Page 6 of The Grim, Me, and The Reaper Makes Three

She couldn’t tell how high the ceilings were, barely able to make out steel beams cutting across the sky. The room felt vast, a seemingly endless sea of writhing bodies in front of her.

Atticus walked forward like he owned the place, skirting the bodies on the dance floor. Tati followed behind him, the steady warmth of William’s hand on her back guiding her forward.

The two men had, in a matter of minutes, materialized costumes that perfectly complemented Tati’s Tinker Bell dress. Atticus, ever refined, had somehow found a slim-cut suit that perfectly matched the gray-green of his crocodile-skin boots. Textured crocodile-skin accented the lapels of the jacket, capturing the essence of the crocodile character without relinquishing his elegant style.

William, on the other hand, perfectly embodied Captain Hook: a long, red coat with golden buttons hanging open, and a wide maroon hat perched on his head. He wore his dark hairloose around his shoulders, and with the white shirt that hung open to expose his hairy chest and tall black boots, he was drool-worthy.

They both were.

Tati’s eyes wandered again, her vision having adjusted to the darkness. She could make out balconies above them, just as full of bodies as the floor around them, and even made out large metal cages suspended from the ceiling, flashes of bare skin catching the red light as naked forms of every shape and gender danced in the sky above them.

Her eyes widened as they caught movement in a shadowed corner, and her stride faltered. “Are they fucking?” She voiced the question to no one in particular.

She felt William’s body crowd her back, his breath hot against her ear. “That they are, Tink.”

She could make out the dark swell of an ass, pale hands gripping naked flesh as hips thrust repeatedly. Her body heated, a pulse concentrating between her legs. She licked her lips and shifted, her wide thighs rubbing together, desperate for anything that resembled friction.

“And that’s…normal?” She spoke the words over her shoulder, but it was the man in front of her who responded.

Even with the volume of the music, Atticus’ voice managed to cut right through the noise. “Yes, but even here, Halloween is a night worthy of celebration.”

Tati nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the situation. She was dead. She was in a club with the Grim Reaper, who, by the way, was actually two people. Two men who looked like they walked straight off of a porn set. Not just any porn, but the fancy, expensive shit.

And now they were in a club where people were fucking — actuallyfucking— in corners.

Had Tati died and gone to heaven?

She had to laugh at that.

Atticus led them to an alcove set into the wall that was blocked from the rest of the room with red velvet curtains. With a casual wave of his hand the curtains swept apart, revealing a booth circled by a cushioned bench.

Atticus beckoned her forward, and Tati scooted onto the bench while Atticus and William settled on either side of her. Almost immediately a tall, thin person dressed in skin-tight leather placed a bottle-filled bucket of ice on the table before disappearing back into the crowd.

“A drink, Tatiana?”

She shook her head, unable to take her eyes away from the ever-evolving scene in front of her. The longer she looked at the mass of bodies, the sharper the details became. A blur of pink became an arm wrapped possessively around a throat. A flash of black became a leather skirt tucked against a denim-covered crotch. It was a rainbow of skin and bodies and so much sex that Tati struggled to keep her breathing even.

Atticus’ hand reached in front of her, holding a drink out to William. Her eyes dropped down, tracking the way William’s thick, rough hands lingered against Atticus’ long, thin fingers as he grabbed the glass. She glanced up, catching a glimpse of a soft, fond smile crossing Atticus’ face.

“So, Tati.” William’s low voice interrupted her. “What sort of life are you leaving behind on Earth?”

Tati couldn’t help but scoff. “Don’t you already know? Fuck, I mean, you know my age and relationship status.”

William just shrugged. “Those things tell me very little about who you were, Tink. Did you love your work? Did your friends appreciate you? Was your home your favorite place to be?”

Tati blinked at him, momentarily shocked into silence. The questions were pointed, and unexpectedly thoughtful. “I,” she began, fidgeting with the hem of her dress that stretched acrossher thighs. “I didn’t love my work, but it paid well and allowed me to save. My friends were…they were good.” She thought back to the constellation of people who had surrounded her, who had been her community. “They were farther along in life than me, you know? They were mostly married, and a lot of them had started their families. I was happy for them — of course I was. But sometimes being around them was a reminder of how behind I was.

“And my home?” She let out a laugh, hating how hollow it sounded. “My home was a one-bedroom apartment that did the job of putting a roof over my head. It was filled with art that I loved and yes, it was home. But it wasn’t what I’d always dreamed of.”

Atticus shifted beside her, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the table, his head tilted toward her. “And what did you dream of, Tatiana?”

Tati smiled. “I dreamed of a small, cozy house with a stone fireplace that was way too big for the space and wide windows that would always be open, regardless of the weather. There would be skylights and colorful upholstery, an open kitchen with a six-burner gas stove, and a backyard with grass soft enough to walk with bare feet. And…” she swallowed. “More than anything else, I wanted to open a bakery. I’ve been saving for it for years, and at the end of this month I was finally going to do it. I had a place picked out, and I had enough to make an offer.”

“And then you died,” William said, his voice quiet.

“And then I died.”

Beside her, Atticus cleared his throat. “For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

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