Page 13 of The Reluctant Reaper
“It was the only one that covered my knees.” He flung the green jacket toward an empty chair and sighed. “Thank the gods both ill and blessed, they allowed cigarette smoking in the lounge! Well. Not really. But I was persuasive.”
“A death god smokes,” Gray observed.
“He doesn’t smoke,” Amara pointed out. “But he likes it when other people do.”
“Right, right, the food thing extends to smoking. Got it.”
“I also like the scent of rum, friend Gray, if you’re feeling generous.”
“I’m... not. So purple and black, that’s kind of your thing, huh?”
“What gave it away?” he asked, shooting his cuffs, which were purple, and adjusting his suit jacket, which was also purple.
“Have a seat,” Amara said. “We’re pulling out soon.”
He crossed his legs and flashed them his lavender socks. “Hmmm. More terse than usual. It could be the hour, but if I know my Amara?—”
“Notyouranything.”
“—you’re sad about the girl who will asphyxiate tomorrow before dawn.”
“Oh, God.” Gray had been spinning his chair; now he planted his feet to bring the La-Z-Boy to a shuddering halt. “She doesn’t even get a whole day?”
Amara and La Croix shrugged in unison, looked at each other, and then Amara looked away. “I warned you not to come, Gray.”
“Oh, please. I don’t have to stow away on your ritzy train?—”
“Car. One car.”
“—for you to talk about sad deaths. Full disclosure is the only way this friendship works. That’s the rule.”
“That’s the program,” Amara corrected. “Your program, not our rule.”
“Yeah, well. Program’s why I’m still alive.”
Not an exaggeration. He had the scars to prove it.
“You have to admit, the young lady’s manner of deathisa bit farcical.” La Croix shrugged. “Given the young porter’s family history.”
Amara stomped the urge to stomp him. “It’s good that you’re reminding me of alllll the reasons I dislike you.”
“You wound me! You’ve always found me delightful.”
“Um. No.”
“Your mother would charge you to be kinder to me.”
“Leave my mother out of it,” she warned. “And my father. And everyone. Leave yourself out of it, while you’re at it.”
La Croix brushed invisible lint off his black pants. “Surely you have a kind thought to send my way when I’m not around, after all this time?”
“Nope. Not only am I fresh out of kind thoughts, I don’t actually think about you when you’re not around.”
“Ouch.” From Gray.
“Okay, not entirely true. I think of you every time I drink fruit-flavored seltzer. So, twice. Once it was blackberry, which was overdressed, and once it was peach/pear, which was disgusting. That’s the last time I thought of you, La Croix.”
“Ouch!” From Gray. “And am I crazy, or is there some weird vibe I’m picking up here?”
