Chapter One

A blast of wind interrupted my work, announcing the presence of another soul. I paused what I was doing to look up at the intruding spirit before glancing back down to check my clipboard for the schedule of new arrivals. I found none.

"You're early," I intoned with slight surprise, brows shifting up as I regarded the unexpected visitor in mild interest. The migrant soul looked around in confusion, not quite understanding what was going on. Scanning the shade for its signature, I went back to my clipboard, searching for its death date. "Isla Alaminne, Alaminne… Ah yes, here you are. Hm. You're due the 14th of September, forty-six years from now. So why are you here now? I don't remember Calling you."

"W-what? W-who are you? And what do you mean by calling me? Where am I? I remember I was at the caves with Rumi and Brielle. I fell into the lake and then.... Where am I?" She took stock of her surroundings, the misty orb that was her existence jerking around as if she were doing a double-take. "When am I?"

As the diaphanous shade slowly gained awareness, her body began to appear more vividly. Souls coalesce the longer they stayed away from the Spirit Realm, and her corporeal form slowly took shape. Before they gain a solid frame, souls tend to be wispy and insubstantial, and often appear as she did, as a small cloud of vapor or steam. It was difficult to tell them apart from the fog that constantly rolled across the plains in the Underworld. If it was not for their slight glow, it would be impossible to tell the difference.

Isla Alaminne's rapidly composing physique arose from a sudden puff of fog; first her startled heterochromia eyes, then a dark, curly head of ringlets, and lastly her olive-toned torso and limbs, clad in a strange neon version of coveralls and stark black Wellingtons.

"Relax dear girl, it will all be sorted out. For now, sit down please." I waved my hand and our environment changed into a friendlier sort. Gone were the dingy stone walls that I was so fond of. All the candles were replaced with modern lighting and the comfy Victorian couches turned into boring, beige leather ones. The beautiful gothic Victorian-era décor transformed into that of a mid-century modern style.

With another flick of my wrist sent the stupefied soul pushed onto one of the ugly sofas. She cried out with either pain or shock, and I rolled my eyes, irritated.

"Please darling," I drawled. "I am certain that did not hurt. I have exceedingly good control over my powers you know, and that was barely a delicate nudge."

Once finished with the current document in front of me, I peered at the shade from my desk. It was female, twenty-four years of age, a young lady in the prime of her youth. It truly was a shame for such an early and unanticipated death, with as much life left in her as she should have.

But it was strange. Shades, the name for souls who had died an untimely death, usually passed through the Gates of Judgement first, before coming to me if deemed worthy of the glory of Arcadia. I would give them one final Judgment before either passing them through, or sending them to Sheol if I found them not worthy enough, but not deserving of the torture of the Marrow Province. I had received no such notice concerning any trial.

What was even more curious was that this shade came before her death day, which is recorded in my In Libro De Consolatione ad Polybium et consummatio (The Book of Beginnings and Endings), also known as Libro De Mors Et Vita (The Book of Life and Death).

Every death and birth, unannounced or otherwise, is recorded here. While mortals may not have been expecting it, it was all written down here, for my eyes only. And it was quite literally readable only for me. The Book's neat registration turned illegible if anyone but I tried to read it. I consider it a safety mechanism, for if this Book fell into the wrong hands, disaster may very well befall the world as we know it.

Yet the strangest thing of it all was the fact that she had somehow kept her years with her. In other words, her mortal lifespan had not dropped. In fact, she was practically glowing with youth.

All souls lose their years; their unique Remnant, which is essentially their signature record or data of their life and presence, would be reset to zero when they die. By reading their Remnant, one could find many useful things concerning the person's life. As it is, the skill of reading Remnant remains strictly for the Grim Reaper and his Judges; that is, the skill exists expressly for me and my cabinet.

Shades are duller, a darker shade of gray compared to the slate tone of normal souls, or the silvery light of one who managed to make it into Arcadia. This is because they could not live out the allotment of life they supposed they had, proceeding to the afterlife without their consent or assumption.

This shade stood out, however, a bright pearlescent beacon of argent light, and would attract the attention of any non-mortal for miles around. That youth was exactly what would cause her so much trouble. Monsters and the like could take her years and do any number of horrendous deeds with it, all the while causing me a terrible migraine. And as she was still a shade and not a living human, the consequences of such actions would be unforeseen and unpredictable.

The reason for the brightness of the girl's soul was beyond me, for it was something I have never before seen in all the multitudinous years of my being the Grim Reaper.

The light shining from within her was unlike any I had seen, not quite the silvery light of the Arcadian souls, but something altogether different and unique. It was warm and bright, almost something...holy.

Standing from my seat, I made another gesture with my hand that had her shooting up on her feet so I could examine her. Before I got within ten feet however, she darted to the side to grab a lamp from the coffee table next to the couch. Spreading her feet in a defensive stance, she held the lamp out threateningly. "I'm warning you. Stay away from me. I know self-defense!"

At this I chuckled. She clearly did not know who she was in an audience with, and her pathetic attempt at playing me off was quite amusing. It was quite fascinating, however, because even if she was partially corporeal, she had yet to gain a truly physical form. Ordinary spirits would be unable to touch something, nevertheless continuously hold onto it, in their vaporous state.

"Oh? But I don't mean any harm. I just want to examine you. I've never seen anything like you before, not in all my centuries." I let sincerity and curiosity drip from my voice, staining it with as much honesty as I could muster.

One rule of being the Grim Reaper: I could not let any mortal, shade, or other spirit, etc. know my true identity unless they asked. This rule was quite literal as well, and my tongue would be tied if I tried to reveal it without permission from the soul. It was to ensure that I did not tell them before they wanted to know, lest I cause undo shock or trauma. This was a part I never understood, considering that most ghosts don't even realize what they are until they ask me.

The young woman before me gave me a distrustful stare, askance. In response, I gave her my business-like smile, staving off my impatience. "Who are you?" she asked, wariness lurking in her eyes.

"Me?" I pointed to myself, feigning confusion. When she nodded, I took that as the confirmation I needed to tell her, "I'm the Grim Reaper."