Dead Reaper Walking

by Mina Carter

  John’s cell rang as Laney emerged from the hall. Like Troy, she had tidied herself up, but on her… fuck, she looked well-loved and sexy. So much so, he wanted to march her right back into the restroom for round two.

  “Yeah… got it.” John clicked the cell off and stood at the same moment Laney reached the table. “C’mon, we got a call. Kidnapping. Sulfur found at the scene, so it looks like a para case.”

  As one, he and John glanced at Laney. Her eyes slid off focus for a second before she shook her head. He let go a sigh of relief. A nod meant lifelines were active and she had to go reap. Lifelines…yeah, right. Death-lines more like.

  “No reap. Just lots of lines one bad decision away from it.”

  Troy arched an eyebrow as they walked toward the door. “One bad decision?”

  She paused, a hand on the door frame, to look over her shoulder.

  “Well, that’s kinda the default state for humanity. At any moment you guys can decide to do something dumb. One wrong step, one wrong turn and you get hit by a bus.” She smacked her open palms together. “Boom!”

  “So, they’re like…all milling about in your head?” It sounded like him on the internet, with so many browser windows open that he didn’t know which way was up. “How do you stop it from driving you insane?”

  She stopped. Winked. “Who said I was sane?”

  He squinted in the sudden sunlight as they walked out of the bar and turned left toward the car.

  “What the fuck?” Laney stopped dead in front of him, so abruptly that he almost trampled her. “Oh, no! We are not doing this. We are so not doing this!”

  Troy looked over her shoulder, expecting to see something wrong with her motorcycle. There was. As in the hulking brute of a thing was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a big, black SUV. Like the bike, an aura of menace clung to it like a second skin. The front grill stretched into a hungry smile, hell, even the tires looked aggressive, ready to chew up the road and spit it out.

  “Hey, neat trick.” Her skirt suddenly made sense. “Does it change with what you’re wearing or something?”

  She shot him a look that would have frozen hell over. “No. It’s just being an asshole.”

  “O…kay. I’ll just leave you two to…chat then.” Not wanting to get into that one, he backed away, hands up in surrender. Then turned tail and followed John to the car.

  It didn’t take long to reach the home of the kidnap victim. They lived down the block from the station. Less than twenty minutes later they sat in the home of the Clarke family. John and Troy were crammed onto the smaller couch opposite the missing girl’s parents. He managed a circumspect look around, without making it obvious he was gathering intel, a skill in itself.

  Photos filled the mantelpiece, arranged in artful groups on the walls. A middle-aged man and woman, the parents on the couch opposite, and a girl. Always the same girl, but different ages. From the gap-toothed first days of school, he followed her growing up through the photos to what have to be the latest; the pretty, all-American blond cheerleader type. She was obviously the apple of their eye.

  He leaned forward slightly, pitching his voice to be supportive yet professional. “I know this must be difficult for you, but we need to get some details. The more information we have, the better a picture we can paint to help bring Tiffany home.”

  Movement caught the corner of his eye. Laney picking a photo up to look at it. When they’d walked in, the parents looked right through her, so neither John nor Troy introduced her. A little unprofessional sure, but if they couldn’t see her and she wasn’t inclined to reveal herself, what could they do about it?

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Mr. Clarke nodded, his arm around his wife supportively. “Anything we can do to help. Just get our daughter back. Please.”

  His expression was open and honest. All Troy’s finely honed cop instincts told him that he was on the level. Tiffany had been taken from an alleyway on the way home from practice, her screams heard from a local diner. Unfortunately though, there was no video surveillance, leaving them chasing their tails for clues. Apart from the sulfur. That was one clue Troy would rather not have.

  John shifted, drawing attention to himself before speaking. It wasn’t the good cop, bad cop routine, just their normal approach to getting the families used to them. “Okay, as far as you know, was everything okay for Tiffany at the moment? No issues with friends, she hadn’t broken up with a boyfriend recently?”

  “No, no boys.” The mother sniffed, shaking her head vehemently as tears coursed down her cheeks. A sodden tissue was slowly being mangled in her shaking fingers. “Our Tiffany is a good girl.”

  He resisted the urge to share a knowing look with John. They’d heard that line from more than a few parents, only to find out later little Billy or Johnny or Mary was the baddest kid on the block. And not in a cool, or hip way either, more a standing before the judge kind of way.

  He covered by picking up a photo from the side table. Sometimes that was all it took for a clue or some little detail to leap out. “Is that a purity ring she’s wearing?”

  If it was, as skeptical as he was, then she might be exactly what her parents thought she was.

  “Uh-huh, yes. It is.” Mrs. Clarke dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. They were red-raw from crying. “Our family. We’re—”

  Mr. Clarke interrupted, almost in defense. “We’re not human. Kind of. We’re a Seer family. We can’t risk any…accidents, shall we say?”

  Laney stepped into the clear next to him and took the picture from his hands. “Shit, so you’re telling me that we have a virgin seer girl missing?”

  Her sudden appearance made the victim’s parents jump, as though they were just seeing her for the first time. So other paranormals couldn’t always see a reaper either. Which made the fact that he could see her all the more perplexing.

  “What the fuck?” Mr. Clarke shoved his wife behind him, his arm in front of her protectively, and glared at Troy. “You brought a reaper into my home?”

  Laney shook her head, ignoring the parents. “Crap, this is worse than we’d thought.”

  “I want her out of here!” Mr. Clarke’s voice grew steadily louder, his face twisted in anger. He stepped forward and instinctively both John and Troy stepped in his path. Who they were protecting though, him or Laney, Troy wasn’t sure.

  “What do you mean?” He directed at Laney, but the words were almost lost under Mr. Clarke’s shouting. He turned and glared. “Mr. Clarke, will you be quiet for a moment, please? Ms. Larson is a consultant with the Oakwood PD and specializes in cases like this. She is our best chance at getting Tiffany back. Understand?”

  He opened his mouth to argue but Troy was done playing nice. Turning full on, he locked gazes with Mr. Clarke and crowded his personal space. Toe to toe.

  “Do you understand?”

  Silence filled the room. Everyone looked at Mr. Clarke. Waiting for his next move. Troy’s fingers twitched. If he had to put this asshole in cuffs and charge him with obstructing an investigation, he would. Anything to get that girl back alive.

  Clarke gave him back attitude, for all of a nanosecond. Troy was a breath from pulling his cuffs, but then Clarke’s eyelid flickered and he nodded, looking away.

  “Yes, sir, I understand.” His manner was deferential, like the beta in a pack backing down. Troy breathed a sigh of relief. Good. At least he hadn’t had to piss on him, or dry-hump him or anything.

  He carried on with the hard look for a couple of seconds longer, just to ensure Clarke knew he wasn’t messing about, then turned to Laney. “So, explain to me the significance of a virgin seer?”

  Laney pursed her lips, giving him that stubborn-ass mule look. She had that about her. He pushed and she pushed back twice as hard. Her gaze shifted to the right, flicking an almost imperceptible glance toward the parents. Just that one look, that one tell, and Troy knew what she said next wouldn’t be the whole truth.

  “Virgin seers a
re a major component in a number of spells. B-i-i-g spells.”

  John had obviously picked up her tell and slid in as smooth as silk. “Spells. Perhaps that coven we’re investigating in the Kaufman case?”

  Laney nodded. “Exactly. Could just be a kid’s prank…”

  It could be, if the officers on scene hadn’t reported a shitload of sulfur in the alleyway. But Mrs. Clarke murmured, hope in her eyes. Troy felt awful to give her false hope but what else could they do? Tell them ‘I’m sorry but your daughter is probably a demon’s chew-toy by now’? Besides, it wasn’t entirely false hope. Laney had said no reap. No reap, no death. No death meant they still had a chance.

  John snapped his notebook shut and slid it into his pocket. “Okay, I’ll start with the names we have, see if I can shake anything loose. You and Ms. Larson check out the scene? Mr. Clarke, Mrs. Clarke, if you’ll excuse us. We’ll keep you updated, as soon as we know more…”

  Mrs. Clarke cleared her throat, that hopeful look focusing with purpose. Troy turned back to give her his full attention—professionalism and all that—but she wasn’t looking at either him or John as he’d expected. Instead her gaze was riveted on Laney. She looked back, and as he watched, her ‘reaper’ expression softened.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  The woman pushed past her husband, her gaze on Laney as though she was the last beacon of hope. “You know, don’t you? If someone’s going to die?”

  Laney paused for a moment. From their conversations Troy knew she probably didn’t talk about this shit with people not in the know. Her family perhaps, other reapers…other reapers who were men. Jealousy hit him but he locked it down quick-smart. There was a time and place for stuff like that, and it wasn’t here and now.

  “Each lifeline is unique.” Laney’s voice was soft and she reached out to take Mrs. Clarke’s hands. “Look hard enough and you can tell which ones are related to each other. Brothers and sisters. Father and sons… Mothers and daughters.” She paused to look between the couple. “Looking at yours, I can tell which one is Tiffany’s. It’s not calling to me at the moment. She’s still alive.”

  Mrs. Clarke gasped, almost folding in on herself. Tears of relief sparkled in her eyes.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. We’re not a powerful line like some…” Her voice was the barest whisper. “So our visions are sporadic at the best of times. Under stress—”

  Her voice broke and she pressed her hand to her mouth, swallowing hard. It was always hard to see a victim’s family trying to keep it together, but Troy kept his gaze level and refused to look away. They’d trusted him enough with their honest emotions, it would be discourteous of him to brush that off. “Please, bring my daughter back.”

  Laney covered the other woman’s hand with one of hers. Her face was serene. A chill swept the room, stirring her hair as her shadow lengthened behind her.

  “I am Death made flesh,” she said, her voice not human. More than human. It rang with power and the silence of the grave, bringing shivers to the back of Troy’s neck. “I cut the cord that binds a soul to this life, no other. I will find your daughter and I will bring her home, this I promise you, but I cannot guarantee it will be alive.”

  Troy whirled around before he reached the gate, a hand shoved in his hair and a look of exasperation on his face. Exasperation aimed solely at me.

  “Fuck me, Laney. Did you have to just drop it out there in the open like that?”

  “What did you expect me to say?” I shrugged, spreading my hands in an innocent gesture. “Yeah, I can bring her daughter home but… I’m a reaper. If I’m involved, it’s not often gonna be a happily ever after, is it?”

  Troy growled, a sound that was kind of sexy, even if he was angry with me. “You didn’t have to outright tell the woman that!”

  I folded my arms and matched him glare for glare. “Why, Detective Regan, are you telling me I should have lied?”

  John chuckled, quickly smothering the sound when Troy turned the glare on him, giving me a moment’s respite.

  “Annnnnd, that’s my cue to leave. Need to lose a few pounds so I’m gonna take a walk back to the station.” John pushed past Troy, waving at me over his shoulder. “Have fun, kiddies. Try not to kill one another, ‘kay?”

  “Given one of us is the physical embodiment of death,” Troy snarled, “no promises on that one.”

  John shook his head and with that, he was gone, striding off down the street. Troy turned his attention back to me.

  “Not lie, not exactly.” He took a step toward, frustration etched into his features. “Just don’t tell the damn parents you’ll deliver them a dead body.”

  Okay, even I admit, put like that I sounded like a grade-A asshole.

  “It’s not like that with us. With paranormals,” I argued, “we don’t sugarcoat the truth or bullshit like humans do.”

  “Oh, that’s it, play the species card.” Anger replaced the frustration on his face. He took a breath and I saw the struggle reflected in his eyes. He closed them for a moment, then sighed heavily. The whole process fascinated me. Human emotion played out on a stage of one man’s face.

  Until he opened his eyes and looked at me, gaze hard. Piercing. The expression in them made me shiver, and not in a good way.

  “So, from what you’ve said before, when a lifeline goes active, you track it to the body?”

  I kept my answer limited to a nod. The tension between us hadn’t disappeared, just altered, and right about now, I wasn’t sure what game Troy was playing. The energy emanating from him, I checked his lifeline again. Still human. Was it my imagination or was it flatter and duller than it had been?

  He stepped forward, until we were barely inches apart. He loomed over me but I didn’t back down. I’m a badass reaper after all, we ain’t scared of no one and nothing. Not even demons. I looked him right in the eye.

  “And you said in there that you can identify an inactive lifeline…” He paused, running his thumb against his chin. Normally I’d want to kiss in its wake, but I had the feeling I was being outmaneuvered. “So putting the two together, it’s logical to assume you could have tracked Tiffany from the word go, couldn’t you?”

  And boom, there it was. Shit. Trust Troy to put it all together.

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t work like that.”

  “What do you mean? How else would it work?”

  There was no way I was backing down, and from the look on Troy’s face, neither was he. So I was going to have to answer. Fuck.

  “It’s not my job.” Okay, out there in the open. No secrets. “Yes, I could pick up and trace a lifeline back to its body, but why would I? Until they make the decision that puts them on my radar, I have no reason to go looking.”

  He blinked. A slow descent of the lids over his eyes, one I could almost hear before he opened them again.

  “It’s not your job.” His voice was tight, angry, but unlike before, it wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t the fiery anger I could turn to passion. No, this was white hot fury that would burn me if I so much as touched it.

  The sensible thing would have been to say something to calm him, particularly as he was the one carrying a gun. Did I? Hell, I’m not that sensible. Not when pissed off.

  “Reaper, buddy. As in death. Dead or dying, but mostly dead. As in not alive. What part of that don’t you fucking well understand?”

  “Understand?” His lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, I understand all right. Basically you’re telling me you could’ve saved lives but didn’t. Because it’s not your job.”

  I opened my mouth to explain. How I couldn’t track one, because then I’d have to track them all. And I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t save them all. I’d drive myself mad chasing lifelines and changing their futures. So I didn’t. But he didn’t give me chance to say that, or anything, cutting me off with a sharp gesture.

  “No, I don’t want to hear it.” The disgusted expression in his eyes cut me to the quick. “Unlike you, obviously, m
y job is to save lives. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on with doing just that. Saving lives.”

  He turned and walked away, each step ringing like a death knell in my ears. My throat tightened and tears stabbed at the back of my eyes, as my hand rose without permission to cover my mouth.

  I couldn’t save everyone. I could only ease their passage into the afterlife.

  Chapter Seven

  “Fucking idiot.”

  Troy didn’t make it to the car before the look on Laney’s face got to him. Hurt. Betrayal. Misery. Like a puppy that had been kicked. His steps slowed and guilt wrapped itself around his heart, settling into a hard knot in his gut.

  Shit. He shouldn’t have said all that about saving lives. To a reaper. He got it, really he did. For her to track down everyone about to make a bad decision and save their lives would be a futile task. One that led to madness. He couldn’t ask that of anyone. But…would it be too much to ask for her to pick up a missing girl’s lifeline?

  He had his hand on the car door handle before he sighed and turned around. Perhaps he was reading this wrong. Perhaps there was some unwritten reaper rule he didn’t know about. After all, they’d only known each other a few days, and before that, he hadn’t a clue reapers existed outside fairy tales. Then again, perhaps he just couldn’t see himself tracking down a missing girl and a demon without her backup. Hell, without her at the Kaufman house, he and Reilly would have been toast. Literally.

  He made two steps around the car on his way back to her before Laney roared past in her big SUV. He could have sworn it grinned and leered at him as it passed.

  “Goddammit!” Stepping into the street, he tried waving her down but she studiously ignored him, her face set in angry lines.

  “Nice one, Troy. She’s pissed at you. Well pissed. Beyond pissed.” Berating himself, he stormed back to his car and yanked the door open. His cell rang as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Yeah. Regan.” His answer was short and clipped. Great, now he was being an asshole to everyone.