Page 5 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Like you never seen and—Jesus!” Mrs. Bennett flinched back so hard, Amara had to sidestep. “More of ’em? Shouldn’t they be hibernating or whatever?”
Amara felt a chill, mostly because it was thirty-nine degrees outside but also because a dozen white-tailed deer had come out of the tree line beside the park.
“Never seen so many this close to the highway.” Her future boss gave the ruminants a long stare, which they all returned, then turned back to Amara. “Anyways. When can you start?”
Amara blinked. “That’s the interview? You complained about your tenants and want me to write checks and now I’m hired?”
“Well,Idon’t wanna do any of those things.”
Amara smiled. “It’s refreshing to hear that.”
“I read your résumé, you seem decent in person, let’s get on with it. Besides, you can—what the hell is that?”
Amara sighed. Bennett was gaping at a sizable raptor that hailed from Bahrain. “It’s a Eurasian eagle-owl.” Over two feet tall, with the characteristic black ear tufts, tawny feathers, and orange eyes of the winged predator. “Mostly found in Eurasia.”
“But this isn’t Eurasia.”
“Correct, ma’am. This is not Eurasia.”
“Not a ma’am, call me Bette. Welp, if that’s not the weirdest thing I seen today?—”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Never mind. When should I start?”Please say immediately.
“How ’bout right now?”
“Great, fine, that will...” Amara trailed off and sighed, then added, “Before you ask, the ones that just landed are vultures.”
Bette gaped. “Those things are vultures? I thought they were pretty big... well, I dunno what I thought. What the hell, is there a circus in town?”
Amara chuckled, which went a little way toward easing her dread. “You think circuses routinely travel with vultures and white-tailed deer?”
“Huh.” Bette put her hands on her hips and squinted up at her. Amara was used to it. She’d been fetching things from high shelves for people since she was thirteen. “Are you gonna have a smart mouth on you the whole time you’re here?”
“Guaranteed.”
“Oh.” The new boss shrugged. “Hokay. Long as you do your job, I s’pose.” Before she could elaborate, the calls of a dozen whippoorwills sliced the winter air. “Now what’s this shit?”
Her dread, which had started as a small fiery ball in her belly, was growing. And moving up. If more messages to call home showed up, Amara was sure the dread would move to her throat. She had an urge to call Gray, and squashed it. He couldn’t help her.Shecouldn’t help her. “It’s fine. They’re psychopomps.”
“Psycho-whats?”
“I shut my cell phone off and didn’t return any voicemails, so. Here they are.” Before she could elaborate or prevaricate, a sports car rumbled into the far parking lot, then screeched to a slippery stop several yards away.
Ah. There’s the dread in my throat. If I tried to talk, I’d probably choke on it.
“Maybe call the City of Savage about getting a plow down here, too,” Bette added. “Now what’s this?”
“It’s a Porsche 911.”
“That thing’s a Porsche?”
That thingwas a rear-engined sports car with a flat six and torsion-bar suspension; fast and dangerous and as famous for winning races as for getting people killed. In other words, the polar opposite of an RV. So what was it doing here?
The driver’s side door popped open and there he was, impossibly tall, impossibly immaculate, impossibly asinine and now (impossible!) strolling toward them. She could see his sharp, sharp teeth from where she was standing. He wasn’t smiling.
