Soul Symmetry

Prologue

The boardwalk wasn't a place you'd expect to find a reaper. Out in the open, for anyone to see, the slight morning sea-salt breeze blowing over his face. Not a soul had an idea that a harbinger of death was in its amidst, and they probably wouldn't have believed it anyway. Humans rarely saw reapers for who they really were; the veil between the living and the dead aiding their true identity. But it was the four frowning hallows beside Heath that were the true concern. The ghosts walked freely among the living, plotting and planning revenge, destruction, and evil, carving a path of devastation.

The five of them were discussing the events from the night before—the coronation. Proceedings hadn't gone according to plan, but lately they hardly ever did. Not since the arrival of Piper Brennan.

There was one thing they all agreed on...she needed to be eliminated.

They slunk under the docks, away from the early stragglers—not that the tourists would have heard them. Heath, the overload of the Red Hawks, was a phantom reaper whose responsibility was to mark humans for death. His dark suit was newly pressed and stiff, like his personality.

"Your plan failed, overlord," hissed the hallow with shoulder-length blond waves. He stepped forward, letting the reaper know who was in charge.

"Not entirely true," Heath disagreed. "All is not lost. Actually, I don't think things could have gone smoother."

The ghost angled his head in rapid, jerky movements. "How so?"

"Death's heir has fallen." The shock had worn off, and Heath could see the advantage fate had dropped into his palms. He grinned, flashy a row of pearly teeth.

"This aids us how?" asked the smallest of the four hallows, no inflection in his flat voice. Hallows didn't feel emotions, other than rage.

A flash of annoyance sparked in Heath's silver eyes. He didn't like being questioned. "The veil has been broken."

The four hallows nodded. "We felt it, but tell us something we don't already know."

"I'm working out the details, but trust me, you'll get what you was promised," Heath said. "We all will."

"Trust?" a hallow echoed, distaste dripping.

"You haven't precisely proven to be dependable," another commented, his ghostly outline standing out against the vivid blue ocean.

Water lapped on the shore, leaving behind foam and shells under the dock, but Heath disregarded the rise and fall of the water as easily as he did the four hallows. "I'd wait and hear me out before you pass judgment."

The four hallows exchanged skeptic looks. "We're listening," replied the blond gravelly.

"It's about time, because I was beginning to wonder if I'd made a mistake."

A unified hiss erupted. Heath knew working with these chumps had its risks, but the thing about hallows was, they were disposable. And there were plenty more where they came from, eager to have a chance at revenge.

As they gathered, a calculating plot began to unfold.

"Your son? Can he be trusted?" asked the ghost of a woman who used to be called Felicity. Her eyes were so pale blue they were almost iridescent. They sharpened.

Heath was steadfast in his conviction. "There is no question where my son's loyalty lies. He will cooperate." If he knew what was good for him, Heath added silently. Crash might be unpredictable, disappointing, and often lazy, but he was his blood and his heir. Heath knew the bitter taste of revenge well, and knew how it would fuel his son. Estelle's death wouldn't go unpunished. He swore it. And his son would do whatever it took, no matter what the costs. He would see to it personally.

Felicity let a low grumble. "You sound confident. I wish we had the same assurance. He's been seen sniffing around the White Raven since her arrival."

"You dare question me?" Heath's voice was a dangerous whisper, the threat evident. "Remember who brought you here."

The four hallows exchanged silent glares of unease. It was the blond who cleared his throat. "We haven't forgotten. We only want to ensure that there are no bumps in the road. Last night might have ended in our favor, but it could have easily been a disaster."

A blank look remained on Heath's face, and his smooth Celtic accent never wavered. "My scouts will keep us informed. If she so much as sneezes, I'll know about it."

"And when the time comes..."

A crow squawked somewhere from above the mass of twinkling stars. Even with the roar of the surf, others listened in on the conversation with their keen supernatural abilities. Heath's eyes shifted skyward, and the four vengeful spirits fluttered at the itch of trouble.

A wicked grin spread across Heath's lips. "Oh, you'll know."

"We're counting on you to not screw this up, overlord. The spirit world is flooding with souls ready for their chance to live again."

"I'll do my part." Heath glanced at his watch, impatience leaping in his eyes. "Spread the word, and wait for my command."

"You might have freed us, reaper, but we don't answer to you."

"Just be ready," Heath warned.

The fun and games were over; it was time to get down to business. And Heath had the perfect plan.