Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel VincentЧитать онлайн книгу.
Libby liked me—she’d actually acknowledged my presence in the concert hall—and would be more likely to answer our questions if they came from me.
I was skeptical, but willing to give it a shot to help Addison.
We’d just passed the front office, nodding politely at the nurse on duty, when Tod appeared behind us. The nurse didn’t even blink at his sudden appearance—she obviously couldn’t see him.
“Henry White.” Tod waved us forward with one hand. “Room 124. Hurry, it’s almost time.”
But even knowing I wouldn’t have to wail, I was less than eager to watch some poor old man die. I’d seen quite enough of death in what little of my life I’d lived so far. Unfortunately, even with me dragging my feet, we got there just in time for the show.
Libby stood in one dark corner, dressed in another variation of black-on-black leather, looking psychoticscary in deep blue and gold eye shadow. Sweat stood out on her forehead, an obvious sign of the effort it took to suck in the dark substance leaking slowly, thickly from the wrinkled man lying limp on the bed.
Henry White was alone in his room, except for us and the monitor near his head, leaking a steady, high-pitched tone, which speared my brain almost as sharply as my own wail would have. I rubbed my temples, both surprised and sad that White’s only deathbed visitors were two bean sidhes and two reapers, one of which had come to kill him. Where were his kids? Grandchildren? Or even the poor man’s accountant, or money-grubbing lawyer? Surely he’d meant enough to someone to warrant a little company when death came a-knockin’.
Even as that last thought passed through my head, footsteps rushed down the hall. A heavyset nurse appeared in the doorway, wearing bright purple scrubs. She glanced my way and smiled sympathetically as she brushed past me to press a button on the monitor. “Are you family?” she asked, as the annoying beep ended and welcome silence descended.
“No.” I glanced from her to Henry White’s still form, then to the corner, where Libby was slurping up the last of the Demon’s Breath like some kind of putrid, ethereal sludge.
“We’re … visitors,” Nash finished, threading his fingers through mine when my hand began to tremble. Tod watched Libby in fascination, practically drooling as she wiped her mouth with one delicate, black-gloved finger. But I was so creeped out, chill bumps had burst to life all over my body.
If she burped up black smoke, I was out of there, no matter what she could tell us.
Clutching Nash’s hand, I backed toward the wall. I kept hoping the shock would wear off. That death would eventually become routine for me. But it hadn’t, and on second thought, I decided that was probably a very good thing. If death ever ceased to bother me, it would be because I’d seen entirely too much of it.
The nurse continued taking Henry White’s pulse, though it was obvious by that point that he was already gone. “Well, then, you’ll have to go,” she said, without looking up from her work.
I was happy to oblige. “Why didn’t she give him CPR?” I asked Nash on the way out of the room. We all knew she couldn’t bring him back, but she didn’t even try.
“Honey, he signed a DNR years ago,” she said, watching me with more of that weird, detached sympathy behind her eyes. She probably would have made a good reaper.
I glanced back at her from the hall. “DNR?”
“Do not resuscitate. He signed a form asking not to be brought back when his heart gave out. He was ready to go.”
Her words sent fresh chills down my spine. I had no doubt that if Henry White had known what his afterlife would consist of, he’d never have signed that paper. Or his demon contract.
Tod and Libby trailed us into the hall, though no one else could see or hear them. “Are you following me?” she asked Tod.
“Um, yeah. Kind of,” Tod said, and I turned to find him grinning up at Libby. “I’m, um, seriously interested in doing this. Collecting Demon’s Breath instead of souls. When I found out you were going to be here, I couldn’t resist coming to ask you a few more questions.”
“This job is not for children.” Libby’s eyes flashed fiercely. Her grim smile looked more like a snarl. “You have five minutes.”
Tod exhaled in relief, and the reapers followed us into the frigid parking lot, while Nash and I pretended to be alone, a skill I was getting pretty good at. Behind the nursing home, Libby sat on the hood of my car and lit a cigarette, watching Tod expectantly, and I wondered if passersby would be able to see the smoke she exhaled.
“Is that.” Tod’s words puffed from his mouth on a white cloud. “Does that help you hold the Demon’s breath?”
“This?” She held the cigarette up, flicking ash onto the asphalt. Tod nodded, and she shook her head slowly. “It just tastes good.”
Tod flushed beneath the light overhead. As uncomfortable as I was hanging out with a reaper who’d been old when the New World was discovered, it was almost worth it to see Tod too embarrassed for words.
Almost.
“Three minutes,” Libby prodded, without even a glance at her watch. “When I have finished with this—” she held up the cigarette again “—I will be finished with you.”
“Right.” Tod glanced at first me, then Nash, but we only stared back at him. This was his show; the reaper had yet to acknowledge either of us existed. “Um. does all Demon’s Breath taste the same, or does it vary from hellion to hellion? You know, like 31 flavors?”
Libby’s eyes narrowed as she watched him, and I was sure she’d ask a question of her own, and our little road trip would end in disaster. But after a moment’s hesitation—just long enough to blow smoke into his face—she answered. “It all tastes the same. Foul. It would probably kill you, so do not consider trying it.”
“I won’t.” But Tod didn’t look anywhere near as put off by the idea as I thought he should be. “So … you can’t tell what hellion this particular breath … came from?”
“No.” She inhaled from her cigarette and crossed her opposite arm over her chest. “Nor do I care.”
Tod exhaled in frustration and glanced at us again, but I could only shrug. I had no idea where to go from there. “When they give you your list, does it say what hellion owns the target’s soul?”
“No.” Libby dropped her half-smoked cigarette and ground it beneath her boot, and I was sure she’d simply disappear without another word. Instead, she turned to face us. All three of us. And I literally squirmed beneath her gaze. “Why are you following me, asking about hellions? Demon’s Breath is nothing for children to play with.”
I wanted to insist that we weren’t children, but I kept my mouth shut because arguing with Libby probably wasn’t the best way to get information out of her. And because compared to her, even poor old Mr. Henry was a child.
“I’m just curious….” Tod began. But his mouth snapped shut at one angry glance from the older reaper, who could clearly smell his lie. “We. We’re trying to help a friend.”
“Who?” Libby pushed off of my car and crossed both arms this time, glaring down at us.
Nash and Tod exchanged glances but remained silent, so I answered. Silence obviously wasn’t getting us anywhere. But the truth might.
“We’re trying to help Addison Page get her soul back.”
“That cannot be done,” Libby said, without missing a beat. Any surprise she may have felt was instantly swallowed by her perpetual scowl. “And you will die trying. But she can reclaim it herself. Her contract has an out-clause. They all do.”
“We know.” I sighed and let my shoulders slump, hoping she couldn’t tell from my posture that I was about to tell a half truth—I was afraid she wouldn’t help us if she knew what we were