Page 30 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Wieners!” Gray said, delighted. The hellhoundlets had bowled him over, and all three were frisking about on his chest and legs. “Oh my God, the cutest hellhounds ever!”
“Still hellhounds, Gray,” Amara pointed out. “However, in this house at this time, if you’re not a badger, you should be fine.”
There was a low chuckle from the hall, and then a familiar and uncomfortably deep voice: “I find the smaller breeds to be much more vicious.”
“And lame, Arawn,” she pointed out as the Celtic god of death swept in. “Deeply lame.” She gestured at the tiny horde. “First, who replaces awesome blue Labrador retrievers with long-haired wieners?”
“But they’re so silky and shaggy and cute,” Gray protested from the floor. Then: “Gargh!” as a hellhoundlet jumped on his balls.
“All the annoyances of a small, yappy dog,” Amara continued, “without the convenience of the short coat. Be ashamed, Arawn.”
“I decline.” He dropped a casual bow. “Always a pleasure, Amara Morrigan.”
“I, um, like your dogs, Mister... um...”
“My thanks, you poor child,” Arawn rumbled.
“Poor child?” Gray asked. “Aw, c’mon. I’m old enough to vote. And rent a car, even, mister... um... death god.”
“Arawn.” He was as tall as Hades, but not nearly as gaunt, and sported his usual black long coat with the bristly black fur ruff that looked like glossy raven feathers. His leather gloves were bright red, and when he stripped them off, his hands were, too, with unnaturally long fingers and the nails filed to points. “A-R-A-W-N. But when Amara was wee, she pronounced it Arwen. And so.”
“There are worse nicknames,” Amara said. “Also, I might have been obsessed withLord of the Ringswhen I was a kid. Thank God Tolkien eventually had a daughter, or it would have been more of a sausage-fest than it already was.”
“Ah, I hear the dulcet tones of Amara on another feminist rant.”
Amara ignored the annoyed shiver that La Croix’s familiar voice brought on. “Swell. The gang’s almost here.”
“Hi, La Choy!” Gray called, still on the floor being harassed by hellhoundlets. “Have you seen these awesome dogs?”
“I could hardly miss them. You got rid of the Labradors?”
“They died, La Croix.” Arawn spread his red, red hands. “Even our abilities have limits.”
“And replaced them with—ah—well, friend Gray seems to like them.”
“I love them!” Gray cried from the floor. “They must be magical hellhoundlets because I never cared about dachshunds until this minute.” To Arawn: “Sir, if you ever need a dog-sitter, call me.”
“That’ll add some pizazz to your résumé,” Amara observed.
“And my new business cards! Please remind me to get new business cards.”
Amara giggled in spite of herself even as Hades said, “Your friend remembers his manners when he’s not shrieking profanity in your lady mother’s kitchen.”
“Sir, when I met you, you had a knife planted in your jugular. I’m just saying.”
“That’s still no excuse to swear in front of a lady.”
“Disagree. I think that’s the perfect time to swear in front of a lady.”
“All of you, shut the hell up and go sit down and eat all this food I’ve made,” the lady ordered and, to her credit, no one wasted time arguing.
ChapterFifteen
I’m normally not at a loss for words. Or so freaked out at the breakfast table.
It was the empty seat at the head of the table. Actually, it was worse, because for a long moment, the others looked at her like they thought she might take her father’s spot.
Never. Fucking. Happening. She sat so abruptly, the cutlery rattled.
