Page 118 of Finders Reapers

It was pink and had my name scrawled on the side on a glittery decal. Personalized. It was warm. I took it and lifted it to my face to study it. “You got this for me?” I whispered, struggling to meet Fletcher’s eyes.

He grinned like a golden retriever boy. “I’ve got one too.” Fletcher lifted another mug. Bright yellow, with red glitter raining down the sides. “Jamal threw his in the trash. He’s going to be so jealous when he sees that we both have travel mugs, and he has nothing.”

“The only thing missing from that monologue was the evil laugh at the end,” I said dryly as I lifted the mug to my lips and took a sip.

Again with the caramel macchiato. These boys were going to be the death of me.

I wasn’t used to people paying attention to me and acting on these little things. It feltniceto be seen. To feel worthy of attention.

Though, if a few million subscribers couldn’t do that job, I had no idea how four dead guys with scythes could do it so well.

Jamal finished whatever he was doing with Maddox and sauntered over.

“You got everything sorted?” Fletcher took a sip of his coffee, exaggeratedly twisting his wrist to show off his personalized mug.

Jamal quirked a brow at the strange movement but didn’t address it. “Maddox didn’t want to bring Vallie. He said one of us should stay home.”

“Does Maddox still think that the Purger was after Vallie?” Fletcher replied, glancing at me. “That’s bullshit, by the way, because Maddox was the one that got slashed.”

“Purgers follow orders. They follow power.” Jamal crossed his arms over his chest. “Charon thinks that they were targeting Vallie, but he wouldn’t say why, and the ferryman warned Maddox that Val needs to be protected. It's the reason she was placed with us.”

“Because I’m a contracted soul, right?” I exhaled.

The guys exchanged a glance.

“Of course,” Jamal’s brows lifted. “Charon is literallyGod’slittle brother. Charon might only be the ferryman, but he has some freaky powers. I’m half convinced he can see the future.”

Fletcher laughed freely. “Probably.”

“If Charon is so powerful, why does he need Mr. Bub?” I asked.

Jamal shrugged, but Fletcher answered. “I get the feeling that Quietus is kind of a halfway house of sorts. No one actually wants to work there. Demons and God’s don’t tend to like being on the ground and doing the dirty work, like collecting souls.” Fletcher explained.

“If that’s the case, why doesn’t Charon just ask Mr. Bub if he’s the one stealing those souls and if Mr. Bub would like to resign? I get the feeling that Mr. Bub doesn’t actually care about Quietus. He’s just hungry.”

Jamal’s gaze sharpened.

“I saw him once before I became a Reaper,” I lied, I felt my nose twitch and I prayed he didn’t notice.

“Regardless of corporate politics, we’ve got to find the person collecting the contracted souls.” Jamal slanted a look my way. “Whoever is doing this is killing indiscriminately.”

“If Charon can see the future, maybe he already knows who’s doing this?” I took a sip of my coffee.

“Unless it’s another God. Or a fallen angel.” Fletcher supplied helpfully. “Or, one of the Hell Sovereign has found a workaround.”

“I’m just confused.” My hands flailed, and I stepped back when my coffee flopped out of the tiny hole at the top of my travel mug. “It's obvious that Mr. Bub is the one funneling the contracted souls elsewhere. I mean, Purgers are gluttony demons, aren’t they? We figured out the mystery. We don’t need to hop in the mystery machine and spend a night at the haunted mansion to work out which guy is behind the mask. It’s the weirdo in a suit. The king of gluttony. Done, dusted. Gonzo.”

Fletcher snickered at my use of the word Gonzo.

“Charon needs proof,” Jamal told me with a sigh. “He can’t act to remove Mr. Bub from his position at Quietus until he has solid proof that there is wrongdoing. Higher beings have a weird sense of Balance.”

“And in the meantime, all the contracted souls are just gone?” I murmured, pressing my hand to my chest. “That could have been me if Charon didn’t link me to you guys to protect me.”

Fletcher shrugged. “They sold their souls. What did they expect.”

I snorted, but the laugh was incredulous and without humor. “Maybe I should ride with Maddox and Rome,” I gestured towards the Camaro. “If that’s how you feel about the contracted souls.”

Fletcher pushed his free hand through his tousled hair. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He growled in frustration.

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