Jeepers Reapers: There Goes My Midlife Crisis

by Marianne Morea

  “Remember what I said about Keepers being granted certain gifts to make our jobs more efficient? It’s not a given, but some Keepers have a sixth sense once they’re bonded. It has to be latent in them already, but soul bonding brings it to the surface. I think you might be one of the lucky ones.”

  If he meant what I thought he meant, then paint me pink and fly me on a string. “Are you talking about psychometry?”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed, trying not to sound ridiculous. “I think you’re confusing me with my friend Thea. I don’t have a metaphysical bone in my body.”

  “Yet here you are talking to ghosts.”

  I couldn’t argue with him there. “I have no idea how to channel whatever it is you think I’m lucky enough to channel.”

  Cade placed the paper-knife back in my palm. “Try. Concentrate on that tingle. Shut everything else out. Me. The traffic in the street. The ghosts watching. Everything. It’s just you and that silver letter opener.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but the paper-knife was already tingling in my hand, and I was pretty sure he knew it, too. Doing as he said, I blocked everything else out and focused my attention.

  “Form an image of the item in your head. Picture every detail, down to the tiniest element.”

  “Will you shut up? You’re killing my mojo.”

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  Ten seconds passed and I seemed to disconnect from reality. The weight of the item and its unnatural chill were all I knew. A crackle of energy started in the center of my palm, and I let the feeling go where it needed. I wasn’t afraid. If it got too much, I’d end the damn thing like a mic drop.

  The crackle. Ugh. The crackle spread from my hand up my arm to my throat, constricting muscles and gripping my heart. This wasn’t psychometry. This was psycho.

  My throat tightened making it hard to breathe, and the chill from the paper-knife splintered out to my veins as if freezing my blood solid.

  I needed to stay calm. Maybe this was a test. The crackling ratcheted to full-on body buzz and my limbs numbed, the same way my hand went numb when I gripped my vibrator for too long.

  I heard nothing. Sensed nothing. It was as if the switch for overload had flipped leaving me in nothingness.

  Images formed slowly. Fragmented and jagged. Like Cade predicted. I saw the old man on his porch. Except he wasn’t as old as he was in ghost form, making me think this was a vision of something that happened years past.

  He sat with a can of beer and his dog by his side, watching the world go by along a tree-lined street. His hands were gnarled, but his face showed no pain. To be honest, he looked contented, petting his Labrador’s head with lazy, relaxed strokes.

  A younger man came out of the house carrying an envelope and the same letter opener in my hand.

  “Dad, this came certified from Giles Crawly. You need to open it.”

  “It can wait.’

  “No, Dad. We’ve talked about this. You need to answer or he’s going to take the house.”

  “No one is taking my house. Not you. Not Crawly. Nobody. Not now, not ever. You’re all as thieving and conniving as the government, putting your hand in a working man’s pocket!”

  The younger man shook his head, holding the letter out to his father with the paper-knife. “You owe more than the house is worth in taxes. Giles is trying to help us keep the house. Open the letter.”

  The old man banged a hand on the small table next to his chair making the dog yelp.

  “Damn it, Dad!”

  “No!”

  “You can bury your head in the sand, but that’s not going to help when the sheriff tells you you’ve got forty-eight hours to vacate. The house is going to be auctioned if you don’t let Giles help.”

  “Bury my head! I’ll bury you, you ingrate!

  The old man got to his feet, and the look on his face chilled me even more than the splintered cold from the inert item in my hand.

  He lunged for his son, but lost his footing, falling over the dog. The two men crashed to the porch.

  One ended up dead, and the other stared in disbelief at the paper-knife deep in his son’s chest. Blood spread across the gray painted porch, followed by a horrified scream…

  The vision dimmed, and my muscles relaxed. The chill receded as did the numbing sensation across my body. I opened my eyes. The old man’s hollowed eyes shone with unshed tears, and he sniffed, scrubbing one eye with his palm.

  Who would have thought ghosts could cry? Certainly not me. Then again, until very recently I didn’t even believe ghosts were real.

  “Did you see what you needed to see?” Cade asked.

  I nodded. “It was an accident. A tragic accident.”

  The old man keened, and Esther wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  “My guess is you can’t speak because your guilt chokes you, and you can’t remember because it’s too painful. So you’re stuck. The question now is how to get you unstuck.”

  The old man’s shimmer changed color and density, and the paper-knife in my hand lost its chill, but left a strange tingle.

  I looked at Cade and he nodded.

  “Lou. You did it.”

  The old man seemed as stunned as me. “Now what?” I asked, my nerves rattled from everything I saw and felt.

  “That’s where I take over. There’s a Keeper waiting for our friend at Memento Mori.” He looked at the ghost. “His journey is just beginning.”

  Cade pulled a square box from his pocket the size of a ring box. It was the exact miniature of the ghost box sitting on my café table.

  “Transport?” I asked, joking.

  “Yes, actually. Our friend is unfettered, so it’s the only way to keep him safe until he begins his journey.”

  I watched Cade open the box, and the moment he did, the old man’s translucence faded as if disappearing before my eyes.

  “Wait!” Both he and Cade turned, and I shrugged. “What’s your name?”

  A ghost of a smile curled on the apparition’s pale lips. “Harry,” he replied.

  His voice was susurrated as he tried to tell me something else. It sounded like a thank you, but I wasn’t sure, so I just smiled. “Godspeed, Harry, and good luck.”

  He nodded once and then was gone. Cade tucked the box back in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay while I get him to Angelica?”

  Before I could answer, the strange tingle in my palm escalated to blistering current, and Harry’s paper-knife clattered to the flagstone.

  “Cade!” I gripped my wrist, flexing my fingers rigid.

  “You’re okay, Louisa. This is very normal.”

  “Ow! Jesus! What is normal about searing flesh?” Sucking air through gritted teeth, I turned my head, afraid to look.

  Cade’s cool fingers slid over mine and the burning subsided. I steeled myself for raw, scorched skin, but all I found was a faint imprint at the center of my hand. Just like my dream. Except this one didn’t disappear.

  “Wow. With that kind of pain I expected a cattle brand. Is this some kind of metaphor? A ghost of a mark for a ghost guide?”

  “It’s a Keeper’s mark. It’ll get more pronounced the more souls you help, but it only hurts like that the first time.”

  I snorted. “Kind of like losing your virginity.”

  “Huh.” Cade angled his head, considering. “I never thought of it like that.”

  “Of course not. You’re a dude. It’s not exactly apples to apples.”

  He held up his palm, and the sigil was as clear as day. “Well, since you showed me yours, it’s only fair I show you mine. Once you take a soul through their full journey, your mark will look just the same.”

  “How come I didn’t notice it when we ate lunch at the fountain?”

  “Keepers only.” Cade hesitated. “Actually, that’s not exactly true. Reapers can see them, too. Though I wish they couldn’t.” He looked at his watch, and then at the door. “On that note, I better get going. Are you sure yo
u’re good?”

  I nodded. “I have some errands to run, if that’s okay?” Asking permission to leave the house sounded strange, but my life had taken a strange path.

  “It’s fine. Just be careful.” He winked. “Don’t talk to strangers.”

  I closed the ghost box, locking it with the sigil. Esther faded at the same time as Harry, and I promised myself she was next.

  “If you’re going out, you might want to bring that inside.” He gestured to the kitchen.

  My stomach growled at that point, and he laughed. “And eat something. This week you’re a Keeper, and you just burned ten thousand calories walking between worlds.”

  “Don’t you mean ten thousand steps?”

  He shook his head. “No. So eat. I don’t want to find you flat on your face when I get back. Esther is on deck, and we don’t want her to wait any longer than she already has.” He paused, before following me inside. “Where are you going anyway?”

  “The library. I want to see Marigold and Thea, and I need to get my stuff.” I put the ghost box on the kitchen table. “Why? Am I supposed to keep this Keeper gig a secret?”

  He didn’t look happy, but he shook his head. “That’s up to you. Most people will think you’re crazy, and if you try to show them the Memento Mori building to prove it, they won’t see anything. To regular people, we don’t exist.”

  “Hmmm. So the gargoyles?”

  “They’re real. But regulars won’t see them either.”

  “Regulars.”

  “Everyday humans. It doesn’t do well for average people to know so much about death. It would interfere with how they live their lives. Interfere with free will.”

  “So the gargoyles do what? Keep regulars from getting too curious?”

  He grinned at that. “No. They’re guardians, but of a different nature. They’re there to keep the reapers at bay. Not that any would dare screw with Angelica.”

  “So when I saw them watching me as I watched them?”

  “A mutual greeting. They knew you were coming before you did.” Cade winked, opening the pantry door.

  He swiped a full box of chocolate chip cookies, shoving a handful into his mouth as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back by three. Make sure you are as well.”

  The door opened and closed on its own, and I stood staring after him with my jaw on the floor.

  Chapter Twelve

  TEMPERING MY GUT in this new life was going to be a problem. My instinct was always to keep those I loved well within my radar, but becoming a Keeper with assigned charges didn’t seem conducive to that. At least not to the extent I had in the past. Was I a bit of a control freak? Uhm, yeah.

  I headed toward 10th Avenue and the short walk to the library. My brownstone was equidistant between the park and the historic building, so when I got to the cross street, I hesitated.

  Cade and I stopped to check on George before we got to my place yesterday, so I didn’t want to hover. For someone like me, not as easy as it sounded. Especially with what Cade let out of the bag about the old picker not thriving.

  My gut wasn’t churning as much as I expected when it came to George. Maybe Cade’s revelation wasn’t written in stone. After all, free will was still a thing, wasn’t it? George could rally and be a Keeper ally for me the same way he was for Em. The key was to get him somewhere safe, like my brownstone since the park was no longer sheltered ground.

  George would be an easier nut to crack than Emmie. He liked his food, and that gave me a leg up since I’d been providing his favorites every Monday for the past three years. What was the old saying? The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Yep. And that old picker’s heart was mine to safeguard.

  The library was only three blocks away from my turn onto 10th Avenue. I walked at a leisurely pace for a New Yorker. Not tourist level, but also not the city’s rat race rush.

  It was nearing midday, and if Alistair wasn’t his usually bratty self, I might actually treat Marigold and Thea to lunch. I hadn’t eaten, and hunger carved out my stomach. Now I knew why Cade was always ravenous and why he warned me to eat.

  I stopped at the corner bodega nearest the library. Carbs and chocolate were my favorite food groups, proof I was a true Keeper according to Cade. Since I was a carb queen with a sweet tooth from the day I could hold a spoon, I think not.

  “Hey, Gerry, how are you?” I asked, putting my items on the counter.

  “I’m good. We haven’t seen you around for the past few days.”

  I nodded, knowing full well Marigold had filled the whole neighborhood in on Alistair’s latest.

  “I was sorry to hear about Emily.” He gestured in the direction of the park. “It’s a tough life for street folk. She was lucky to have you. They all are.”

  “Nah, I’m the lucky one, but thanks.”

  I paid for my chocolate croissants and bottled water and left. Heading the last block to the library, I ate as I walked. The pastry was as good as always, but a strange irritation wasn’t letting me enjoy.

  Something stirred in my gut, and I felt warm. Not from exertion or the noon-day sun, but for no reason.

  Heat flushed my face, radiating down to my chest, and without warning my heart beat against my ribs as if trying to break free.

  What the hell?

  Deep breaths steadied my racing pulse, but did nothing for my sweats. “I’ve been forty for three damn days. I’m too young for this,” I mumbled, wiping the bridge of my nose and upper lip.

  Hot flashes at forty. If this was mother nature’s welcome to midlife, then the bitch had a vicious streak. And why did it ambush me out of the blue? Was chocolate a trigger?

  I caught my breath, leaning against the side of the drug store across from the library. Something wasn’t right, and I didn’t mean hot flashes at forty. My hackles were up, same as they were with the man at the Central Park bus stop.

  The sidewalks were busy with people, but there wasn’t anyone isolating me like that day, despite my instincts blaring to the contrary. Like Em said, my body knew better, and considering the recent changes in my life, I’ll give you one guess what set my inner alarms screaming.

  Reapers.

  It had to be.

  And damn close.

  Cade warned I’d be on the reaper radar now that Angelica had temporarily bonded my soul. But why hot flashes? Was that their tell? God, I hoped not.

  “Note to self. Get tally book for all things the Queen of Death forgot to mention.”

  I wiped my face again, shivering despite the still radiating heat. Didn’t I say forty wasn’t a skid mark into old age? It seemed everything was a tradeoff. I’d stop aging, but suffer hot flashes forever, courtesy of the Grim’s minions.

  That was a sucky exchange, and one that Angelica needed to fix if I was to move forward.

  I wouldn’t expect Cade to understand, so there’d be no complaining to him. Still, there had better be an opposite but equal tell for male Keepers. Like a painfully enormous boner.

  “Louisa?”

  As if on cue, Thea walked out of the drug store, spotting me immediately. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, taking another breath.

  “Then why are you holding up the side of this building?”

  Before I could push myself from the stucco, Thea’s hand was on my shoulder. “Something happened.”

  “I think that’s probably an understatement.”

  “Spill.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Wrapping my arm with hers, she tugged me off the wall and onto the sidewalk. “Let’s help you walk this off, after which you are going to tell me why you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I snorted a chuckle. “Funny you should put it that way.”

  With one look, I knew Thea’s antennae were up, and I was actually grateful. I had Cade, but it was reassuring to know I had one of my own, too. I could tell Thea. Marigold was another story.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Does this have
anything to do with what I sensed on your roof?”

  Cade didn’t say yes, but he also didn’t say no to telling Thea about everything Memento Mori. The library was straight ahead, and I hadn’t forgotten this was still a workday. I was still persona non grata, and the last thing I wanted was to get my friend into trouble with Alistair.

  “It’s too long a story to get into now. It’ll keep. I came to pop in on you and Marigold, and to clear out my desk. Is Alistair in a good mood?”

  Thea grinned. “He won’t be back until two p.m. We have two whole hours to chat.”

  “Marigold?”

  “Waiting on you.”

  “But I didn’t tell either of you I was coming.” I had left a message at the reference desk, letting Alistair know I’d be dropping by for my things. He must’ve told the girls before making himself scarce.

  Thea tightened her grip on my elbow. “C’mon. We never get the chance to have a girls’ afternoon. Let’s grab Goldie and then get lunch.” She bumped my shoulder. “Your treat.”

  DIRTY WATER DOGS NEVER TASTED so good. The three of us sat on a bench in the library garden. The sun was warm and luscious on my skin. A completely different kind of heat than hit earlier.

  “So?” Thea chewed, breaking off a piece of hot dog bun for the pigeons.

  “Sew buttons.” I shot Thea a look. I did NOT want to talk about the last two weeks in front of Marigold.

  The mischievous set to her mouth reminded me why it took a rooftop freak-out for me to tell her my business.

  “Hey, Goldie…” Another warning look begged her not to go there, but she ignored me. “Did you know the Angel of Death is a sandwich kleptomaniac?”

  Ugh. I slumped back on the garden bench.

  “Well I hope Death likes lean pastrami, because that’s what he’ll get if he comes for my sandwich.” Marigold gestured with a kosher dill spear.

  “She, actually.”

  “Thea!” She was unbelievable. “You know, I really hate you sometimes.”

  Goldie busied herself with her pickle. As sweet and nudgy as she was, the older lady could never handle the truth about life and death. Thea, on the other hand, was getting an unspoken face-full from me.