Page 21 of The Reluctant Reaper
As he guzzled, she went to the corner, grabbed a chair, dragged it over. Death’s suite was mostly the same, even if he wasn’t. Tall ceiling, big windows. Reclining chairs in gray velvet on either side of a red love seat. Hardwood floors polished until they shone, a four-poster, king-size bed. Marble-topped side tables were cluttered with Kleenex boxes and lamps lent a golden glow throughout the room. The fireplace across from the bed was banked to coals.
He was in his favorite flannels, the green-and-black plaid (Death adored Lands’ End), and the covers were pulled to his chin, so he looked like a bundle of homemade quilts topped by a wan moon. His vividly colored eyes, a shade Amara shared and referred to as Satan Red, were washed out, as if he was going blind, and his vibrant hair was being co-opted by silver strands.
“So what’s all this?” she asked, indicating Kleenex boxes, the fridge, and Death’s disheveled appearance. “You wouldn’t believe the huge lie that La Croix La Shitbird told to get me here.”
Death closed his eyes. “Your mom hears you talking like that, she’ll shit a brick.”
“I’ll rephrase but the intent behind my words remains the same.”
“I’m dying.”
“That’s it! That’s the huge lie La Croix foisted on me. And he co-opted my friend Gray, too. Charismatic SOB,” she added in a mutter.
“Your friend? Or the baron?”
“Both.”
“Yeah, I wondered if you were gonna bring a guest.”
“Couldn’t have kept him away if I’d tried. So I didn’t.”
“Admirable. Or suicidal.”
Amara smirked. “Both those things can be true about Graham Gray.”
Death laughed. “I’d like to meet him.”
“Incredibly, the feeling is mutual.”
“Well, good for him. I’m glad you have a... friend. You never?—”
Death cut himself off, but she knew the rest. “I was never one for cliques, let’s leave it at that. Also, you’re not dying.”
Her father ignored her declaration. “Worse, the fair-weather friends are gonna start deserting.”
“I did notice no one’s around,” she admitted. “There’s usually some housekeepers and grounds staff, but I’ve only seen you and Mom so far. That didn’t even happen during the pandemic. Or the one before. Or the one before.”
“They’re all gonna leave. If they even bother to show up.” Death heaved a sigh and managed to look still more pitiful, which was almost as alarming as La Croix whipping out the crown of owl feathers.
“You’re not making a lot of sense. And since when have Anus, Scat, and Chernobyl been fair-weather friends?” She deliberately invoked her childish nicknames for the death gods, in hopes of provoking therealDeath lurking in the sickly body on the bed. “You’ve known them for a thousand years.”
“They can smell blood in the water.”
“What, you think they might try a territory grab? Why would they? Literally no one wants your job. Death gods least of all.”
Death ignored her logic. “They’re getting their ducks in a row. Your mom’s fixing them, though. Got a big breakfast planned, and they’re too scared of her to blow it off.”
She rubbed her temples.Stay away, migraine.“Your mixed metaphors just get worse and worse.”
“We can’t all be English majors who never use their degree.”
“First, ow. Second, drink more; I don’t know if Death can get dehydrated, but let’s not take any chances. Third, why am I here? Do you really think you’re going to die? Because that’s not how it works. For anyone, and especially you.”
“Now you’re an authority on ‘how it works’? You’ve spent your life running from it. From me. It breaks your mother’s heart.”
“Annnnd now you’ve dragged Mom into it. Well done, Dad; you’re checking every box.”
“Amara...”
