Page 23 of Reaper Flame

“Hello?” I called out.

No answer.

What the fuck was this place?

I pressed on, noticing an adjoining door leading to a staircase.I descended, going deeper into the belly of the manor until I came to the bottom, where a steel door blocked my path. I thumped my fist against it, but the metal didn’t budge. There was a security keypad to my right, reminding me of the bunker in Lapland’s basement.

I tried 6-9-6-9. A Lapland classic. It lit up red. No entry.

Why would West tell me to come here if I couldn’t get through?

None of this made sense.

Hold up!A random thought came to me. I never understood the meaning of the numerals engraved on the pendant Zander gave me. They added up to seven, but it made no sense to use four digits. Until now. My hands shook as I pressed 2-3-1-1.It couldn’t be, could it?

The keypad flashed green. After several mechanical clicks, the door swung open like the beginning of a bad horror movie. There could be a bomb ready to detonate, but I didn’t turn back. Danger sucked me in like a hurricane. I pulled out the tiny, but lethal, blade from my bra and brandished it. Sure, it wouldn’t hold up against an explosion, but there was no harm in being prepared.

I took a deep breath before stepping to the other side. Then, nothing. Stillness. It must have once functioned as a kitchen, but layers of dust now coated every surface. Clearly, Vixen hadn’t included it in her massive renovation.

Something wasn’t right.

Daylight filtered through onto the wooden floor from the gap underneath the door. I remembered how Zander said the servant’s quarters led outside. Through the wall, a car engine roared to life.

I should know better.

I should turn back.

That’s what any sensible person would have done, right?

A nagging feeling in my gut willed me to follow the noise. Whatever lay outside couldn’t be worse than what I was running from. I’d come to Rocky’s funeral to confront Zander and help Giles steal an old treasure, not play hide and fucking seek! Yet I was right where West wanted me to be, seeking answers to the questions that kept me up at night.

I took a deep breath and turned the handle, expecting to be welcomed by the barrel of a gun prodding into my forehead. Instead, a figure lounged against the running car. He’d pulled a black hoodie up to hide his face and wore sunglasses. His casual way of leaning looked so familiar… so…

The knife slipped through my fingers. “Rocky?!”

“What’s wrong, C?” Rocky asked, taking off his glasses and grinning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

FIVE

Some people claim you see visions when you’re about to die. You could glide down a dark tunnel, be reunited with dead loved ones, or watch moments from your life whizz by like a movie. I always thought it was bullshit, but maybe I was wrong? Someone could have blown my brains out the moment I stepped outside.

“Are you...” I stammered as I tried to find the words. There’s no right way to ask someone if you’ve lost your fucking mind. “Are you really…here?”

Rocky wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “What do you think?”

He could have come back to haunt me.I cautiously approached. I mean, helookedreal. As real as everyone else I’d seen today, anyway. Shadows moved across his face as the sun hit him at a weird angle. Ghosts didn’t have shadows, did they? The cheeky twinkle in his eyes wasn’t glassy or vacant like the stares of dead bodies frozen in place.

Shaking, I reached out at the apparition and poked him in the chest. I expected my finger to disappear through him like they did in the cartoons, but it didn’t. He felt solid, but was that really proof? Stories could have been wrong about spirits all along!

I poked him again.Shit!I shook my head, backing away.

“This can’t be real,” I murmured in disbelief. He should be nothing but a pile of ash — not a solid-feeling idiot with a smirk on his face! “You can’t be real.”

“If I wasn’t real,” Rocky said, stepping forward, “would I be able to do this?”

His arms closed around me, pulling my body into a tight embrace. I breathed in his scent. Earthy. A hint of peppermint. Fresh laundry. Warmth radiated from his skin, and the rhythm of his beating heart pumped through his clothes. A heart that should have stopped beating. How was this even possible? I watched him bleed out over the concrete after I pulled the trigger.

“But the funeral... the coffin...” I babbled as my shaking hands traced the strong muscles in his back. “You’re dead!”

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