Page 31 of Deceiver (Soul Chasers #2)

Farnsworth

S itting at my desk, a single lamp lighting my work, I finish reading through the stack of status reports I received from my assigned Chasers this week.

As usual, everything is fine. My current group is skilled and tenured, and rarely require any input from me.

In fact, it’s been over a year since a new Chaser joined our ranks, making the workload heavy and constant, but we manage.

I glance up when a shadow falls across my desk. It’s a messenger.

“Are you lost?”

It responds by handing me a manila envelope. I tilt my head, an amused smirk on my lips.

“Is this a joke?”

The messenger disappears as quickly as it appeared. There must be some mistake. I don’t actually chase Horrors—I haven’t for many centuries. Is there a glitch in the assignment system?

No longer amused, I open the folder to find out where this assignment should actually go, but my stomach drops when I read my own name in bold letters on the top of the sheet.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper.

I scan the page, trying to make sense of the details, and as it slowly sinks in, my heart plummets.

“All the gods of lore.”

I continue reading as a sense of doom spreads through me. My first assignment escaped. How is that even possible? Never in my history of soul chasing have I heard of a banished Horror escaping.

I perk up again, sensing a new arrival. Now? Seriously?

Before I can rise from my desk, a tugging in my chest keeps my eyes trained on the assignment details. What I read next leaves me stunned. The newest Soul Chaser, literally just now arriving, is to partner with me. In fact, he’s destined for this.

Summoning every ounce of my decorum, I stand, smoothing down my shirt and trousers before taking my jacket from the back of the chair and slipping it on. Another messenger appears and hands me a tablet containing our newest arrival’s details.

Leaving my office, I walk out to the main room to find the man lying on the floor in a fetal position.

“Hello.”

The man gasps, pulling himself up and turning to face me. “Where am I?”

“Borja Diaz, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, born June 12, 1985?”

“Yes. Who are you? What is this place?”

“My name is Farnsworth, this place is the Revival House, and your soul is lucky enough to have arrived here after your unfortunate demise.”

“Demise?” He gets to his feet, revealing his impressive height. His hair is dark and wavy, his eyes a soft green, and his features are unusually pleasant to me. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear.” I glance down at my information. “Ah. You didn’t feel a thing. Unfortunately, you’ve died.”

“Died?” He looks down at his hands, then around the darkened space. “I don’t believe you.”

“You will soon enough. You were enjoying an evening with friends, and then…?”

His brow creases. “And then I…”

I can see the moment the memories come back.

“A truck ran into us.”

“On the passenger side. You didn’t suffer.”

“Fuck. I’m really dead.”

“For now, but you’re in luck. I have a proposition for you.”

I’m not sure when I’ll tell him that I’m his partner, but we’ll get to that eventually. For now, I have to get him to agree to sign over his eternity.

If I pull this off, I think I’m going to need a raise.