The warmth of the afternoon still hung in the air. It came through Pan’s open window, riding the sound of chimes. Outside, the city slept. Pan woke.

She donned a jacket and dressed in dark clothes. She grabbed a full can of spray paint and tried to find a place on her person to stow it. Her pockets weren’t big enough, and she hardly thought she needed a bag for one can of spray paint. Pan opened the top of her jacket and stuck it in. The can felt cold, but Pan ignored it.

She left her room and drifted down the stairs, like she’d seen so many ghosts do. She made little noise and reached the ground floor unseen.

Mentors slept on the ground floor. They clustered around their lounge, easy to avoid. Pan looked in the direction of their rooms and saw a handful of doors, all closed. She backed away. Shadows from a nearby window played over a side door, and a dim light declared it an exit. Pan slipped out.

She turned her eyes to the road and crossed the front lawn. Sodden grass pulled at her boots, but Pan didn’t dare move onto the stone path. Lights lit that stone, throwing a shadow-less glow.

She reached a wide staircase and took it, two steps at a time. This time, Pan couldn’t avoid the light. A spotlight beamed from every angle, and her shadow formed three echoes: one behind, one beside her, and one ahead. As she descended the steps, the shadows jolted and jerked in time.

Pan reached the last step and trotted clear of the stairs. She strode down the center of the Arcane’s private road and fixed her eyes on the anti-vehicle poles. Pan put her hands in her pockets and walked. She’d escaped the Complex. Now, she would be just one more soul in the night.

Pan passed a line of government buildings and continued to walk. She had a plan. First, she would stop at the Pittura City Bank. She would find it farthest from her home, on the edge of the corporate sector. Second, Pan would make her way back and stop at the library. The library straddled the residential and government zones. Finally, Pan would stop at Pittura’s Capitol building. From there, she could walk home in less than ten minutes. At each building, Pan would leave a message.

She smiled. It would be too perfect. Her messages would serve two goals. She would bait the reaper killer and shut off the possibility of dates.

As she walked towards her first destination, she saw the telltale shadows of spirits. Whitened faces appeared at windows, drained of the grey they once possessed in life, and when Pan was unfortunate enough to glimpse a spirit’s eyes, she saw pinpricks of light in a hollow of darkness. Still, she saw few spirits. She counted no more than seven. Pittura, and the world in general, just didn’t have that many ghosts.

The government sector was a different story. Pan had to pass the hospital, which sat at the end of the city square. The hospital always had spirit activity. Usually, it wasn’t old ghosts but newer ones, the kind that might fade in a week. She looked at the ambulance entrance and saw one quiet vehicle, with flashing lights. A few faded people waited outside. They floated back and forth in front of the entrance. Pan knew that these people had all died recently. The confused ghosts would spend a short amount of time and then disappear to Mother Tree knew where.

Pan crossed the street and escaped the hospital’s influence. She began to walk through alleys and tall buildings. She avoided the darkest alleys as eyes – not all animals – peered back.

As she drew close to the bank, an insubstantial car cruised by. The car passed, and Pan pretended not to see. Inside, she glimpsed a shadowy man, without eyes, some pervert of the past. The ghost car took a quiet road and passed the bank. Pan still didn’t look. Who knew how rear-view mirrors worked in the afterlife? She didn’t need the ghost to catch her looking.

She crossed the final street and stood before the bank’s façade. Red brick formed her canvas. She touched it. Then, she pulled free her can of spray paint and shook it. She didn’t work with paint often, especially not spray paint, so this little masterpiece should look amateur. No one would think of her.

Next to the bank’s double doors, Pan sprayed the first message: I’m not as rare as you think.

Pan stood back. She wished she’d made it bigger. She could have used her ill-gotten telekinesis to scrawl the message across the entire building, in loud letters. But, she didn’t need to be seen and accidentally frame one of the real telekinetics.

Pan hurried back. She moved quick and, again, skirted the edge of the hospital. This time, she didn’t pass the emergency entrance. Instead, she passed the morgue. Pan couldn’t see inside, but she knew ghosts milled about the morgue: confused, lost, and very lonely. Not every ghost followed the body so religiously, but enough did. Those ghosts found themselves in places reserved for the dead. Maybe, it helped them disappear faster.

As soon as she exited the hospital grounds, Pan breathed easier. She found herself among the residences and near the secondary education schools.

Pan ignored the school. Contrary to most rumors, no ghosts lived there. About a year ago, Pan went on a trip to the school to answer questions about arcanes. Aria got asked quite a few interesting questions about how she saw relationships and emotions. Pan got asked to conjure up the school ghost.

Pan raced up the library steps. She found a nice large space on the side wall, in view of a small green.

Pan scrawled her second message: By instinct, I seek the dying.

She stepped back and admired her work. She felt a grin split her face. This message should appeal to the murderer, especially because the murderer knew the telltale sign of a reaper.

After a short moment to admire the scene, Pan hurried home.

She passed a house and saw a ghost at one window. She almost stopped to tell the family of their plight, but Pan reasoned that they didn’t notice. The ghost looked gaunt and more than a little menacing, but that didn’t mean it really bothered them. Pan followed it with her eyes, and it seemed to know that she saw.

She hurried on.

She walked into the government sector and checked the great clock at the city square. She had about an hour to get home. Plenty of time. She ran to the capitol building, extracted her can of paint, and shook it.

With gusto, she sprayed: I am a reaper.

The words spread across the building’s double doors and, though she didn’t say it in clear terms, the messages declared what Pan hoped the murderer would know. You missed one.

Pan rubbed her eyes and opened her door. She stood half dressed in the frame and squinted into the hall. Her peers ran up and down, chattering in a cacophony of voices.

Pan needed more sleep, but after the mischief she’d set, she’d been lucky to doze into mid-morning.

The young girls panicked. Some talked about fleeing the city of Pittura. Others questioned where they could find a safe place on Scaldigir. After all, even a reaper could buy a bus ticket.

Kat entered the space, spotted Pan, and came to her side. “Did you just get up? Mother Tree you sleep late when you don’t have Sotir and Aria to wake you.” Kat crossed her arms and shook her head. “I guess you haven’t seen the news?”

Pan rubbed her eyes one last time and looked at Kat. “No.”

“Come on.” Kat grabbed Pan and pulled her to the girls’ recreation room.

The television towered above their heads and played. Girls ran in and out. Some gathered to watch. Others just wanted to check for updates. The television showed a clear view of Pan’s handiwork. In jagged letters, on the capitol building, Pan read: I am a reaper.

Pan’s mouth dropped open. It looked more menacing than she’d planned.

Kat sighed. “There are two other messages. They’ll show them in a bit, but basically they suggest that reapers aren’t rare and that they search for dying arcanes.” Kat pointed at the screen as it changed. “There’s one now. This could be serious.”

Pan nodded and bowed her head.

“We’re still in the planning phase, but we’ll get to the bottom of this. For now, we all need to stay inside.”

Pan just nodded. There would be no dates, and if she got lucky, the reaper killer would take the bait and do something suspicious, something to reveal themselves.

Kat put a hand on Pan’s shoulder. “We’ll be ready for them.”

Pan was dying to see how.

Remei hunkered close to Kat. “Is this real?”

Kat nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Where are the rest of the mentors?” Remei asked.

“Chara’s at the hospital. Brynn is standing guard, and Spy went to the old folks’ home to help move the arcane residents.” Kat raised her voice and called to the room of girls. “The public is going to hear that this is a hoax. Say nothing about this outside this building. The last thing we need is some kind of riot.”

Pan knit her brow. Why would the public riot? “Reapers only bother arcanes,” she said.

“Not exactly.” Again, Kat raised her voice and called for the room’s attention. “Take this seriously. We’re going to conduct a search for this reaper. I want you all to stay in the Complex. We’re going to be tested.”

Panicked voices and eyes bounced around the room.

Uh oh.