The Sin Collector Read Online Free PDF Page A

storage, all the closed stacks and Jimmy’s entire hard drive. I had used every search engine I could possibly think of to look for Christopher Owens. There was no record of him at all. Even the social security database came up empty. The last Christopher Owens with a SSN had died six years ago. I had come up with absolutely nothing. At nine, I finally locked up the library for good and drove home. Valentine was sound asleep on my laptop and barely even looked at me when I flicked on the light. I pushed him aside and opened up the computer clicking to my internet auction page. In all the crap of the past two days, I had forgotten to check it. I was happy to see four of my items had sold. It was one perk of having lived so long, eventually my junk fetched a price. I would have to go to the store and buy shipping stuff for the two beveled mirrors from the 1920’s, the antique letter opener from the early 17 th century that Olexander had left behind, and the antique poison ring an admirer had given me in the 1930’s. I looked at my bank account, 1,678 dollars. Not bad. I tried to sell the antiques in small quantities so as not to draw too much attention to myself. Luckily, I was not overly greedy. I had been able to hold back with the full knowledge that I had over half a million dollars worth of antiques just in my local self-storage facility. Let alone the other seven facilities I had all over the world.
     
    Of course, some antiques never left my side. There was the round silver locket that I had owned as long as I could remember. The pendant, with an L engraved on its embellished face. When opened it revealed a space for a tiny picture on one side and a clock on the other. I had tucked some lilac petals into it many years ago after William left, seeing as how I didn’t have a photo. I had a handwritten copy of Romeo and Juliet, in Shakespeare’s own handwriting. Olexander had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday.
     
    My perfectly crafted throwing knives sat in a large oak box on my mantel. They had not been my first instruction in combat. Yet they were the only combat technique in which I excelled. Give me a bow and arrow and I’d manage to shoot out my own eye. However, a knife, any size, any make and I would hit the mark from twenty feet away every time. Of course, among all those things sat the one item that would probably fetch the highest price. A relatively small, extremely ornate box sat in a drawer in my dresser. Within it were the tools of a Collector, my 20 th birthday present from Olexander. I closed my eyes and shook the memory of that day off as best I could.
     
    I picked up the phone and called the local Children’s hospital. After weaving a lie claiming myself to be Emma’s Aunt, they finally let me know that she would be fine. I felt better instantly and decided to go for a drive. I drove forgetfully throughout town, not paying attention to where I was going. The speed and balance necessary to operate the bike was distracting enough. Two tanks of gas later, I saw the first glimmer of sunrise and headed back home to change and get ready for work. I wiggled myself into my new skinny jeans, and chose a simple black v-neck sweater. The knee-high motorcycle boots completed my look. I still had far too much time to get ready, and so I once more my makeup looked like I was going to a chic club, not work.
     
    I roared into the lot, parking in my usual spot by the alley. I had just pushed the key into the lock when I heard a friendly “Hello” come from behind me. I pushed the door open and when I looked back, I realized it was the same man from last night.
     
    “Good Morning” I said, trying to sound friendly and allowing him to go inside, where he sat at one of the tables five yards from my own desk. I tried to act normal but I was distracted and for once not because of cryptic emails. He was much better looking than I remembered, but I knew I hadn’t really been paying attention last night with