Page 11 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“Hm. Well... I’m here on vacation. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time, depending on your perspective. I saw your picture. Heard what Cross and his boys would do if given the chance. I couldn’t let them get the chance. That’s all.”

I make it sound simple, but Molly is smart. She’s going to figure it out soon. I spent the day doing paperwork, filing an Extraordinary Circumstances for Non-Union Reaping report and an Emergency Endangered Innocent Action (Retroactive) form. I still haven’t thoroughly researched Gary Garmin’s scroll to see where he’s supposed to be or when he’s supposed to die. My direct supervisor (who is also my Shop Steward) sent me a message and said we’ll talk after vacation. I’m guessing that means I’m only in minor trouble.

Which means Nicky Cross was one very, very bad man, likely one who was meddling in the timelines of other people’s lives.

Like Molly’s. He would have cut it short.

My blade suddenly flashes into my hand as rage fills me—and Molly screams.

Bollocks. I forgot that I made this house and its contents visible to her. Most mortals can’t see 34 Silverlake Way. Mortals usually only see my blade if I let them.

I vanish the knife, but I’m not fool enough to lie and act like it was never there. “Sorry! Sorry... Just thinking about Nicky Cross and your father trading you around like a bargaining chip makes me furious.”

“One, ex-stepfather. Two, didn’t you do that same thing? Three, why was there a knife in your hand? I saw a knife in your hand! You are a bad guy! A killer!”

Molly springs up, knocking over the chair and throwing scalding tea at my head as she races for the nearest exit—a window.

“No, no!” I materialize in front of her before she can hurtle through the glass.

There’s no explaining this away. I can tell by the way Molly backs away from me that she knows something is wrong. Supernaturally wrong. She holds herself away from me, hands balling in the center of her chest, breathing high and rapid.

“How did you just do that? Why are you—why are you so pale? And the knife? And earlier, you could touch me, but I couldn’t t-touch you.” Her lower lip is trembling as she tries to talk without stammering. “Are you some kind of... No. No, you’re not a ghost, I can touch you. You got the tea and the cookies. You picked them up. With your hands. You’re solid.” Her hands pat down her sides and up to her cheeks. “I just ran into you...”

“Erm. Molly, maybe you should sit down.”

“I should sit down.” She throws me a poisonous look. “I don’t want to sit down, but I’m a nurse. I know if I’m going to faint, I ought to sit down. Shit, I’m going to die, and my degree is going to be wasted. I hope you know that! I hope you know that you’re going to have a lot of deaths on your hands, buddy. I could have saved hundreds of lives. Maybe thousands!”

“Ah, sweetheart.” I sigh and lean on the counter, shaking my head. Smooth is something I’ve never been. Might as well come clean with as much dignity as I can manage. “I’ve already got thousands of deaths on my hands—but yours will not be one of them. I’m a Reaper, Molly.”

“Is that a... is that a gang?”

“No, no. The Reapers are nothing like a gang, although we do have a union.” I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and tug it twice. Instantly, it grows and flows, turning into a long black robe with a deep hood that covers most of my face. I flex my hand, and my switchblade appears in it, and with a little squeeze, it turns into a long staff with a shining silver sickle on the end. This is the uniform for official business, union meetings, etc. It’s not my style, but it’s recognizable. “Do I look familiar?”

Molly doesn’t answer in words. Her face settles into a look of calm that I wasn’t expecting. She rises and walks toward me, then past me, to grab her purse from where it had fallen next to the sink during our first scuffle (although I’m losing count of them, honestly). “I’m going to call 9-1-1. I’ve obviously had a stroke. Or a head trauma. Am I bleeding? Could it be an allergic reaction to the pepper spray?”

I reach over and clasp her hands with mine, reverting to my human-looking form. “Hey. Beautiful? You’re not having a stroke. You’re just a little shocked. I’m going to put your phone back in your handbag, hmm?”

Molly looks at me. Pokes my hand. Grabs my wrist and presses her soft fingertips on the underside of it. “You don’t have a pulse.”

“Nope.”

“You’re the Grim Reaper?”

“No, I’m a Reaper. I’m not grim, and I’m far from the only one.”

Molly laughs. It’s a low, mirthless sound that worries me.

“Don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay.” Oh, God. I’m going to have to call in a specialist. Someone who can erase memories. She’s gone mad.

“It’s not going to be okay. If you thought you picked some easy little college girl to kidnap, you’re wrong, buddy.” Molly rises, glaring. “I’m a nurse. As far as ordinary humans go, I’m one of the best defenses against Things. Like. You.” She stabs a finger into my chest on each word.

With that, she whips away, her hair smacking me in the face. “I’m going to go look upstairs. For all I know, you have Gary up there, and he’s actually dying from his injuries. Or maybe you have this Nicky Cross guy.”

“What? Wait, what?” It’s my turn to run, following her as she marches through the shared vacation home, stomping up the stairs in the dark, as fearless as anything. I’d be proud and even more smitten if I wasn’t so bewildered. “Molly, no! I don’t have people languishing in rooms, waiting to finish them off.”

She ignores me. “Gary! Mr. Cross?”

“Molly, I swear—”

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