was all 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 will 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 all, 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 collectors 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.
All three collectors went still.
They glanced at one another, not saying a thing. The car hit a bump, jostling me. They still hadn’t spoken by the time I resituated myself. From my lifelong acquaintance with Death, I knew that a collector couldn’t be pressured into speaking, so I glanced out the window, trying to figure out where Bell’s goons were taking me. We appeared to still be headed south, out of the city. The gray man shook his head, one quick twist of his neck, but the raver shrugged. Finally 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.”
Lost? What could hurt, let alone destroy, a soul collector? I chewed at my bottom lip. “How is that possible? You guys aren’t physical.” Well, to most people, me not included.
And maybe to the two planeweavers belonging to the high court. Or possibly an awoken legend. I thought about the tear and the fact that all the grass inside the circle had been withered, as if brushed by the land of the dead. Counting the facts that the magic used originated in three realms: mortal, faerie, and spirit; and that a collector had been physical enough to be killed, it all added up to someone touching multiple planes.
In a voice quiet enough that I hoped the goons in the front seat wouldn’t hear, I laid out those thoughts to the collectors. They looked surprised by my conclusion, as if they hadn’t considered it.
“I cannot discount that possibility, but there is another explanation that is more likely,” Death said after I finished. “There is a relic. It was either lost or hidden in Faerie centuries ago, but the last time it surfaced, it allowed mortals and our kind to meet in—” He paused. “A fold in realities. Sort of a between space where both touch.”
“So you think this accomplice found the relic?”
I must have asked the question louder than I meant to because the goon in the passenger seat turned around again. “Who are you talking to?” he asked. “And why are you sitting like that?”
Yeah, it had to be pretty strange to look squished when nothing appeared to be around you. Not much I could do about it, though. I shrugged. “I’m uncomfortable. Could you take the cuffs off?”
He snorted and shook his head. “We’ll be there soon.” Then, thankfully, he turned back toward the front.
Death readjusted so he could bend his arm behind my head. He rubbed his thumb in small circles along my spine, massaging the sore muscles. I nearly moaned.
“Yes, we believe the relic has resurfaced,” the gray man said as if the goon’s interruption hadn’t occurred. “It transcends several realities, but it causes ripples, small disturbances.”
“What does the relic look like?”
The collectors exchanged another long glance. Oh, come on, they want me to go looking for someone who found a relic, but they won’t even tell me what it is?
The raver finally shrugged. “It has changed through time, depending on who used it and for what reasons.”
“And now someone is using it to kill?” Would that make it a weapon of some sort?
“The situation is more dire than a dozen untimely deaths,” Death said. “From the evidence we’ve seen from the accomplice’s ritual sites—”