Page 26 of Shades of Silver City

He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “I need your help.”

“Doing what?”

“Like I said, you can see the Reaper. And you mentioned the mens’ auras tonight.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about my parents. “They had grey soul-shades.”

“And that’s abnormal?”

My eyes fly open. “I thought you could see them too,” I say accusingly.

He strokes his chin, glancing at the door, then back at me. “I can sense impending death another way.”

The fist around my heart tightens. “How?”

He taps his nose. “Scent.”

“So…you’re a soul-sniffer?”

The Phantom frowns at me. “No. Is grey an abnormal color?”

“Yes,” I say. “A colorless aura would indicate a soul is preparing to leave its body.” Colorless. The grey appearance, the absence of color, indicates a soul on the verge of fading away. “But those men were alive.”

The Phantom runs a hand through his hair, pacing the small space.

“And you can see all soul-shades?”

“Yes.” I’ve never noticed a person who didn’t have one.

“I need to find the Reaper. If he’s feeding on people close to death, we can find anyone with a grey soul-shade—”

“You can save them?”

“—and lure him in. You are the perfect person to assist me. This opportunity, if you choose to accept, will be on a need-to-know basis.”

“Wait.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and ponder his words. “I haven’t accepted shit yet. And I want answers before I entertain whatever your offer is.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Halting in place, he turns and smiles widely at me, and it’s so charming, so disarming, that it’s hard to believe he’s a kidnapping asshole. “You don’t need all the information, but I will give you this.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his head, and my stomach tightens when I get a glimpse of a tattoo on his right forearm—intertwined vines and flowers in dark ink etched into his deeply tanned skin. “I have reason to believe the recent string of deaths around the Packing District has been caused by something unnatural. I believe something else is going on.”

My attention snaps back to his face. “Why do you care?” I ask skeptically.

“I care about the city.”

I snort. “If it weren’t for you and your little worm minions—”

“Worm minions?” he asks, face scrunched.

“If it weren’t for you guys, the city would be in fine order. It’s your fault we’ve had an uptick in crime. First the dreamdust. Now the—”

“What do you know about the dust?” he asks, eyes narrowed and voice cold. He steps closer, and I instinctively back up until I hit the wall.

“It’s your fault for the mass addictions that killed thousands.” The Nightcrawlers were the ones responsible for creating and distributing the drug—all for profit.

The Phantom pauses, his jaw going slack before he clenches it tightly and shakes his head. He turns toward the brick wall, letting out a huff of disbelief.

When he finally speaks, all he says is, “Wrong.”

“The details don’t matter. If it weren’t for the Nightcrawlers, the Silver Scouts wouldn’t need to have such a massive presence.” My parents might never have died. And I wouldn’t live in constant fear of my own stupid ability.

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