Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel VincentЧитать онлайн книгу.
The reaper spared me a glance and frowned, then dismissed me and turned toward Aunt Val. I could see only a sliver of the reaper’s face now, but that was plenty. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice like molten metal, smooth and slow-flowing, but hot enough to singe at a touch.
I was so surprised to hear her that I almost stopped singing, and Sophie’s soul began to drift toward Marg. Then Nash squeezed my hand and my voice strengthened. Sophie’s soul steadied once more.
The reaper didn’t seem to notice. She was watching my aunt, who was saying something else I couldn’t hear. I could only hear Marg, which meant the reaper hadn’t forgotten about me—that for some reason, she wanted me to hear what she was saying.
Aunt Val nodded firmly in response to the reaper’s question, her lips moving rapidly.
The reaper studied her for a moment, then shook her head, and what little I could see of her mouth curved into a slow, malicious smile. “Your soul will not suffice,” Marg said, her voice trailing over me with an almost physical presence. “You promised Belphegore young, beautiful souls, and like your body, your soul is aging and blemished. She will not accept it.”
My aunt was speaking again, gesturing angrily, and her husband flinched all over at something she said, fists still clenched in effort. Again I desperately wished I could hear both sides of the argument.
“We reached no agreement on the specific souls to be harvested,” the reaper said, and chills popped up on my arms. Just listening to her was going to kill me. “I have collected the first four, in spite of piddling interference from your young minions—”
Minions? She did not just call me a minion!
“—and I’ll have the fifth when I tire of this game. I will have your money, Belphegore will have her souls, and you will have youth and beauty like you never imagined.”
Youth? Aunt Val had hired a reaper to poach innocent souls in exchange for her youth? Could anyone truly be so vain?
Aunt Val was shouting now, the veins standing out in her slim neck. But Marg only laughed. “I am in possession of four young, strong souls, and while I hold them, half a dozen bean sidhes couldn’t take this one from me.” To demonstrate, she waved one hand in the air, palm up. Pain ripped through my chest, and Sophie’s soul rose a foot higher in spite of my song and the efforts of my father and uncle to guide it.
Nash stood then, and added his best to the group effort, his face flushing with the strain.
Sophie’s soul bobbed, then sank slightly, but would go no farther.
The reaper whirled around then, turning her back on my aunt to focus her fury on me and Nash. “You.”
I shook harder with each step she took toward me, and my voice began to warble. I was losing it, and once the wail faded, there would be no soul for the men to guide.
“Something is.” Her sweater flared out at the sides as she walked, giving her a larger, more intimidating presence than her small frame should have carried. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied me from mere feet away, while my heart tripped its way through a few more terrified beats. Her slow smile returned. “You live someone else’s life. Belphegore would surely love a taste of your borrowed life force. If you want to see the next day’s sun, shut your mouth and release that soul. Otherwise, your family will watch me feed you your own tongue before I take your soul in place of hers.”
Her depraved smile broadened, and the sight of such normal, even white teeth in such a vicious face sent chills through me. “And you will die in perfect silence, little one. There is no one left to sing your soul song.”
“I will sing for her.” The voice was soft and lyrical, and as eerie in the odd silence as the reaper’s was. My head swiveled toward the source.
Tod stood in front of the closed front door. His feet were spread for an even stance, hands fisted at his sides, jaw clenched in fury. He looked ready to do battle with the devil himself, but Tod’s voice didn’t match the one I’d heard.
Someone stepped out from behind him, and my pulse raced in hope. Harmony Hudson. Nash’s mother. And she looked pissed.
“Can you hear me, hon?” she asked, and I nodded, so grateful for her presence that I didn’t think to question how she’d known she was needed. “Your voice is fadin’, but I can sing all night.” She faced Marg then, and seemed to stand taller. “You’re not leaving with her soul. Or the other one’s either,” she said, glancing at Sophie’s
soul where it still bobbed sluggishly in the air over her
body.
Marg hissed like an angry cat, mouth open, teeth exposed, and for a moment I thought she’d swipe at Nash’s mother with a set of retractable claws. Then she seemed to collect herself. “You’ll fare no better than the child,” Marg purred, slinking toward the entryway slowly. “It will take more than three of your men to steal from me while I hold four strong souls in reserve.”
“How ‘bout four men?” Tod said through clenched teeth. He glanced at me, then at Nash, who nodded, giving him the go-ahead for something I didn’t understand. Then Tod closed his eyes in concentration, and Sophie’s soul bobbed a bit lower.
My eyes widened. Tod was a reaper. Yet he was very clearly helping the others guide Sophie’s soul.
Marg’s eyes went dark with fury, and she whirled to face Sophie, clearly intent on taking her before she lost her chance.
And that’s when my voice died.
“No!” I croaked, but no sound came out.
Yet no sooner had my scream faded from the air than true sound came roaring back to me, as if my ears had popped from a change in pressure. And the first thing to greet them was the most beautiful, ethereal music I’d ever heard in my life.
Nash’s mom was singing for Sophie.
All four of the men were tugging on my cousin’s soul now, with Harmony’s song binding it. But Marg was pulling on it too. Sophie’s soul began to rise again, and this time it edged toward the reaper, her arms spread to receive it.
“Marg, please!” Aunt Val shouted. “Take me. My soul may not be young, but it’s strong, and you can’t have Sophie!”
“You can’t save her ” Marg sang, and, glancing
around, I saw that she was right. With four souls in reserve, she was too strong for even four male bean sidhes. Ironic, considering how small and frail she looked …
Wait. She was frail. My dad had said reapers had to take on physical form to interact with their surroundings. Which meant Marg had the same physical weaknesses as the reaper who’d tried to take me. The reaper my father had punched…
My head spinning, throat throbbing, I ran into the kitchen. I glanced at the knife rack, then shook my head. I didn’t know if I could stop her with one blow.
But I could whack the crap out of her.
I pulled open the cabinet beneath the oven and dug around for the old cast-iron skillet Uncle Brendon used for corn bread, then lugged the pan out and raced through the dining room. I passed Nash, Harmony, and Tod, and had already pulled the skillet back for a blow when I came even with my father.
Marg must have heard me coming, or seen some sign of it in my aunt’s face, because she turned at the last minute. The pan hit her in the shoulder, rather than the head, so instead of knocking her unconscious, I simply knocked her down.
But she went down hard. Her hip hit the floor with a thud, shaking the end table two feet away.
I couldn’t suppress a grin of triumph, even as a vicious ache rebounded up my arm from the blow I’d landed.
For a moment, the reaper lay stunned, glossy black waves spread around her head, arms splayed at her sides. On