Page 81 of The Reluctant Reaper
“But someone here—well, not just the people in this room, all the death gods in town—they saw their chance, and kept feeding him. Kept him under. Watched him sink lower. They needed Death off the board. Maybe... to clear the way for me?” Or not. Which was the more intriguing and sinister possibility.
“Who, though?” Gray asked. “Also, it’s not me. In case you were wondering.”
“Thanks for setting my mind at ease. And if we knew who, we’d know why. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She punctuated each stupid with a hard forehead tap.If I don’t let up on my skull, I’m asking for a migraine.“Why not just let me go hiking in the snow for three days? Rhetorical, Mother. I know why.”
Hilly nodded. “Your father’s idea. A rite of passage that, if failed, wouldn’t be fatal.”
Amara wasn’t sure how to feel about that. One hand: What happened to her long-dead sister had been an appalling waste. Other hand: Amara resented being coddled.Maybe just admit that no matter what the situation, you’ll find a way to complain about it?
No. Asking too much.
“Not fatal to me, anyway...”
“How are the migraines?” Paeon asked, apropos of nothing.
“What? Oh. Painful yet nonexistent,” Amara sniffed. “According to some.”
Hilly sighed. “Will you never let that go?”
“I needed help, Mother.”
“And you got help, Daughter.”
“Telling me my crippling head pain was all in my head was the opposite of help, Mother.”
“Wait, what?” From Gray, who stepped forward so he and Amara were almost hip-to-hip. “Of course they’re real. And they suck. Amara usually has to hit the sheets for at least half a day. Plus Dr. Paeon just explained that Death’s avatar is human. Migraines are a thing that humans get. And Amara’s human. So.”
“A ridiculous thing,” Hilly muttered. “A nonsense thing.”
“Let’s stay focused,” Amara said. “Mom, there will be plenty of time for us to rehash old arguments and drive everyone mad with our tiresome squabbling.”
“I’ll, er, make a note of that.”
“Paeon, is there anything you can do?” Amara gazed down at Death, who now looked as much like a corpse as he could without actually being dead. Over the years she had loved him, loathed him, resented him, adored him, protected him, attacked him. But now, right now, all she could feel for the husk on the bed was profound pity. “Maybe set up an IV for the gods? Flush out the toxins?”
“It’s not a hangover, Amara. And counteracting ichor is beyond even my skills. Your father will recover, or he won’t.”
“Great. Thanks for making the trip.”
“You’re so welcome. And don’t take that to mean I’m leaving. I remain at your lady mother’s disposal. And Death’s, of course. Does anyone mind if I eat that plate of bacon?”
ChapterForty-Two
Despite the treacherous shenanigans, the day’s business couldn’t be put off. She and Gray used the time waiting for La Croix to notch half a dozen Reaps—a fatal myocardial infarction, a GSW, two car accidents, an accidental asphyxiation, and a deliberate asphyxiation—and when they got back to the house, La Croix was there.
“I regret to confirm your suspicions,” he told her. He’d stopped long enough to kick off his boots in the entryway before he tracked her to the kitchen. He’d turned on all the kitchen lights, which was painful and irritating...
Not now. Do not get a migraine now!
...but she let it go, not least because he returned with a crapload of valuable intel.
Grateful for his speed and the news, she rolled a fat lefse bundle loaded with brown sugar and ate it in front of him. “Thnnnggss aagghh ack!” she managed as a few brown sugar crystals went down the wrong pipe.
“Ah, that’s lovely,” he said with the satisfied sigh of an addict getting a fix. “Truly hits the spot. Another? No? Ah, well. I don’t suppose I could talk you into a post-lefse cigarette?”
“Mom would kill me. Odd enough that I’m doing this much for you.”
“It is,” he agreed cheerfully, but sobered almost immediately. “I’ll stand with you, Amara Morrigan.”
