Page 1 of The Souls Harvest
Chapter 1 - Kernels
July
It ends with a kernel.
Sometimes they burn so hot it’s hard to remember they can’t hurt me. They can be as light as a feather, but those assigned to me often reek of decay, even if only minutes have passed since they last floated inside their owners’ warm chests.
I run a finger over my roll-up bag, splayed across a discarded table, admiring the superb craftsmanship of the vials, all tidily arranged in the leather loops.
A light purple puff of air escapes my lips when I lower my mask to speak. “I bet your soul smells like poison. Acrid and nasty, like the sweets you sell to your clients,” I hiss at the woman curled against the metal back door of her confectionery shop.
She studies me, nostrils flaring, brows twitching. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Roden never mentioned there were right and wrong ways to repay him. And what are the lives of a few greedy gutter rats to you Harvesters anyway?” She spits the words as if they could hurt me.
My glass vials are almost frozen as I caress them one by one, carefully deciding which will better suit the size of the woman’ssoul.Some are already glowing purple, filled with the Nistarei’s souls I harvested tonight.
I stop my ritual, feeling the anger in the Nistares’ eyes. “You know, I wanted to offer you special treatment because you’re my last one today, but you’ve just ruined it. If only you had picked your words more carefully…but you don’t sound sorry at all,” I shrug, as I slide out a snake-shaped vial from one of the loops, without taking my eyes off of her.
I doubt she has enough energy left to run away. She reminds me of a frightened beast, curled upon the steps of her shop, under a flickering exit sign that turns her soaked hair green, like the poison she’s been selling to her clients. But she could fuck up my mission with a knife to her heart—or worse.
Finding a kernel inside a mangled heart is hard, not impossible. But the aftermath of a bullet is… I shiver at the thought.
I huff a laugh.
My footsteps are barely audible over the pouring rain as I approach her.
“How old are you?” I ask, resting my right boot on the first step and bracing my arm on my knee. She is so close; I cannot ignore her hollow eyes and the dark circles, which match the shade of her lipstick.
“Shouldn’t you know?” She bites back, recoiling against the door as if it could swallow her and transport her to somewhere safe, away from me. “Didn’t Roden fill you in with all the details before unleashing you on Horigos like a ravenous wolf?”
I chuckle, turning the vial between my fingers as a raindrop slithers down its surface before falling into the gap between my fingerless glove and my black sleeve. The icy cold water against my skin is exciting, compared to the heat that rises through my body every time I’m in the presence of a Nistares.
“I’ve been called worse. Fine, if you don’t fancy a little chat before the grand finale...” I narrow my eyes, pressing my fingertip against the sharp point of my vial.
The emerald jumper dress she wears must have been beautiful before mud and water turned it into a shapeless mass of wool that rolls up, revealing her thin legs when she shifts her position to look straight at me.
“Slap that condescending look off your face, and stop playing with me, pup. Do what you’ve been ordered to, and fuck off. I’m ready.” She laughs somberly, a sound that soon turns into a cough.
I sigh—the party’s over.
One quick move and I’m crouched in front of her, my left hand pressing over her mouth, my right holding the vial to her heart. “It’s funny how someone with hundreds of innocent deaths on her shoulders can so easily judge me for simply doing my job,” I chide her.
The terror in her eyes excites me. I run the tip of my tongue over my upper lip, savouring the taste of terror and disgust exuding from her pores, both for myself and what I represent to her and the rest of the Horigeans.
The storm has died down to a shy rain. The sound of invisiblevehicles in the distance, Horigeans starting their day, and distant voices remind me that an undesired audience may soon join me. I quickly look up, ensuring nobody is enjoying the violet sunrise from one of the windows above us.
“Right, time’s up. See? I’ve been gentle despite your stinky attitude.” I gingerly lift my left hand, freeing her mouth.
She gasps, eyes wide with realisation.
An acrid smell tickles my nostrils when the tip of the vial punctures the middle of her chest, searing the fabric of her dress.
A satisfied smirk stretches on my lips...
“Nineteen.”
I yank down my hood, blinking away ice-cold raindrops and confusion.
“I’m nineteen,” the woman repeats, short of breath, staring at me with a different light in her eyes. “And if I could go back…” She struggles to sit upright on the hard, wet floor.
