Death lingered in the library, not entirely unusual, but certainly unexpected.

This early in the morning, he preferred to smell freshly roasted coffee, perhaps a freshly baked scone. Not the latest scent brought in by his next assignment. And yet, here he stood in the library, recalling the moment his father taught him how every deathkeeper experienced a passing differently. Some heard voices; others had visions. Kallon Blackmoor, the last of the Blackmoor deathkeepers, was lucky enough to smell each spirit; this one redolent of sun-warmed cypress, jasmine, and bergamot. No matter how close he pressed his nose to his coffee, citrus bit through uninvited. Untimely. A smog. 

A murder, then.  

Frustrated, he tossed his cup into the nearest trashcan, flinching at the splash. He should’ve dumped it first.

“Apologies,” he muttered to the head librarian, the only staff member willing to glare at him. No matter.

If he didn’t find the source of the cypress-jasmine-bergamot soul—and soon—he’d doom them to eternal wandering, or worse, risk the chance of the spirit leaking over to the human realm and wreaking havoc. Even worse if they became a ghoul.

No pressure.

With the last warning bell ringing slow and long, Kallon made his way to homeroom on time. The last of his classmates poured in after him, uniforms pressed, hair coiffed, gossip loud and fast. 

“Didn’t you hear?” a lanky girl with long white hair whispered to her table. “Petrigrue is missing.”

“I heard the board is reviewing her status.”

“I heard she got caught eating a myth.”

“No, it was a legend.” 

“A brood.”

 The gossip continued as Kallon crossed the room to his seat by the window. Usually, at the beginning of the semester, students would stare at him, and he would gaze out the window. 

That’s the deathkeeper. 

The one who—? 

Yes, that one.

Soon, they’d stop staring, and he could stop looking at the treeline that had been mere saplings in his childhood. Today, though, no one paid any attention to him at all. 

The gossip focused elsewhere would’ve been refreshing if not for the topic. 

Headmistress Petrigrue was missing, and Kallon had just remembered how her morning tea clung to her clothes—and what it smelled like.

Bergamot. 

Could it be?