Page 59 of The Reluctant Reaper
“I’m not a child to be placated with—oh, cheddar sour cream? Yes, please.”
So they argued for two hours and detention was jolly, which Amara hadn’t expected but should have, since Mrs. Mickel had a rep for relaxing the rules.
Amara loved Mrs. Mickel for her kindness, knowledge of Greek mythology—Mickel could give Hilly some competition in that area!—and sense of humor. But mostly because on the second day of school, Amara had her first period, and Mrs. Mickel helped with the humiliating and painful cleanup, lent her clean shorts from Lost and Found, slipped her some Advil, and never told a soul. And made it all seem like NBD.
And itwasNBD; biological functions were nothing to be ashamed of, certainly not in the twenty-first century. But still. People could be stupid and cruel; thanks to Mrs. Mickel, no one found out, so no harm done, except to her shark underpants. But Amara hadn’t been able to see any of that until Mickel calmed her down and pointed it out.
Mrs. Mickel didn’t deserveanykind of death, but especially not being broiled alive due to an ancient oven’s gas leak. Amara wouldn’t have it; simple as that. So when she heard the sirens, her entire body relaxed; she nearly oozed out of her desk chair into a puddle on the floor.
“I live just a couple of blocks from here,” Mickel murmured, opening the shades and peering out the window to see where the fire trucks were headed. “Amara, we only have ten minutes left for detention, why don’t you head home?”
“Sure, Mrs. Mickel. See you tomorrow.”
But she didn’t, since Mickel was killed in a car crash on her way to the fire Amara had saved her from.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
After a sleepless night spent lying a foot apart like ill-tempered, exhausted dolls, they were both awake before Amara’s phone went off.
Gray had time for a couple of irreverent questions before Amara kicked him out.
“Does Death need to set an alarm? Or does he just wake up on his own? Or is he like a rooster, who gets everyone else up? Wait, people die at night. Does Death even get to sleep?”
It’s the bubble, she thought groggily.It’s time-walking. It’s hard enough to explain when I’m wide awake. Which I’m not just now.
She stumbled into the bathroom and began the day by splashing ludicrously cold water on her face. It wasn’t enough, so she filled the sink with more cold water and essentially went snorkeling. She could almost feel her pores slamming shut in self-defense.
She got dressed and groaned in horror when she saw her reflection. Her dyed hair leached color from her face, and the dark circles made her look like the Crypt-Keeper, if the Keeper favored leggings and red wool sweaters.
Fuck it. Gray doesn’t give a shit and neither do I.Not that a man’s opinion—or anyone’s, really—dictated her outfits. But Gray put up with her frosted tips (“You’re like a sexy hedgehog!”) and athletic-socks-with-penny-loafers phase.
She rapped on Gray’s door on her way down to the kitchen. “My mother will have another breakfast feast waiting,” she shouted from thewrongright side of the door. “See you in a few.”
She heard the expected yelp of alarm; in sharp contrast to Amara’s ten-minute prep, Gray needed a minimum of half an hour to get ready. Two hours, if he showered.
As expected, her mother was putting the finishing touches on several pounds of food and beamed as Amara came in.
“Good morning!” The trill was jarring given how white and strained her mother looked; Amara could have sworn the woman’s laugh lines had deepened overnight.
“Looks wonderful, Mom. I can only assume by the hamandthe turkeyandthe bass that you’re expecting seventy-five guests.” Amara got a patented Morrigan shrug for her trouble, then continued with, “I’m going to check on Dad and come right back.” When her mother simply nodded, Amara asked what she knew was a dumb question. “No change, I assume?”
“The bacon will be ready by the time you get back,” was the nonresponse.
“Okay, Mom. And I know I wasn’t here much yesterday, but when I was, I noticed you didn’t eat anything. And I’m betting you haven’t had your own breakfast yet, since you’re focused on ours.”
“Oh, well. Busy-busy, you know.”
“What I know is you’re no good to us if your low blood sugar forces a swoon.”
Thatgot Hilly’s attention; she didn’t stop rolling out dough but her head came up at once. “I wouldn’t swoon on a bet, Amara Morrigan, and you know it.”
“Just checking.”
Normally the walk to Death seemed to take forever; today it felt like five seconds. And there were worse horrors to contend with than a comatose death god.
“You!”
La Croix was on his feet the second he saw her. “And a very good morning to you, Amara.” He paused and considered. “As good as can be expected under the circumstances. Would you like my seat?”
