Chapter 6 · The Death Collector - Chapter 6: The First Blood Job

"Not this one."

"Then which one?" I pulled my arm back. "You want me to stand here and wait for another voice from a dead guy? Because I don't think that's how your curse works."

She didn't let go. Her nails bit through the fabric.

"This debt isn't like the others," she said. "The debtor's dangerous."

"They're all dangerous. That's why they owe."

"Cade—"

"You're stalling." I turned to face her fully. We were standing in a narrow hallway that smelled like mildew and old carpet glue. The address the dead voice had given me led to a walk-up in the Flats, the kind of place where the landlord stopped caring twenty years ago. "What aren't you telling me?"

Her jaw tightened. She was close enough that I could see the pulse jumping in her throat.

"If you go in there," she said slowly, "you might not come back out."

"I've died four times already. What's one more?"

"This one's different."

"How?"

She didn't answer. Her hand was still on my sleeve. I could feel the heat of her palm through two layers of fabric, and for a second I thought she might actually pull me away from the door.

Then she let go.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Not negotiable."

"You cursed me to do this alone."

"I cursed you to do seven jobs. I never said you had to do them solo." She stepped past me and knocked twice, hard and fast. "And if you die in there before we finish, the whole thing resets. So unless you want to wake up tomorrow with a new power and no progress, shut up and let me handle this."

The door opened.

The woman on the other side was small, blonde, maybe thirty. She had a dish towel in one hand and a knife in the other. The knife was still wet.

"We're not interested," she said.

"Lila Crane?" Iris's voice was flat, professional. "You owe a blood debt. We're here to collect."

Lila's face didn't change. She looked at Iris, then at me, then back at Iris.

"I paid."

"You didn't."

"I sent the payment three weeks ago."

"You sent a proxy," Iris said. "That's not the same thing."

"The contract didn't specify—"

"It did. Section four, clause two. Blood debts require the debtor's own blood, freely given, measured and witnessed. You sent someone else's."

Lila's grip on the knife shifted. I saw her knuckles go white.

"I'm not giving you my blood," she said.

Iris smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"Then you're in breach," she said. "And the Collections get to take what you owe. Plus interest."

"What interest?"

"Whatever we decide it is."

Lila stepped back. The door started to close. I got my boot in the gap before it could latch.

"We can do this easy," I said, "or we can do it the other way."

"I'll scream."

"Go ahead. No one's going to come."

She looked at me like I'd just told her the sky was green. Then she swung the knife.

I caught her wrist mid-arc and twisted. The knife hit the floor. Iris was already inside, moving fast, and before Lila could pull away I had her pinned against the wall with one arm twisted behind her back.

"Let go of me—"

"Shut up," Iris said. She crouched down and picked up the knife. There was something dark and wet on the blade. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"The contract. The one you signed."

Lila didn't answer. Iris stood up and pressed the flat of the blade against Lila's cheek. Not cutting. Just resting there. Cold.

"I'm going to ask one more time," Iris said. "Where's the contract?"

"Kitchen drawer," Lila said. Her voice cracked. "Second from the left."

Iris looked at me. I nodded. She disappeared into the kitchen.

Lila was shaking. I could feel it through her whole body, the way a rabbit shakes when you pick it up wrong.

"Please," she said. "I didn't know. I thought—"

"You thought you could cheat it."

"I thought I could buy more time."

"That's not how blood debts work."

"I was going to pay. I swear. I just needed another month."

Iris came back holding a folded piece of paper. It was yellowed at the edges, covered in tight handwriting. She opened it, scanned the text, then looked at Lila.

"You signed this four years ago," Iris said.

"I was desperate."

"You traded your blood for a child."

Lila's whole body went rigid.

"That's not—"

"It's right here. Section one. 'In exchange for one living child, born healthy and whole, the debtor agrees to provide payment in full within four years of the contract date.' You got your kid. Now you owe."

"He's three years old."

"That's not my problem."

"You can't take me away from him."

"We're not taking you anywhere," Iris said. She pulled a small glass vial from her coat pocket. It was empty, stoppered with cork. "We just need what you promised."

Lila looked at the vial. Then at the knife in Iris's other hand.

"How much?" she asked quietly.

"Enough to fill this. Maybe a cup."

"That's not enough to kill me."

"No," Iris said. "But you'll be weak for a few days. Don't drive. Don't lift anything heavy. Drink water."

She said it like she was reading instructions off a prescription bottle. Lila started crying.

"I can't," she said. "If I'm weak, I can't take care of him. There's no one else. His father—"

"Not listening," Iris said. She held out the knife. "Wrist or palm. Your choice."

Lila looked at me. Her eyes were red and wet.

"Please," she said.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. This was the job. This was what I did. Collect the debt. Don't ask questions. Don't make it personal.

But I could hear a kid in the next room. Cartoons. High-pitched laughter.

Iris pressed the knife into Lila's free hand.

"Do it," she said, "or I will."

Lila took the knife. Her hand was shaking so hard I thought she might drop it. Then she pressed the edge to her left wrist and dragged it across.

Blood welled up, dark and fast. Iris caught it in the vial, tilting Lila's wrist so the flow stayed steady. It took maybe thirty seconds to fill. When it was done, Iris stoppered it and stepped back.

"Pressure," she said. "Five minutes. You'll be fine."

Lila slid down the wall and sat on the floor, clutching her wrist. Blood seeped between her fingers. She wasn't looking at us anymore. She was looking at the doorway to the next room, where the cartoon voices were still going.

Iris grabbed my arm.

"We're done," she said. "Let's go."

We left Lila sitting there. I heard the door lock behind us.

We made it halfway down the hall before I stopped.

"That was the job?" I said.

"That was the job."

"She's got a kid in there."

"I know."

"She could pass out. Bleed out."

"She won't. I didn't cut deep enough."

I turned to face her. She was holding the vial up to the light, watching the blood move inside.

"You didn't cut," I said. "She did."

"Because I told her to."

"That's the same thing."

"No," Iris said quietly. "It's not."

She lowered the vial and looked at me. Her face was blank. No guilt. No hesitation.

"Blood debts require consent," she said. "She had to do it herself. That's the rule."

"What happens if she refuses?"

"Then the contract takes it anyway. And it doesn't stop at a cup."

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

"You've done this before," I said.

"Six times."

"And you didn't think to warn me."

"Would it have changed anything?"

I didn't answer. She was right. It wouldn't have.

She started walking again. I followed.

We got outside. The air was cold and tasted like rust. Iris stopped at the curb and pulled a second vial from her pocket. This one was full, sealed with black wax.

"Hold out your hand," she said.

"Why?"

"Because the contract needs to mark you. You did the collection. You get the proof."

I held out my left hand. She uncorked the second vial and poured a single drop onto my wrist.

It burned.

I tried to pull away but she held my arm in place. The drop spread, crawling across my skin like it was alive. It didn't bleed or drip. It just moved, black and thin, tracing a shape I couldn't read.

When it stopped, there was a mark on my wrist. A circle with a line through it. It looked like it had been burned into the skin.

"That's one," Iris said. She let go of my arm. "Six more to go."

I stared at the mark. It was still hot. I could feel my pulse underneath it, fast and uneven.

"What happens when I have all seven?" I asked.

She didn't answer right away. She was looking at the mark too, and for the first time since I'd met her, I saw something flicker across her face. Fear, maybe. Or regret.

"You'll find out," she said.

Then she turned and started walking.

I looked down at my wrist one more time. The mark was black, sharp, and it didn't fade when I rubbed it.

Somewhere behind us, a kid started crying.