Page 10 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Well, when Amara’s entrée comes?—”
La Croix sniffed. In another moment, he would flounce. “Amara knows full well I loathe bloody meat and despise vegetables mashed into mush.”
“So you on-purpose ordered food you knew he would... heh.” To La Croix: “What about...” Gray cast about, then pointed to the nearest table, where a young couple was partaking of salmon with baby potatoes and scallop scampi.
La Croix’s eyes lit up, then narrowed. “Oh.Oh. Too much garlic, but perhaps... that... can be overlooked.” Then, as one of two women at the table on their other side forked down a mouthful of pistachio crème cake, La Croix’s eyes rolled back. “Ummm... cream cheese and... oh, the drizzle of chocolate ganache, unexpected but quite delightful...”
“Okay, now I’m getting a little uncomfortable,” Gray admitted. “Also, is it a proximity thing? Because you didn’t really notice anyone else’s meals until I pointed them out.”
“It is a proximity thing,” La Croix acknowledged. “I have to have my attention on them and the closer the better. But in a pinch, so to speak, a nearby table will—ohgoodGodthat’srealwhippedcream—suffice.”
“The thing I like best about this dinner,” Amara sighed, “is how it’s not even a little bit weird. Can we just get to it, please? Why have you come? How is my father?”
La Croix’s blissful expression dropped away. “Quite ill. I confess I was startled to see his deterioration. And even more startled that he thought to summon me to his bedside. And your poor mother is beside herself.”
Amara said nothing.
“He speaks only of you.” La Croix leaned in, which was alarming. The eyes, the deep voice, the intensity... could be a lot. Was almost always a lot. Even Gray looked a bit dazzled. “He wishes to see you at once, Amara. As does your dear mother.”
“Oh?”
“But more: He has called the Gede.”
“Oh.”
“My strong suggestion is that you do not delay.”
He was a manipulative bastard, but knowing that didn’t help. She couldfeelthe force of his will pressing against her own, and fought it off while keeping her expression as close to bland/bored as she could. “Just stop, La Croix. Death deteriorates? No bullshit, please. I know that’s an impossible request, but...”
Even as La Croix dipped into his pocket and placed the thing in front of her, her heart dropped. More than dropped; it felt like her heart was beating around her ankles, which was weird and dumb and... She should have run when she spotted the vultures.
Run where?
Anywhere. Seattle. Mexico City. Mars. Arrakis.
“What the hell is that?” Gray asked, sounding not a little tense.
“My father’s crown,” she breathed, staring at the seven-inch ring of owl feathers before her. The crown was woven from feathers from all parts of the owl. Not just the tail feathers, or even the greater wing coverts. Her father had plucked from every part of his sigil creature: tail feathers, secondary wing, breast, nape... crown.
Death kept it close to hand at all times. Not necessarily on his person, but never far away. If La Croix had handed over her father’s kidneys, she couldn’t have been more shocked.
“Shit.” She stood, and La Croix leaped up as well. Gray looked at both of them, shrugged, and stood. “I have to pack. Right now.”
“Oh, God, packing.” To La Croix: “She is the worst packer. She brings full-sized shampoos and conditioner when she flies! Who does that when everything comes in travel size? Lotion, cotton swabs, deodorant, gasoline, probably...”
“I’m a great packer,” she replied without much heat. “I just... know what I need. And what I don’t.”
ChapterSix
Look ye upon the daughter of Death’s packing list and despair.
7 boxes L’Oreal Paris Excellence permanent hair color in dark neutral brown
2 boxes Little Debbie Swiss Rolls
7 pairs leggings
2 pairs jeans
