Page 101 of Finders Reapers

“Yes. I saw the Drudes,” I smiled sweetly.

“Drudes are heralds of death, nightmare demons. The stories go that before HQ decided to plant souls inside bodies to make Reapers, the Drudes used to collect souls for Hell.” Maddox explained as he jammed his sunglasses on his face. My own pale face was reflected back in the mirrored lenses. “Your father shouldn’t have even had a clue what a drude was, but he kept mentioning them.”

“You think this is important?”

“Your father put it on the table.” Maddox signaled as we turned into traffic. “You said your mother had breast cancer, but she was in remission.”

I nodded stiffly.

“Drudes are incorporeal demons that can inhabit a body that is on the edge of death.” Maddox continued lightly. “It would make sense if your mother was possessed by one of them after she came close to death in the hospital. It's very rare for one to go back and live the life of its host, though.”

“If Drudes could just inhabit sick people and cure them, wouldn’t everyone know about it?” I felt sick, thinking about the idea of my mom being replaced by a demon and me not having a clue. “It explains nothing,” I spat.

“Drudes are extinct. They were eaten by the devouring beasts.” Maddox informed me. “There are very few left, and your father shouldn’t even know the name of that type of demon—Mara, the goddess of death, made the Drudes.”

“You think that a death goddess is stealing the contracted souls?” I pointed out snidely.

Maddox checked his mirrors. “Your father sold your soul. Perhaps it was to help your mom get to heaven. Maybe it was to help the demon inside of her. We won’t ever know.”

“I know that my father knew about demons but never told me,” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling of the Camaro. “And that he loved my mother more than he loved me, even as a child.”

Silence.

The desert yawned as Maddox joined the highway. “I’m sorry.” He whispered,

I didn’t know if he apologized for taking me to see my father or for something else.

There had been a hush over the car since we had left my father’s house as we pulled into a gas station just outside of Henderson, and Maddox got out to fill up the Camaro.

Once again, I didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation, and I wanted someone to tell me. Every emotion inside me was a soup that I didn’t have the time or space to process.

My father had signed my soul away like it was a business deal.

He had kept a secret from me my entire life. About my mom. About demons. About everything. He had known that he was damning me the moment that he chose to sacrifice his child’s soul for his wife’s ticket into heaven.

If his wife was even his wife, and not some demon, piggybacking on my mom’s body.

I left the car and stretched, straightening my arms over my head and rocking on my heels with a yawn. I gestured over my shoulder at the gas station. “I’m gonna grab some snacks. Do you want anything?”

Maddox lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Whatever you want. Do you need my card?”

I patted my purse. “I’m good,” I waved as I turned on my heels and escaped through the automatic glass doors.

The candy was on a shelf that lined the windows, looking out at the pumps. I felt that sugar and energy drinks were needed. As I got to the milk duds, the hair on the back of my neck rose, and I felt someone watching me. The world didn’t shift to greyscale, as it did around death, but I felt a smothering pressure. A gnawing hunger that made my hands shake.

Mr. Bub.

He stepped out from the aisles, his spindly frame in a tailored suit that made him look uncannily like Jack Skellington.

I didn’t know what was going on in Las Vegas and whatever business with the contracted souls, but I had the feeling that Mr. Bub was behind it, at least in part. I had the puzzle pieces, but I just needed them to fit.

I glanced out of the windows at Maddox filling the Camaro, wondering how he would react if he looked into the store and saw that I was shoulder to shoulder with the King of Gluttony and the CEO of Quietus.

“He can’t see me.” Mr. Bub stated, amused. “In fact, not a soul can.”

I hummed, indicating that I heard.

“Pick up some butterfingers, would you?” He leaned over and pointed to the top row.