Chapter 4 · The Death Collector - Chapter 4: The First Job Bites Back

"My curse kept you alive through three deaths. Show some gratitude."

I pressed my hand against my jeans. The denim soaked through warm. "Where are we going?"

"Your first job."

"I have a job. Voss doesn't know I'm—"

"Voss sent you to collect me. You failed. Now you work for me until the curse breaks." She took a corner too fast. I braced against the door. "Seven jobs, Cade. Pay attention to the first one."

The street outside was industrial. Shuttered factories. Gravel lots. No witnesses. My chest tightened.

"What kind of job?"

"Collection."

I laughed. It came out bitter. "You want me to collect a debt for you? That's what got me cursed."

"No." She finally looked at me. Her eyes were flat. "What got you cursed was thinking you could walk into my house and take what I wouldn't give. This time, you take what I tell you to take."

She pulled into an empty lot behind a warehouse. Killed the engine. The silence pressed in.

"Who's the debtor?" I asked.

"Garrett Lowe. He took something from someone I work for. You're going to get it back."

"What did he take?"

"A name."

I stared at her. "A name."

"Written on parchment. Sealed in a glass vial. Don't break it. Don't read it. Don't let him talk you into anything else." She pulled a folded photo from her jacket and handed it over. "That's Garrett. He knows you're coming."

The photo showed a man in his forties. Thin face. Scar along his jaw. He looked like every low-level dealer I'd collected from in the last two years.

"And if he doesn't want to give it up?"

"Then you make him."

Her voice didn't change. I folded the photo and shoved it in my pocket.

"You're not coming in with me?"

"You're the collector. Collect."

I got out of the car. My hand throbbed. The warehouse door was already open. I could see a sliver of yellow light inside. My mouth tasted like metal.

"Cade."

I turned. Iris leaned across the passenger seat, one hand on the wheel.

"If you die in there, you wake up this morning. You'll have a new power. You won't know how to use it. People get hurt when you don't know how to use it."

"Then don't let me die."

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not coming in."

I walked toward the warehouse. The gravel crunched under my boots. The air smelled like rust and old rain. My pulse was too loud.

The door swung open before I reached it.

Garrett Lowe stood in the frame. He was taller than the photo suggested. His scar caught the light.

"Merrick?"

I stopped. "How do you know my name?"

"Everyone knows your name." He stepped back. "Come in. Let's talk."

I didn't move. "Give me the vial."

"You don't even know what's in it."

"I don't care."

"You should." He turned and walked deeper into the warehouse. "Iris didn't tell you what she owes, did she?"

I followed him in. The door swung shut behind me. The space was bigger than it looked from outside. Rows of steel shelving. Tarps over lumps I didn't want to identify. A table in the center with a single chair.

Garrett stopped at the table. He didn't sit.

"She tell you about the blood debt?"

My hand throbbed harder. "She told me enough."

"She tell you who holds it?"

"Give me the vial, Garrett."

He reached into his coat. I tensed. He pulled out a small glass vial on a chain. Inside, a rolled piece of parchment. The ink looked black. Or red. Hard to tell in the dim light.

"This name," he said, holding it up, "is the only thing keeping Iris alive. The moment I hand it over, she's done. And so are you."

I took a step closer. "Why me?"

"Because you're a Merrick. And Merricks don't stay dead."

The room tilted. I steadied myself against the shelving.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your mother didn't tell you?" He smiled. It looked like pity. "No. She wouldn't. She ran too far for that."

Heat built in my palm. Not pain. Something else. I looked down. The wound was glowing. Faint orange. Like embers.

"What the—"

"There it is." Garrett's voice went soft. "The first gift. Fire, right? That's what you got this morning?"

The glow spread. Up my wrist. My skin didn't burn. The air around my hand shimmered.

"I didn't—I don't—"

"You died yesterday. You died the day before. You'll die today." He set the vial on the table. "Each time, you come back wrong. Stronger. More like what you're supposed to be."

The heat climbed my arm. I couldn't stop it. My vision blurred.

"What am I supposed to be?"

"The same thing your father was. The same thing Iris is trying to kill before you figure it out."

I lunged. He sidestepped. My hand hit the table. The wood caught fire instantly. Flames raced across the surface. The vial rolled. I grabbed for it. Garrett grabbed my wrist.

His grip was iron. Cold. Wrong.

"She's using you," he said. "Every job she sends you on is a test. Every death makes you closer to what she's afraid of."

The fire roared. The table collapsed. I wrenched my arm free. The vial was on the floor. I dove for it.

Garrett's boot came down on my back. Slammed me flat. The air left my lungs.

"Tell Iris," he said, leaning close, "that the collector's son doesn't get to walk away clean."

I twisted. Threw my burning hand up. He caught my wrist again. The flames licked between us. For one second, I saw his face clearly. His eyes weren't human. They were black all the way through.

"You want the vial? Fine. Take it."

He shoved it into my chest. Not my hand. My chest.

I felt the glass crack. Felt something cold and sharp sink in. My ribs screamed. The fire in my hand sputtered. Went out.

Garrett leaned down. His breath smelled like burnt metal.

"The real price Iris owes," I gasped, "isn't money. It's—"

His fist went through my chest.

No. Not his fist. Something else. Something that burned cold and ripped everything loose inside me.

I tried to speak. Blood filled my mouth.

"Merrick," he said again. Soft. Almost kind. "Your name's the key. She knows it. You don't."

The world went dark.

Before it did, I heard one more thing.

Not from Garrett.

From behind me. From the door.

Iris's voice.

"Cade—don't—"

Then nothing.