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Chapter One
Why are there always ghosts everywhere?
The spectral figure hangs out in my peripheral vision. I try to ignore it. If I look too closely, it'll start talking to me about things I don't understand.
Even worse, it'll ask me to help it. And that just leads to more problems. Like how, why, and how again. I may want to help, but I don't know-how.
I duck my head lower and pull my jacket closer to me against the chill air. I'm not sure when it got so cold, but I don't want to be out here any longer than I need to be. Especially as there are fewer ghosts at home.
More coldness, though. No one there cares about me. I'm nothing more than an orphan who ended up there by accident and now all anyone sees me as is a burden.
I used to dream that I'd be able to leave when I was eighteen, but instead, everyone is assuming I'm going to take the Shadow Oath, whatever that is. They haven't done much to explain it to me.
"Oi, don't ignore me!" one of the ghosts shouts.
I sigh and turn to face it. I could try and ignore the frustrating creatures, but I've learned from experience that just leads to them following me and shouting at me more. As far as I can tell, no one else can see them. Or maybe they can and they know how to ignore them better.
I'd ask someone, but I don't want to be labelled crazy when I know I'm not.
"What do you want?" I ask the ghost. "I can't help you."
"You're supposed to help me," it responds, coming sharper into focus as it floats towards me. "That's your job."
Now the apparition is closer, I can make out her features. Her hair waves around her head in a way that has nothing to do with the wind. I've seen it before, it seems to be a quirk of the ghostly.
"I'm sorry, I don't know anything about a job. I really can't help you." I bite my bottom lip, trying not to let my frustration get the better of me. How is this happening again? I just want to mind my own business and not get accosted by ghosts at every turn.
"Reapers today," she mutters. "You have no work ethic."
I frown, trying to make sense of what she's saying. "What did you call me?" I ask.
"It's not a bad word, it's what you're called," she insists, crossing her arms and glaring at me.
"Technically I'm called Syxe."
"Pfft. What kind of name is that?"
"The only one I was given," I point out. Why is she being so snippy with me if she wants my help? I'd have thought she'd want to stay on my good side so I'll change my mind.
"Fair enough. My parents chose Agatha for me. I always hated it."
"I think it's pretty."
What am I doing? Engaging with the ghost isn't going to get me out of this situation any faster. And I need to get home before curfew, I dread to think what will happen if I don't.
"You're lying."
"I don't lie," I counter.
"And yet you're refusing to help me," the ghost says.
"Only because I can't."
"Then you should learn," Agatha says in a matter-of-fact tone that's starting to become frustrating.
"I don't know how to do that either." It's not like anyone at the Shadow Association is going to start teaching me how to deal with ghosts. I doubt they even know they exist.
"Hmm. We'll have to see what we can do about that." She turns and floats away without another word.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from calling out after her. I don't want to engage with her further, but she seems to know something about me that I don't. Not that it's hard. I know next to nothing about where I come from.
I turn around and start making my way through the streets with my head bowed.
What is the ghost called me?
Reaper.
I know they exist. Everyone does. But I can't be one. Can I?
How do I find out whether or not I am?
I push the thought aside. I can think about it all day, but that's not going to help me. No one at home is going to know anything about it. They refuse to talk about the supernaturals who live among us humans at all. I'm not sure why it's such a taboo subject, but no matter how many questions I ask, I never get any answers.
The cool wind sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me how late it is and that I need to get back before curfew. If I'm not careful, I'll end up on dish duty for a week.
I hurry down the streets, ignoring the other people also hurrying to their destinations. None of them stop to acknowledge any of the ghosts who are floating around the space, which isn't surprising. Most people don't seem to be able to see them.
Before long, the building I reluctantly call home appears in front of me, an imposing structure even if it looks exactly like the buildings on each side.
I check my watch, relieved to see it's still five minutes until curfew. As much as I don't want to, I hurry up to the front
door and slip inside. I don't want to linger outside and risk them locking the doors.
I kick off my shoes and place them into the spot with my name on, swapping them for my indoor shoes. I check up and down the hall to check there's no one around. I don't want to talk to anyone if I can avoid it. They'll only ask where I've been and there isn't an answer anyone will be happy with. Most of the older people in the house believe this is the best place to be at all times. They only leave when they have to go to work.
I can't stand the idea of living that way for the rest of my life.
The third stair creaks as I make my way up. I wince, but reassure myself that everyone knows the floorboard is loose and they probably don't think anything of it.
I slip back into the dorm room without gaining anyone's attention. The other girls don't really care what I do. I've never clicked with any of them the way they have with one another, so they tend to just leave me to it. Which I can easily get on board with. It means less scrutiny all the time.
