Dead.
Seventeen-year-old Shawn Turner no longer belongs to the world of the living. Armed without a heartbeat, he starts his afterlife as a reaper. After being given the name of a person destined to die in the next seven days, he must go out and collect their soul.
As Shawn separates himself from the living and moves below ground, he attends Wayward Academy which teaches him the training and traditions all first-year reapers need to know to perform their duty.
The only thing is, Shawn isn't sure he can handle this new responsibility. Dying at seventeen, Shawn never got to make the impact he wanted. So, when an opportunity arises, he has a choice to make. Does Shawn stay in his lane as a reaper, or go out of his way to make a difference?
Dead.
Seventeen-year-old Shawn Turner no longer belongs to the world of the living. Armed without a heartbeat, he starts his afterlife as a reaper. After being given the name of a person destined to die in the next seven days, he must go out and collect their soul.
As Shawn separates himself from the living and moves below ground, he attends Wayward Academy which teaches him the training and traditions all first-year reapers need to know to perform their duty.
The only thing is, Shawn isn't sure he can handle this new responsibility. Dying at seventeen, Shawn never got to make the impact he wanted. So, when an opportunity arises, he has a choice to make. Does Shawn stay in his lane as a reaper, or go out of his way to make a difference?
It wasnât the smell of decay that woke Shawn up. Nor was it the constant rocking motion that caused him to hit his knee on the door. He had already been up when he noticed these small annoyances.
An eerie quiet encompassed his body. Could someone be awoken by silence? Usually, when he slept, he tossed and turned. Heâd tried three different mattresses in the past year alone. But last night, Shawn didnât even remember falling asleep. What he did remember was the size of his bed. He shouldnât be hitting his knee on anything. He sat straight up, knowing he wasnât in his bed.
He was right. The comfort of his grandmotherâs scratchy quilt was nowhere near him, and Shawn slept with it no matter how hot it was. Squinting, he surveyed his surroundings as his eyes adjusted. Across from him was a black leather bench that mirrored the seat underneath him. If he held his hands out, he could feel the stained wood walls. The whole enclosed compartment was tiny: about five feet by five feet.
The only other thing in the compartment seemed to be a door to his left. He could just make out the handle, which must have been what he bruised his knee on. Where was he?
Shawn wasnât supposed to be here; he was sure of it. He needed to think. Earlier, a sudden lurch in the compartment had almost caused Shawn to fall out of his seat. Whatever he was in, it was moving.
âWhat theâŚâ he whispered. He struggled to recall the last thing he did. Heâd been to the movies. Had sat through a God-awful turkey meatball dinner with his parents. But each time he got closer to what happened the day before, a wall came down in his mind.
Hair on the back of his neck came alive with the sudden flow of air.
âAh, youâre awake, are ya?â The voice came from behind.
Shawn jumped to the other side of the compartment, throwing himself against the wood. From this side, he could make out a tiny square hole where his head had been.
âWhat are you, mute, kid? Or can you move your tongue to make words?â The voice crackled.
As Shawn had no idea where he was or how he got there, he wasnât exactly keen on talking to some random voice coming through a hole in the wall.
âName is Roddick. You got a name, kid?â
At least Shawn now had a name to tell the police when they apprehended his kidnapper. Well, Shawn wasnât in the mood for talking. He needed to get out of the damn box. He reached for the door and tried the handle. It moved about halfway before the lock engaged, stopping any further attempts. Great. Not only did he not know where he was, but he was trapped.
âThey always try the door, eh Gracie? Never can just sit back and relax now, can they.â
Shawn was going to hurl. A normal start to his day was apparently out of the question. At least Shawn learned that Roddick wasnât acting alone. His silent partner must take joy out of hearing Shawn squirm, because she remained tightlipped.
âWho the hell are you people?!â He yelled, unsure of where the bout of confidence came from. Hell, he might as well attempt to weasel information out of them. âWhere am I?â
âDamn, mate. Donât need to shout. And I told you, the name is Roddick.â He chuckled. âAs to where you are, that might be a little harder to explain, but donât worry weâre almost to the gate.â
Confusion seemed to be the theme for today. âWhat are you talking about? Why am I locked in here? What freaking gate?â People say their minds move a hundred miles per hour in intense situations, but Shawnâs brain felt like a turtle moving across a sewer of sludge. There was so much new random information being thrown at him that he wasnât sure what to grab onto.
Ignoring his questions, Roddick continued, âAh, donât worry, kid. I see it now. You see it, Gracie?â
Why couldnât Shawn have just woken up passed out on a sidewalk or something? That would make more sense than whatever this was. âMaybe you want to help fill in a couple of gaps for me, uh, Gracie?â
âAhhhhahaah, Gracie, he thinks you are going to talk to him.â He giggled. âYou certainly got a lot of questions, donât you, kid? What is your name by the way? Canât just call you âkidâ the whole time.â
âShawn. My name is Shawn.â Figuring he was already trapped here; a name wouldnât do any damage. He felt a weird sense of calmness as he said it. Was that crazy? He was trapped, but at least his name was something he was confident about. âNow that weâre on a first-name basis, Roddick, mind explaining why Iâm not currently in my own bed?â Frustration leaked out of his voice.
The compartment jolted, and Shawn had to brace himself on the seat to avoid falling off. Looking up at the wall across from him, he saw that the hole in the wall had closed. Great. The guy wouldnât shut up, and as soon as Shawn opened his mouth, the conversation stopped.
With a sudden click, the wooden door to his right opened, and there stood a man who Shawn could only assume to be Roddick. âWell, Mister Turner, we seem to have arrived.â
It didnât take long for Shawnâs eyes to adjust to the dark world outside the door. It was as if someone had thrown a switch in his brain; in a matter of seconds, Shawn had a clear picture of the man in front of him.
The man stood across from him, looking like heâd come from an 1800s wedding. His blood-red tie seemed like it would stain his pearl dress shirt underneath. He even wore a jet-black vest to go along with his tailcoat, which wouldnât be complete without a top hat. The only thing he was missing to complete the tuxedo was a monocle.
âBefore you hit me with more of the many bubbling questions boiling inside of your brain, why donât we wait for Mac?â The man offered his hand. Based on the way he talked, Shawn had assumed Roddick to be older, possibly even in his 80s, but the man who stood in front of him was in his early 40s at best.
Brushing off the gesture, Shawn stepped out on his own; he wasnât going to accept help from the man whoâd trapped him in a box.
Shawn smelled the leaves before he noticed the trees surrounding him. Even in the dark, Shawn could make out the branches clotted with pumpkin-orange leaves. The forest seemed to take root everywhere he looked, with maple trees suddenly obscuring views in any direction he turned. Only one area was clear of the forestâs clutches. Below Shawnâs feet was a cobblestone path leading from the direction they traveled to the gate.
Turning back around, Shawn came face to face with a long snout. Before he knew it, Shawn felt the cobblestone make an imprint on his butt. Shaking his head, he almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous scene he found himself in. In front of him stood an ash-gray-coated stallion. Two horses were pulling the carriage that heâd emerged from. An actual freaking carriage. Shawn worried that heâd stepped into another dimension. Either that or this guy had an itching to dress up.
Both horses held their heads straight, their blinders helping them resist any movement. Not that they needed them. When he was startled and yelling, they didnât even bat an eye. Shawn hated horses ever since heâd fallen off one during a family vacation. Heâd cried about his sore ankle for ten minutes before his mother convinced him to get back on.
âAh, I see youâve met Gracie!â Roddick came over and patted her on the snout and winked at Shawn. âShe and Timothy keep me in good company, ya know.â
Shawn just stared at him. The wink threw Shawn off. What kind of kidnapper was he? âMr. Roddickââ
âNope. Just Roddick. âMr.â was my pops. He always taught me to show respect though.â
âRight⌠Okay, Roddick, can you now tell me where I am?â
âNot my job, Mr. Shawn,â he said with a bow, making sure to take his top hat off so it didnât fall.
Did someone slip him drugs last night? Shawn went up to the gate and gripped the rusted bars until his blood flow was almost cut off. Two stone ostriches sat perched on fire-scorched brick posts that framed the gate. On top of the entrance sat an iron-moon-shaped circle of swirls. The interweaving design stretched from post to post. Almost like a child had painstakingly traced swirls in different directions, only deciding at the end to sign their initialsâevident by the gold âWAâ saddled in the middle of the gate topper.
Leaning his head against the bars, he let his skin absorb the cool from the black metal as he tried to think clearly. Twenty-four hours ago, something had happened which caused him to wake up with basically no recollection of anything. Amnesia? Dream? Kidnapping? Any of these options could be the solution.
Turning around, he let his hand settle against the rough patch of brickwork. âHey, Roddick?â
âYes, Mr. Turner?â Roddick said without turning from his horses.
âWhy donât I remember how I got here?â Be blunt. Thatâs what his dad always said. One shouldnât beat around the bush. It was worth a shot to keep pestering the man. Shawn thought about running, but he wasnât intimidated by Roddick. Plus, he had no idea where heâd go.
Roddick continued stroking the silver mane of Gracie, or possibly TimothyâShawn wasnât sure. âAh, Mr. Turner, before we get into that, let me ask you a question.â
âAre you joking?â
âHumor me.â A large neigh erupted from Gracie with each pet from her master. âHmm, well a youngâun of your age should have a heartbeat of what?â
Sixty to a hundred for resting, Shawn thought, digging up the information heâd buried from health class. He shook his head, trying to shake off the grogginess. âWhatâs the point of asking that? You need to tell me whatâs going on.â
âAnd what is yours currently?â Roddick asked, as he continued to oblige the horse.
This time Shawn didnât need the grip of the gate to stop the blood flow in his body, because not only did Shawn not know where he was; he had no heartbeat.
Shawn doesn't know how he died, but he knows he can die again. That is, unless he accepts the role of 'Reaper', and takes others' souls himself.
Swept up into an undead academy of twisted secrets, ancient traditions, and conflicting morals, Shawn only wants to survive his second (and final) life. The rules for his contract are simple. Do the job. Don't interact with living humans. Don't be late. Easy, right?
Until a living girl who shouldn't be able to see him suddenly can exactly that--and not just Shawn, she can see ALL the reapers. Facing someone who sees and understands their plight, Shawn must decide whether to follow his duty, or follow his gut.
The First Assignment swept me away from the very beginning. There's something magical about Kramer's writing style that made me feel like I was there, in the story with the characters. Through gory, gut-wrenching moments, to the small joys of living, reading this book puts what makes life worth living into the spotlight in a way that only darkness can allow to shine.
There is so much amazing world-building, rules, creative twists on classic undead creatures and creatures of the night (like Gargoyles) that I was swept away, and hints at glorious future battles and turmoil to come.
I will admit that I was very torn about whether to give this a 4-star or 5-star review, because there are some rough editing patches here and there and a couple world-building questions that would have been nice to see played out more. However, because those were small, side-plot questions and infrequent editing misses, the immersive world, gripping characters, and page-turning plot definitely earn it a 5-star in the end.
The First Assignment has definitely set the bar high for this series, and I will be eagerly awaiting what happens in volume two.
Though these characters are written in an academy setting similar to YA pieces, parents should be aware that some subject matter (mentioned at the end of this review in the trigger warnings) may be a bit morbid and graphic for the younger end of YA (12-year-olds). A parental review could help with that, though.
**Trigger Warnings: Death of a loved one, death/murder/attempted murder (including implied death/murder of minor children under age 18), suicide, torture, kidnapping, psychological torture/manipulation, blood/gore**