Page 60 of The Reluctant Reaper
“You don’t want to know what I’d like.”
“Au contraire.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Spelling your dear mother.”
“Oh.” Amara could have smacked herself. La Croix set her teeth on edge, but she couldn’t deny he’d been... not helpful, exactly. There? Was that it? He’d been there? “Well. I know she’s not eating much, so. It’s nice of you to give her a break from the grieving not-quite-widow at the sickbed thing. Thank you.”
“I live for your praise.”
“A mistake.”
“And friend Gray? Where is he?”
“I don’t know, how would I know? Why would you even ask me that? I’m not the attendance taker, dammit!”
“Er.” La Croix seemed taken aback, which was odd. Nothing ruffled that fucker’s feathers. “All right.”
“Sorry. Long night. As you could probably tell.”
“Not at all; you look radiant.”
She snorted. “I have access to mirrors, so I know you’re even more full of shit than usual.” She came closer to the bed, reached down, and took her father’s hand; normally tan and strong, this morning it was like a small bundle of sticks. “Hey, Dad. Thought I’d check on you before I went out on more Reaps. Oh, and I’ve been Reaping. Which, by the way, I’m certain I’m screwing up. It’s not like I’ve had any training.” But her conscience wouldn’t allow the disingenuous comment, so she clarified: “Wouldn’t allow any training. So that’s on me. But there’s still time to make a complete recovery and save the Midwest from my piss-ignorance.”
She watched his face. Nothing.
“Now you’re just being stubborn. Did I mention I’ve temporarily taken yourjob? The one you’ve been executing—heh—flawlessly for centuries? And never wanted to give up? I’ve got no business in the field and even the swans know it. Now wake up and micromanage me, dammit!”
Nothing.
She let go of his hand and began to pace. “Remember when I lied to you about opening night so you wouldn’t come see my middle school play? Wasn’t that obnoxious and unkind?”
...
“And the time your ten-gauge shotgun ended up on the bottom of the swan pond? And I said the swans did it? Well, it was me. I didn’t just lie to my father, I traduced innocent swans. Don’t you want to give me what for?”
...
“How about May of my junior year, when I accidentally backed the truck into a ditch and left it there? And then convinced you it was an early Halloween prank? Or a late Halloween prank? It wasn’t a Halloween prank.”
...
“And the time I?—”
“By all the gods, stop.” La Croix wore a peculiar expression, like he didn’t know if he should sob or giggle. “If the shotgun thing didn’t rouse him, nothing will.”
“Jesus.” Amara stopped pacing and stared down at the wasted figure on the bed. She knew it was impossible, but he seemed to be shrinking before her eyes. “Maybe heisdying.”
“We must, of course, consider the possibility.”
“Because itisa possibility,” Amara finally admitted. “Did you know the old Death? The Death before my dad?”
“No, my predecessor did. All I know of your grandfather is that he was born in Bornholm sometime during the ninth century. And that he never died.”
“Sorry, what?”
“According to your dear mother, he simply faded and allowed his son to assume the mantle.”
