Page 9 of Guarded By the Reaper

He held up a bony finger. “Rule number one: a deal is a deal. Understand, Ms. Aster, I can protect you from Ma-Vasha’s little pets, but I cannot interfere with the terms of your agreement.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You made a deal with a creature of immense power, and that power demands a hefty price.”

I knew what he was saying. He was reminding me that my life was forfeit. That no matter what happened, no matter how manyof those creepy Poppets he vanquished, in the end, I would have to drink the poison.

“I understand,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

He nodded. “Good. Rule number two,” he said, holding up a second skeletal digit. “You do exactly as I say. No questions asked.”

Given the circumstances, I wasn’t really in a position to argue. “Alright,” I agreed. “No questions asked.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Now, rule number three…” He hesitated, those empty sockets seeming to bore into me. “My cloak and my scythe,” he said finally, his voice low and menacing. “Off limits. You don’t touch them. Ever.”

I frowned, confused. “But I’ve touched them already,” I pointed out. “Back on the rooftop, and in the car. Nothing happened.”

He stiffened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. “Nonetheless, Ms. Aster, they are off-limits. You will not touch them again. Is that understood?”

I raised my hands in surrender, trying to hide my amusement. “Alright, alright. Message received. No touching the Grim Reaper’s… accessories.”

He just stared at me, his skeletal face unreadable. He must’ve sensed my amusement, because he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Good.”

Silence fell between us, and I found myself thinking about his rules. The first two, I understood. But the third – the cloak and the scythe – what was it about these items that made them so untouchable? I mean, I’d already manhandled the scythe, shoving it unceremoniously into the backseat of my car. He’d definitely been annoyed.

I took a sip of my wine, my gaze lingering on Grim. He was staring into the empty fireplace, his face illuminated bythe flickering light of the lamp. Suddenly, I felt a surge of… something. Gratitude? Sympathy? I didn’t know.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He turned to look at me, those empty sockets seeming to pierce through me. “For what?”

I smiled. “For giving me a fighting chance. For protecting us.”

He didn’t say anything, just inclined his head slightly.

Maybe things were going to be okay, after all. At least for the next fourteen days.

Chapter Five

Grim

I stalked through the rooms, my boots silent on the hardwood floors. Even my scythe, usually scraping against everything in its path, seemed to tread lightly tonight. Must’ve been the overwhelming aroma of grief and old floral air freshener that clung to every surface. That, and the suffocating silence. Apparently, even the ghosts that haunted this place knew better than to make a peep while I was around. Or maybe, they were just as terrified of me as the living were. Couldn’t say I blamed them.

I inspected every window, every door, nook and cranny, making sure the Poppets weren’t trying to get in. A few hours ago, this house had been filled with the echoes of Millie’s voice, the pitter-patter of that kid’s feet on the stairs, and the scent of chicken pot pie. Now, it felt as empty as a graveyard at midnight.

I paused by the fireplace in the living room. On the mantelpiece sat a collection of framed photographs. Millie and some guy who had too much hair gel in his hair, grinning at the camera. Millie holding a giggling baby with a mop of dark curls – Elysia as a wee thing. Then, a portrait of a couple, their faces etched with the kind of love and happiness that made my non-existent heart ache: Millie’s parents. They were gone.

I let my senses drift, stretching out to encompass the house, feeling for any trace of disturbance. The air was thick with remnants of their joy, their laughter, their love. A love so potent it had seeped into the very foundation of the house, weaving a protective shield around the place. It was no wonder the Poppets hadn’t dared to cross the threshold. This house was protected by their love for their daughters.

A tap on one of the windows startled me. It was the kind of sound that set your teeth on edge, like fingernails scrapingdown a chalkboard. I turned, my hand instinctively gripping my scythe, and crossed the room in three long strides. I yanked the velvet curtain aside, revealing one of those damned Poppets.

It stood on the lawn, a grotesque mockery of a human child, its eyes like glowing embers in the darkness. It didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Just stared at me with those unnerving eyes as if I were the one intruding on its territory

I pressed my skeletal face against the cold glass. “You’d best be on your way,” I growled. It probably couldn’t hear me, not through the thick glass. But the sight of me and my scythe was a language even a creature like that understood.

The Poppet didn’t move. It simply continued to stare at me, its silence more menacing than any threat it could’ve uttered. I turned away, my cloak swirling around me like a restless spirit, and headed back towards the living room, more annoyed than anything. That creature was like a fly buzzing around a corpse – irritating, but ultimately harmless. At least for now.

I was halfway across the room when I heard it.

A scream.

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