Reaping Demons: Scythe & Souls, #1

By Eve Langlais

Turns out there are monsters in the world.

 

Why couldn't my midlife crisis involve a new hairstyle? I went from ordinary working gal to demon killer. Sounds exciting? Not really, seeing as how I got fired from my job, my apartment was trashed, and the cops think I'm involved in something shady.

Especially that cute detective who keeps questioning me…

Pity there's no time to flirt, what with all the demons that keep emerging from sewer grates and subway tunnels. Something has to be done before they overrun the city. If only that something didn't involve me!

I never asked to be a heroine, but apparently, I've been chosen and now I must reap what fate has bestowed before chaos is sown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eve Langlais
• Release date: Feb 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9781773844602

Eve Langlais

New York Times and USA Today bestseller, Eve Langlais, is a Canadian romance author who is known for stories that combine quirky storylines, humor and passion.

Book preview

1

Sometimes I swear the world has it out for me.

The pouring rain came out of nowhere, meaning I was soaked the moment I stepped outside. Once more, the incorrect weather forecast proved that nature would do whatever the fuck it wanted. The prediction of 0% chance of precipitation meant I didn’t have my umbrella. The bus shelter couldn’t provide any respite, as a homeless man had taken it over, papering the glass and hanging a torn sheet from the door, making it clear he didn’t want to share his space. I wasn’t about to fight him for it, so I stood outside with cold droplets rolling past the neckline of my jacket and down my spine.

Miserable and wet, I waited for the bus that seemed to follow its own schedule. It never came on time. Ever. Either it arrived a few minutes early and I missed it, or it showed really late. Either way, I’d gotten used to standing.

It was only seven o’clock and already dark on the streets of Toronto as we marched into autumn. The streetlights did little to illuminate, given a few appeared to be malfunctioning again. I’d heard it said that the solar panels powering them had issues charging during the day because the birds loved to shit on them. Whatever the excuse, it resulted in gloomy streets, especially since the shops lining the street were closed and darkened, and the few apartments above the stores had their blinds drawn.

The pounding downpour hit the pavement and rolled for the curb. The sewer intake on the opposite side of the road gulped water as fast as it could, which made it odd that the grate rattled and lifted against the current.

Something had to be pushing it from below. I’d wager a rat. A big one, grown fat on city scraps. I’d seen my fair share down on the subway platforms, feeding off the garbage that people left behind. Mostly harmless, so long as you didn’t try to steal the half-eaten sandwich they scrounged. Luckily, my shitty job still paid enough I didn’t have to dumpster dive for dinner.

Whatever shoved from inside the sewer managed to push the grate to the side and slide out, slick and hairless, misshapen as well. I frowned as I squinted in the pouring rain, trying to make sense of the strange shape. The thing stood, and I gaped as I realized it wasn’t a rat at all but a child. A bald and naked one, its ass cheeks scrawny like its body.

I might not have a single maternal bone in my body, but I did have some compassion. I took a few steps into the road and approached slowly so as to not startle. Hey there. Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you in danger? Dumb questions. Obviously they were not okay given they’d just crawled naked from a sewer.

The child whirled, and I gasped at its wizened face, wrinkled and spotted, the pale flesh gleaming with moisture. Its eyes glowed a strange yellow, but more frightening was the gleam of its sharp teeth.

Ever seen Lord of the Rings? Remember that nutty fucker Gollum? I was looking at his cousin. Had to be a costume or a trick of the light.

It stared at me for a second, and I held still until it turned away. I fled back to the relative safety of the sidewalk but kept an eye on the thing as it crouched by the sewer. A second form slithered out from the opening then a third. By the fourth, I wondered if I should walk to the next bus stop.

The four sewer creatures stood in a cluster, scrawny in size, about waist high or a little bit taller. Their eyes all had that strange yellow glow, and as they crossed the street with hitched gaits and dangling arms, their gazes locked on me.

And what did I do? What everyone who had social media would do. I took out my phone and started filming, all the while hoping the rain didn’t ruin my cell since I couldn’t afford another. Worth the risk, because, honestly, who would believe me if I didn’t have video proof? If I died, I wanted them to know it was alien sewer monsters and not rats that had torn me apart. I couldn’t have said why it made a difference.

Now some might ask, why not run? Firstly, I’d just worked ten hours on my feet—I was the only employee other than the owner of Crack Kitchen Housewares—and the thought of the exertion made me want to barf. Second, the pavement gleamed slickly, and my clumsy ass would most likely do a spectacular face plant. And thirdly, I’d rather face a threat, sobbing in fear, than have it tackle me from behind. Assuming these things meant me harm. For all I knew, I’d been chosen for some elaborate prank that someone filmed. It took everything in me not to babble and scream and sob. Only the thought of becoming an eternal meme held my tongue.

A car’s bright headlights illuminated the foursome and their indistinct appearance became even worse. Their gray skin looked papery thin and wrinkled. Their teeth were definitely filed into sharp points, and their hisses as they shielded their eyes against the bright glare sent a shiver down my spine.

The driver laid on the horn and braked to avoid hitting them. A useless gesture, as the monsters didn’t budge from the road. On the contrary, one of them leaped to land with a thud on the hood.

The driver jumped out and hollered, Get off my car, you cosplaying freak!

The last thing he said as the thing—for lack of a better word—launched itself at the man and tackled him to the ground. The car blocked what happened next, but it involved much shrieking and then abrupt silence. The other three sewer aliens leaped upon the vehicle and appeared to be having a grand ol’ time jumping up and down on it, denting the hood and roof.

The one that took down the driver popped up to join them, and it took me a second to realize what it held.

A head. A fucking severed head.

Run, Sadie. Run, you fucking idiot. My brain tried to kick-start my self-preservation, but I remained frozen in horror. What if moving triggered them?

New headlights shone from up the road, higher and more powerful. My bus, fifteen minutes late.

The sewer aliens paused in their stomping of the car to stare at the bus, which slid to a stop by the shelter.

Bad move.

The creatures flung themselves at the windshield, but the flat front didn’t offer much purchase. Although one did manage to grab hold of a wiper and go for a ride, back and forth. It might have been funny if in a movie on a television. In person? Fucking terrifying.

The other three sewer aliens found different handholds on the bus. A pair hung from the mirrors on either side, while the last did its best to wedge open the folding door and hissed when it refused to budge.

From the back of the bus, a passenger emerged—a big burly dude in construction yellows—and yelled, Listen, you fucking punks. It’s late, and I want to get home. Pull your fucking shit elsewhere.

The way that two of the sewer aliens suddenly stopped dangling from the mirrors and hit the ground to lope on hands and feet was something straight out of a horror movie. The bulky man stood courageously—dumb—and even beckoned them. Think you can take me, you little fucks? Let’s go. Time you got the spanking your parents neglected to give.

Brave last words. Wait, not his last. I heard, What the fuck are— and then the sewer aliens were on him. Poor construction dude didn’t even have time to scream.

I stopped filming at that point and shoved my phone into my pocket with trembling hands.

Hide. I had to hide. The stores up and down the road were locked up this time of night, but I did have a key to my place of work less than twenty feet away. My feet finally decided to do something smart, and I hightailed it away from the carnage, huffing and convinced that at any second, one of the creatures would tackle me from behind. My hands shook as I tried to slot my key, breathing so fast I keened. The lock clicked, and as I opened the door, the bell tinkled, making me almost sob. I didn’t want those things to come running for dinner.

I threw myself inside and slammed the door shut, locking it right away. Beep. Beep. The alarm system gave warning, and I wheezed as I punched in my code twice because the first time my fingers shook so hard I messed up.

Alarm disarmed, I then glanced around for a weapon. I had a few options, starting with the knife set by the register. They were sharp but would require stabbing, which I wasn’t sure I could manage with how quickly those weird little alien freaks moved. The frying pan, on the other hand… Even I could swing that.

With a sweaty grip on the handle, I dropped down to below the door’s window and did my best to calm my breathing. Not that anything would have likely heard me over the blaring of the bus horn. Then again, who knew? Sewer aliens weren’t supposed to exist in the first place, so, for all I knew, they could have super-duper hearing.

Help. We needed help. Since I didn’t have a number for sewer alien exterminators, I called 911 and got put on hold with some shitty prerecorded message about what constituted an actual emergency.

When the line clicked to transfer me, I mentally practiced what I’d say. Hi, there’s some sewer aliens killing people. Send someone with a flamethrower. The line rang three times and disconnected me.

Fucking hell!

The horn stopped blaring, and things got quiet.

Too quiet.

Despite knowing it might be stupid, I inched up enough to peek out the window. The one-inch crack between the closed sign and the door frame was enough for me to see the sewer aliens still trying to get into the bus.

Three of them, at least. One on top. One plastered to the windshield, looking like it was licking it, and the third banging on the folding door.

What of the fourth?

It came flying from out of the bus shelter as if punted and slid on the damp pavement. The homeless dude emerged from his makeshift home, wild-haired and waving his arms. Go find your own shelter. This one is mine!

The sewer alien hissed and flipped to its hands and feet before racing back to confront the guy refusing him entry.

I looked away before impact and sank to the floor, wondering if maybe I was dreaming because this couldn’t be real. Most likely sewer gases making me hallucinate.

Yup. Only explanation.

I sat with my head pressed to my bent knees and took deep breaths. This isn’t happening.

To prove it, I peeked again.

Wrong. So wrong. The screaming started just as I looked. The windshield of the bus had been splintered. I saw no sign of the sewer aliens, most likely because they’d boarded the quickly emptying public transport.

Bet they didn’t pay a fare. My hysterical mind thought it a good time to joke, but it was better than sobbing and rocking on the floor. I wished I had the guts to help, to do something for those people who thought it safe to exit the bus from the rear door, pushing and shoving to get out. As if there was any escape. A creature suddenly dropped from the roof of the bus and clung to a lady like a hat. She ran screaming. All of the passengers did, bolting in different directions in their panic.

One man tripped over the corpse of the homeless dude in the street. That was the last thing he ever did. I sank back down and tried calling 911 again, only to get a busy signal.

A strange shiver went through me, as if a cold breeze had entered the shop. Outside, no more screams, but I did hear a deep male voice say, All right, you pesky fuckers, time to go back to Hell.

With that kind of statement, you’re damned right I had to see what the fuck was happening. I glanced and, at first, didn’t see him, the man’s long duster somehow making him almost invisible. What caught my eye? The gleam of a blade.

Not just any blade. A scythe.

What the heck? I stood and pressed my face against the window for a better look. There was a dude out there, a tall one, wearing all black, including an Indiana-Jones-style hat with a brim that sluiced the rain away from his head and partially masked his features in shadow.

He wielded his farm implement with two hands, whirling it like a drum major with a baton. Although, in this case, instead of guiding the marching band, he lopped limbs off of the sewer aliens. An arm went flying, a head. The blade was sharp enough it went right through a torso, the top half sliding off slowly and hitting the ground with a thud.

Holy shit.

In no time, the four murdering creatures were oozing in the street.

And then the Grim Reaper whirled and stared right at me!

2

I ducked so fucking fast I almost quacked.

Don’t make a sound.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any noise. Possibly overkill. I mean, a fellow who showed up to kill monsters probably wasn’t the bad guy, but at the same time, PEOPLE WITH SCYTHES DON’T SHOW UP TO KILL THINGS!

Like seriously. This wasn’t a horror flick or a book. In the real world, this kind of shit didn’t happen. The Grim Reaper didn’t exist.

Tell that to the big dude outside.

A shadow suddenly blocked what little streetlight seeped in through the window, and I held my breath. As if that mattered when my heart pounded so loud it might as well have invited the looming specter in.

The door handle rattled, and I almost peed my pants. I sweated so hard I almost lost my grip on the frying pan.

The shadow of the scythe man moved away, and I waited. Waited a good thirty seconds before I couldn’t stand it and I crept upwards for a peek.

And got caught!

The man in the duster stood staring at the store’s front door and caught my gaze.

I gaped. Did I look upon my killer? At least he wasn’t ugly. Despite the low brim of his hat, he had a square jaw, sexy stubble, and surprisingly tempting lips set in a frown.

Who are you? he asked, his voice muffled but still distinct enough to hear through the glass.

No one, I squeaked, putting a second hand on my weapon in case he burst in and I had to swing.

What did you see?

Nothing, I lied. I just finished work.

"Open the