Page 35 of The Reluctant Reaper
“She’s not a cliché, she’s the archetype. She’s where the myth of the perfect homemaker comes from.”
“Oh. Wow.” Gray shook off the concept like a dog shaking off water, and tapped the book again. “Skye’s probably in here, too; I haven’t finished reading it.”
I am, too, she thought but didn’t say.
“And Arwen’s hellhoundlets are here!” he exclaimed, and tapped one of Sapkowski’s tomes,Baptism of Fire. “Listen: ‘At that moment sounded the howl of the fell beann’shie, the harbinger of imminent and violent death, and across the black sky galloped the Wild Hunt—a procession of fiery-eyed phantoms on skeleton horses, their tattered cloaks and standards fluttering behind them.’ Doesn’t that sound adorable?”
“Not even a little. Don’t discount them because they’re small. Those adorable teeth are basically weaponized sewing needles.”
“I can’t help it! I want one so bad. Say, since it’s just the two of us in here... I didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of everybody, but when d’you think I could meet your dad?”
“Now,” she replied, almost before he’d finished the sentence. “I’d love for you to meet him. He’ll like you, I think. But be warned: He’s blunt.”
Gray just looked at her.
“Like me,” she admitted. “But that’s the only thing we have in common. Well, maybe not the only thing. Look, we don’t have more than a dozen or more things in common, all right?”
“Okay. Maybe we could bring him his lunch? I don’t want to meet him by myse— I mean, that’s an intimidating thought. Just me and Death, chilling in his bedroom. He can reminisce about the plague and I can be terrified.”
“You’ve already talked to him on the phone.”
“Oh, yeah!” Gray snapped his fingers. “That time you forgot your phone at my house. One of the times you did that. He kept yelling into it like he didn’t know how phones work. It was a real ‘Sir, this is an Arby’s’ moment. What a geezer. An adorable geezer,” Gray elaborated, likely hedging his bets.
“Nothing to be worried about.”Provided Death keeps his mouth shut. But he’s like me: He only tells people their fate if they ask. And Gray won’t.
“I’m not worried. Well, not too worried. You’ll protect me. You always have.”
“What?” She was flattered and appalled at the same time. “No. No, I haven’t.”
He laughed at her.
“Okay, I protected you once,” Amara admitted. “But ‘all the time’ is a gross exaggeration.”
“My ass. You’ve gone to bat for me how many times over the years? And I’ve borrowed how many hundreds of dollars?”
“One.”
“What?”
“That’s how many hundreds of dollars. And you paid me back four days later.”
“Shut up, my point is I love you and you’re a great friend and I trust you completely, which is why I’m not entirely terrified to meet Death.”
“That’s good to?—”
“It’s all those other death gods I don’t trust. Hank and Penny knife each other for fun, Arawn runs around with hellhoundlets and wears red gloves to hide his bloody hands, Skye could fuck me up like a chainsaw through paper towels, and Chernobog only comes at night.”
“Accurate,” she said, then stood and extended a hand to pull him to his feet. “So then, no time like the present. Let’s swing by the kitchen, I’ll bring him some raspberries and condensed milk.”
“Oh, yuck.”
“Tried it?”
“... No.”
“Well, then.”
“D’you know, Arawn’s dogs like blueberries? Not that I, um, fed them any. They just look like the kind of hellhoundlets who would appreciate a handful of tiny berries. God knows what he feeds them. Dead doves? The blood of innocents? I should rescue those poor little—ow.”
