Chapter 1 - Astray and Cursed: A Hawk For the Job?

Sometimes Liz Thompson loved the curse. What she hated was the cure.

The night was an animal with a bloody moon as its ghastly, grinning, growling face. It hunted them through the forest of skyscrapers and hung over them, waiting to pounce when its prey was vulnerable. Though it was the peak of a biting autumn, the two girls couldn't feel the chill. Liz held Patti's hand, because she never got to hold her sister's hand anymore, and they ran from it, because they always ran. Until they were caught.

Because of the curse, Liz had not seen daylight for a long, long time. Her sun was the moon. She awoke anew to it every evening, a stumbling and shaking foal, and the first thing she always saw in the dim light were Patti's human eyes widening in the fear of pursuit.

Today, Patti had been running. And tonight, she was once again caught.

Liz stood over her sister, her helpless, empty hands reaching aimlessly down as if they could somehow help the girl at her feet. Patti's blue eyes were unfocused as she thrashed on cold wet grass of a Brooklyn park, the curse going through her like a seizure. Bones popped, muscles stretched, teeth became fangs. Liz dropped to her knees and pulled what remained of her sister into a tight embrace.

It never got any better.

There was a shrieking, blue-eyed demon on Liz's hands in minutes flat. An attempt was made to calm it, to keep it close, hold its struggling form down. Then Liz felt claws in streaks of pain down her breastbone and the creature burst free and scrambled away over the grass to become one with the hunting night.

It was the same every time. This was the cure: an exchange. There couldn't be two devils in Brooklyn. Liz was long accustomed to abandonment, but whenever the curse took Patti, she learned newly what it was to be left all alone.

The cold set in as she picked herself up. The scratches on her chest bled in stripes, but they weren't deep. She tugged her hoodie sleeves out of the knot around her waist and slipped it on over her head.

There was no time to waste if she wanted her sister back by morning.

The pathway that led out of the sub-dimension known as the Death Room was slow. It was imposing for students walking in and irritating for staff walking out, but Death the Kid loved every step of it. Below the blue sky, inside the sandy graveyard that it was his father's duty to upkeep, the trail was set underfoot by a cobblestone pattern. Above, it was shaped by an endless gateway of guillotines set on thick squared pillars, each the color of dried blood. Every single one was identical to the last. When passing under them, it was easy to forget that you were moving at all. This is why Kid loved them. The guillotines themselves were not bilaterally symmetrical—each blade curved down on one side, giving the appearance that the red mouth of this place was already closing in. But passing beneath them was a loop; unending rows of the same sight. To him, they seemed interactive: symmetry that only lived when it was witnessed.

Kid could not imagine how his father's current weapon had grown bored of such a view. The Death Scythe made short steps to stay in pace with Kid, his hands filled with photographs of all the "prettiest, most notably skilled, young, meister-less weapons" from across the globe. His long legs turned his gait into more of a stumble.

Kid walked faster.

"You should really reconsider," Spirit begged him, juggling the photos.

Kid knew he was leaving behind an uncertain, even disappointed father. But Lord Death was a reaper, like him. He understood that Kid had to do things the correct way. Kid wreathed himself in his black cloak.

"Do you want prettier ones? Oh, or more guy options? Tell me what you're into."

Kid whirled on the scythe, which was not as intimidating of an action as he'd hoped it would be, considering he only came up to Spirit's shoulders in terms of height. "Gender doesn't matter! I don't think of weapon partners the way you do." He stretched out both of his arms. "It's about symmetry, symmetry! I need two weapons that are identical."

Spirit blinked. "You want…a pair of twins?"

Kid looked at the scythe, but it was clear from his face he didn't get it. He waved a dismissal and walked away. "I'm going on this mission alone. I am the only weapon I need."

"But you shouldn't go on your own," Spirit insisted, almost tripping over the tail of the young reaper's cloak. "The Thompsons are notorious, violent thieves. They've eluded capture so far and no one knows how. At the very least, it should be up to a high-ranking weapon and meister pair to go after their souls."

"I'm a reaper," Kid said simply without turning. He pressed the skull mask down over his face. "I'm more than qualified for the mission."

More than qualified.

At least, that was what he said, but when Elizabeth Thompson's unmistakable face was sneering into his and an improbably large, silver dog was snarling up at him from her side, he finally began to have a few doubts.

"So, yeah," Liz was laying out for him in concise words. "I'm sure you can see why such a generous donation is necessary to my cause."

She'd already relieved him of his ID and cash. She leaned casually against the wall, leafing through them as she spoke around the rapidly shortening white end of a cigarette. Kid wasn't quite sure when she'd gotten ahold of his wallet, but he assumed it had something to do with the flirtatious way she'd embraced him earlier, before revealing herself to him as a pickpocket. He'd known, of course, that she would attempt something like this. However, he'd assumed she was alone, or at least that her only company would be her sister or another human. He hadn't expected…this. Kid wasn't sure where he stood on fighting animals.

Furthermore, the dog was flawless. It was a pure gray, without any spots or colors marring it, from head to toe. Its teeth smiled at him in two straight, clean, menacing rows from underneath rippling lips. He couldn't possibly risk harm to something so obviously perfect.

His words were failing him, too. He stared at the dog and then at Liz's face and neither made him any less nervous, though he was keeping up an unconcerned exterior over the story she was attempting to sell him. Her ratty fur jacket shifted on her shoulders as she positioned her face close to his, studying him. He could see lines of bloody scabs on her chest, reaching out from under the thin fabric of a camisole.

"Aw." She put a finger to his lips as though to draw attention to his own silence. "First time for you too, baby? Don't hold it against me. I was forced into this thieving life." She pushed her face into his, still giving him that fierce grin. The end of her cigarette glowed as she took a drag, then she breathed the smoke into his face. "I'm actually pretty impressed you haven't pissed yourself yet, rich boy."

The vulgarity unlocked his tongue. "Where's your sister?"

Her grin vanished as though turning a corner. She followed his gaze and her hand slipped from the wall next to him to yank her jacket together over the scars. She backed away, her eyes cold as the New York weather. She spat the cigarette butt out and threw his emptied wallet back at him, fearless. He caught it neatly with both hands against his chest.

"You stay the hell away from me," she warned. There was something wild and painted about her true features, some type of fear visible for a second under the deep street façade.

Kid refrained from responding, watching her run out into the maze of Brooklyn streets. The huge dog followed, stopping only once to look back at him with surprisingly soulful blue eyes before it bounded around a corner.

Sirens howled in their wake.

Checking through the personal remaining contents of his wallet, Kid sighed and allowed himself a moment to lean back against the graffiti-coated brick wall. So that was Liz Thompson. And if she was that intimidating, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet her sister.

There was only one way to find out. And, anyway, there was something about that dog that was niggling at him. He summoned his skateboard.