The Collector Novels & Stories

The man who walked in was tall, broad-shouldered, moving like he owned the air itself. Black shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing dark ink crawling up his chest and neck. His sleeves were rolled up, showing more tattoos snaking down thick forearms. Thirty eight maybe, but he looked like he could still break someone in half without breaking a sweat. Ice-blue eyes locked on me and didn’t let go. He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I caught the faint smell of his cologne—something expensive and dark, like leather and smoke. My stomach flipped. Not all fear. Something else twisted low in my belly and I hated it immediately.

Solid muscle beneath silk and cashmere. I was aware of how this was going to end, I knew I couldn't just come in here and walk out untouched. “A collector of beautiful things,” he said, answering the question I had asked him earlier. My fingers traced a slow, lazy line down the buttons of his shirt. I smiled sweetly, saying the words I never expected to hear come out of my mouth. “Then collect me.” It was too easy. The way he leaned in. The way his breath hitched.

A silent banker dealing in the currency of things unsaid. Its gaze is always on us. On me. On Arthur. It wants the big one. The motherlode. The secret of the Graft. The memory that holds the weight of a erased multiverse. I can feel its hunger, a cold, patient vacuum. It doesn’t want to expose it. It wants to consume it. To make it part of its own silent, powerful being. And if it does? If it pulls that thread? The Harvester’s work unravels. The tags come off. Every universe remembers. And the Collector… it would come back. For us. For its compromised specimen.

I saw the blacksmith, Ewan’s father, reaching for a hammer that was turning into mist. "Stay with the earth!" I shouted at them, my voice laced with the Sovereign Sight. "Don't let go of the stone!" As I reached the steps of the Cathedral, the violet light intensified. Standing in my way was a figure I hadn't seen since the first battle at the border. It was a Collector. Not a Grey-Walker or a Liquidator, but one of the Shop’s true enforcers, a creature twelve feet tall, draped in armor made of crushed ledgers, wielding a scythe tipped with a shard of the Void.

Three Months Earlier... “Sir, the next candidate is here, should I let him in?” an old man’s voice echoes in the study of the real Carl Cosgrove. His study was a collector’s paradise, filled with all sorts of gadgets and trinkets the kid lawyer himself had collected over the years. A lot of it was movie memorabilia, with most of the props coming from the Rock Camp franchise.

"The collector from New York is asking about *Shattered Moon*. He's very interested in a private commission." I nodded, slipping into professional mode. "I'll be right there." Vera squeezed my arm. "Go. Schmooze. Make obscene amounts of money. I'll guard the champagne." The collector was a silver-haired man with kind eyes and a wedding ring that probably cost more than my car. He wanted a companion piece to *Shattered Moon*—my largest work, a canvas dominated by a fractured lunar surface bleeding crimson into darkness below. I didn't tell him what it represented. I never did. Let them see beauty in the wreckage. Let them find th

They wore a dark cloak that obscured their features, and in their hands, they held a staff that pulsed with sickly green light. "There you are," the figure said, their voice neither male nor female but ancient and cold. "The last Silvercrest. Come with me peacefully, and I will call off the attack. Resist, and everyone here dies." Korra stood slowly, the pendant burning hot against her skin. "Who are you?" "I am the Collector," they said simply. "And I have been searching for you for a very long time." The staff pulsed brighter, and suddenly, Korra couldn't move. Magic wrapped around her like invisible chains, pulling her forward step by step.

--- ### The Shadow of the Moon As we walked toward the doors, leaving the warehouse behind, I looked up at the sky one last time. The violet moon was fading, returning to its dull grey color. But as the light died, I saw something moving across its surface. A massive, black shadow. It looked like a hand reaching out to grab the Earth. "What is that?" I asked, pointing upward. The Scavenger woman didn't look up. She kept walking into the snow. "That's the **Collector**," she said. "The machines realized the power spike came from here. They’re sending a 'Maintenance Crew' to fix the leak."

I asked, keeping my eyes glued to the friendly expression on his face. The members of the Iridescence Pack were in on the game, and each played their own roles. It was common knowledge that the members of the pack gave nothing away, and never offered additional help beyond what they could already provide. There would be no cheating, no begging for help or a free ride. The golden etching on the box shimmered, as though it were winking at me. "Hm, I'm not sure." The shop keeper shrugged, giving me an honest yet sheepish grin. "My husband is the collector. Finds all of the stuff in this shop. I just clean em' up a bit. I even make some of the pieces!"

He picked up his phone to check his messages. He wasn't going to tell me any more about it. So, I took a different approach. "Dante, I thought you said the usemi that fixed you ran away. Why would you go back now?" He turned his full gaze on me then, and his eyes were wild again. A creepy smile spread across his face as he tilted his head mockingly. "Why, Tru! I thought it would be obvious! I have you now. You can be the new fixer. The Collector is going to be so happy with me. He hoped that I would find Dubois, but I think I found something better!" He almost cackled.