Black Hollow: Yesterday's Reaper

By Robbie Cox

A retired grim reaper, a reincarnated lost love, and their second chance at a love cut short.

Misha Rasputin has put the past behind her, having served centuries to save her village from Pesta, the Black Death—and then the past walks into her pet store.

For almost seven centuries, Misha, trapped in the body of a twenty-seven-year-old, served her time as the being responsible for guiding souls from this life to the next. She sacrificed everything to save her small village: her family, her life, and her forever love. With her time as a grim reaper over, she merely wants to live out the rest of her existence in Black Hollow, shutting out the pain of the past. So far, she’s managed to accomplish just that. And then Carson Reed walks into her store.

Carson tries to convince her that he’s the love she’s been waiting for, and it looks as if she’s about to surrender to his seduction when another grim reaper appears to claim Carson’s soul.

With her future with Carson threatened, Misha has a difficult choice to make: watch the love of her life be ripped away from her again, or reach out to Pesta to make another deal, one that might cost Misha her very soul.

Download Yesterday’s Reaper today to see whether Misha reaps more agony and pain, or finally gets the love she knows she deserves.

And read my other Black Hollow stories:
Book 1: It's the Little Things
Book 2: To Trick the Devil
Book 3: April's Fool
Book 4: Blood Shadows
Book 5: Slumber's Destiny

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Shores Publishing
• Release date: Aug 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005517885

Robbie Cox

Robbie started writing as a way to escape - escape his teachers, escape his fears, even to escape his insecurities and doubts. However, his stories of seduction and adventure, not only allowed him to hide in the lives of his characters, but also captivated those who wanted to escape with him. Now, he enjoys a full-time career as a storyteller and novelist and invites readers to run away with him- to escape, getting lost in the seduction of adventure.When he is not writing, Robbie can be found on his back porch enjoying a cigar, a scotch, and a good story. He derives pleasure from his large family and his crazy group of friends who provide the inspiration for his blog The Mess that Is Me.He is the author of the Urban Fantasy series, The Warrior of the Way, along with the paranormal series, The Witches of Savannah. His Contemporary Romance series includes The Rutherford Series, The Harper Twins, and the Fangirls series.

Book preview

Yesterday’s Reaper

By

Robbie Cox

SandyShoresLogo- Black

Yesterday’s Reaper

By Robbie Cox

First Edition

Copyright © 2022 Robbie Cox

All rights reserved

Cover art & graphics by Brannon Jones

Editing by CTS Editing

Formatting by CJC Formatting

www.robbiecox.com

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are strictly products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be reproduced in any form, except in assisting in a review. This book may not be resold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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To the ladies who keep me moving forward, Char, Teri, and Sarah.

Chapter One

Yesterday's Reaper

THE WOMAN ACROSS THE table, a Madame Penelope, kept staring at his hands, her eyes narrow slits as if she studied the fine print of a lengthy contract and was confused.

Carson Reed couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, sitting across the table that was draped in a gaudy tablecloth, while some flamboyantly dressed woman in a bright muumuu and wearing a ton of gold necklaces and large hoop earrings held his hand and stared into his eyes for a moment, almost as if she could see right through him, and then dropped her gaze to his hand once more. Not what he expected to do on a Monday afternoon, to be sure. Yet, he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. His dreams were costing him countless hours of sleeplessness with his constant tossing and turning throughout the night. He couldn’t function at work, couldn’t even focus on a book or television show. He needed answers before he went crazy.

He could feel his impatience building as he watched her, his foot tapping under the table. Rubbing his lips together, he fought the urge to yank his hand from her grasp and simply walk out of the place. The only thing that kept him from doing just that was the fact that so many people had sworn to him she was the best diviner in Savannah, and the only one who could help him with his situation. They all said they couldn’t believe how accurate she always was. She had regulars that went to her before making any major decision in their lives, something he could never imagine himself doing. Really, what type of person did that? Made serious life decisions based on how a woman stared at their hand or read the sludge at the bottom of a teacup that they just drank out of? It made no sense.

There’s a line here that doesn’t seem to belong to you, the lady mused as she glided a fingernail over the palm of his hand. It seems to drag on, coming out of nowhere, and doesn’t interconnect with any of your other lines. She glanced up at him, her head tilted to the side slightly as she still clutched onto his hand. Tell me again about your dreams.

He took a deep breath, the memory of his dreams—nightmares, really—causing a tremor of anxiety to ripple through him. I seem to be in this ancient village, almost like something out of a fantasy story on television, where the houses are mostly wood and thatch as opposed to brick and mortar. People seem to be dying all around me, or at least, that’s the way it feels. I seem to feel as if I care about the person whose house I’m in at the time of the dream. It’s a woman, which isn’t the strange part. The strange part is that she keeps calling me Anya, and when I look at my hands, they’re female hands. Why would I dream I was a girl? He shook his head. And then, in another dream, I’m sitting in the dirt, hands in my lap as tears stream down my face. All I can see are two people in the distance, a young woman and a young man, both about my age, standing in front of an old woman, and then suddenly all three are gone. He gripped his leg, scrunching his jeans in his fist as a weight seemed to swallow his chest, the same weight he felt each time he had this particular dream. I cry out, sobbing even harder, but they’re gone, and someone is calling me from inside the house. When I go inside, I stare down at a woman who I somehow know just moments ago was about to die, but now seems as if she’s healed from whatever had her sick. He shook his head. Nowhere in this dream is it me, nor do I see myself standing off in the distance as if watching the scene unfold. I’m always this woman. Why? Why am I not even in my own dream?

Madame Penelope shrugged, pressing her lips into a thin line as she dropped her gaze back to his hand. There could be many reasons, but the one I think speaks the loudest is that the memories are yours, but not yours.

Come again. That made no sense, and suddenly he was glad he kept part of his dream, the scariest part, really, to himself. He had no clue as to what this woman would make out of some creature with a skull face and carrying a scythe following him. He made a mental note to have Jeremy pay for this session since he was the one who recommended this crackpot. I’ve never been a woman.

Well, not in this life perhaps, but in a past life, I believe you were, and a young one at that from the way you described yourself.

I used to be a woman? He pulled his hand back and wiped it on his jeans. You think the young woman in my dreams is me? But why? And why would I be crying? I don’t recognize anyone in the dream.

You wouldn’t, the diviner said as she clasped her hands together and leaned on the table. As I said, they’re not really your memories, but those of whoever you were in this past life.

But whose memories are they, and why am I having them? This was getting him nowhere. He was more frustrated now than he was when he entered the woman’s shop.

She shrugged again. I would guess they belong to Anya.

Carson growled as he shifted in his seat slightly, feeling his muscles tighten with his annoyance. And who the hell is Anya?

The woman cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes. What’s the matter with you? Do you not hear good? She shook her head, waving a hand in the air. Anya is the woman you were in a past life. She may have been your first life, which is why her memories are so strong. Plus, your connection to whoever it is you see disappear is powerful enough to bring it to the forefront again. I would imagine that it happens to you in each life. You loved one of those two people in your dream, and something caused them to be taken from you. She nodded, her brows pinched in thought. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it had something to do with the woman who called you back into the house.

He fell back in his chair, staring across the table at the lady. So what do I do now? These memories are driving me crazy. I don’t even know who these people are. How can I make it all go away?

Well, you won’t like my answer, the woman said, pressing her lips into a thin line once more. But I think you need to find the two people in the dream. One of them is your soul mate. Your mind won’t rest until you find her.

There’s no way, he said with a defeated sigh. That village in my dreams has to be hundreds of years old. Those people aren’t even alive anymore. Besides, they disappeared! How do I find people who simply vanished centuries ago?

Well, you don’t find them by sitting here, she said as she pushed herself from the table. You’re alive, aren’t you? She waved her arm up and down in the air, her hand pointing his body out. I mean, you’re not in the same body as you were or even possess the same mind, but you have the same soul. If you’re having these dreams, my guess is whoever is your soul mate is around somewhere. You simply have to find them.

Find someone I don’t even know. He chuckled, exasperation slipping into his voice. How do I scour the world for one person? If I’m not in my body, then I highly doubt they are. How do you tell what soul lies within someone? He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. This was a nightmare. The only way to get the dreams to stop was to find a complete stranger who might not even be alive. He was going to go off the deep end. There’s no way he could do what this woman asked of him. It was ludicrous.

Such a defeatist, the woman said in a tsk-tsk tone. You haven’t even tried. She slapped at the table as she stood. You should go to Salem. There are witches there who specialize in these types of things. They can help you find this lost soul mate of yours.

Great. More crazy people. I can’t take a trip now, he sighed. The new school year is about to start. I have work to do. Lesson plans for my seventh graders to put together. Commitments. I can’t just disappear like that.

The woman shrugged again, her earrings jingling together. Do or don’t. That’s your decision. I merely told you where you could find your answers. She moved around the table, holding her arm out and gesturing for him to stand. But, if it were me, and I knew my soul mate waited out there, probably having the same miserable dreams as me, then I would do anything to find her. She shrugged once more with a tilt of her head. Or him. It could be either of them. Or both. Who knows? But I would do whatever it took to find them. She placed her hand on his upper arm and turned him toward the door. Now, I have another appointment. I hope you recommend Madame Penelope to your friends. I can find soul mates, missing children, car keys. You tell them whatever they need, I can help them with. I read fortunes, too. Come back again.

When they reached the door, she stopped him before he could reach for the doorknob. She leaned in and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. However, if I were you, I would go to Salem. Find your soul mate. She held a finger up. I’m thinking whoever it is needs you, which is why these dreams come to you now.

He stared at her for a moment, weighing the truth of her words as his stomach twisted in knots.

Finally, he nodded as he turned and opened the door. How would he explain having to take a trip to Salem to his boss? So lost was he in his thoughts, he barely noticed the sandy-haired man who entered the diviner’s shop as he left it, almost knocking him into the doorframe. He mumbled an apology and stumbled out into his indecisions.

Chapter Two

Yesterday's Reaper

MISHA RASPUTIN FELT THE fiery liquid burn its way down her throat as she tilted her head back to take the shot of Fireball. As soon as she finished it, she slammed the glass down on the bar and immediately called for another one.

Willa and Cora both turned and looked at her with disbelief on their round faces as Marigold pounded the bar with her palm, echoing Misha’s request. Cindy merely laughed as she shook her head. You’re going to be on Deana’s couch tomorrow, explaining your sudden bout of drunken friendliness if you keep this up, Cindy said as she watched Piper, the bartender, refill their shot glasses. Or the cops called on us.

Marigold’s the fuzz, Willa slurred, wobbling slightly on her barstool as she tucked a strand of her bright blue hair behind her ear. She can make sure we get away free. We won’t even get a disturbing the peace ticket. She’s got connections. She dragged out the last letter of that word until Misha thought she was hushing them.

Cora, her lips pressed into a thin line, nodded once, her bright green hair falling into her pink eyes. Yeah. They can’t touch us. Then the fairy’s eyes went wide. Unless it’s Sebastian. She scrunched her shoulders down, pinching her chin to her chest as she giggled. He can touch me anytime.

Marigold nodded as she turned and leaned on the bar. Yeah. Now that I think about it, how come you’re even here? It’s not like you to go out to bars.

Piper put the bottle on the bar and leaned on it with her palms. As a matter of fact, isn’t this the first time you’ve been in Thirst? What’s the occasion?

Misha glanced over her shoulder to where her twin brother, Vasily, sat in a booth all by himself, sipping a cup of coffee as he kept an eye on her.

He smiled at her, giving her a slight tip of his head as if to say he had her back. He always had her back, especially at this time of year.

I’ve been in before, Misha told the others as she turned back around, forcing a smile she doubted reached her eyes onto her face. It was last year, actually. Right about this time. I come in here every year on these particular days.

Piper cocked a brow at that. Is there a reason for that?

Misha nodded as she reached for her shot glass. Yes. Yes, there is. And then she downed the shot, the others yelling at her to wait for them. When she set the glass back on the table, she