by Pamela Labud
"Beg pardon, Mr. Hyland, but there is a Mr. Egalton Grayson here to see you. He says he wants to discuss his final arrangements."
"Grandfather Grayson? Are you serious? That old warlock is probably going to outlive me."
His secretary chuckled. "Oh, he knows that, sir. He said he just wants to be prepared."
"Wants to help himself to my liquor cabinet, more like it." Max looked at his now darkened cell phone, willing it to ring. He knew he wasn't going to be that lucky. "Tell him I'll be right there."
"Yes, sir." Molly closed the door and once again Max was alone. All he could think of was his predicament and the lovely little Reaper in his den. Surely, she was up to no good. If only he had a familiar to send up there to spy on her.
He could ask Millie, but the ephemeral couldn't be depended on to work in his favor. More than likely, she'd end up helping the wayward visitor and unwittingly get him a closer to his own demise.
That was the thing about ephemerals. They didn't make good spies.
Max scoffed. He wasn't one for invading anyone's privacy. He knocked that thought down right away. "I'll find a way out of this, and it won't involve being dishonest." He had a code of honor, after all.
Once Grayson left, after eating an entire tray of cookies and downing almost two bottles of his most expensive brandy, Max was finally free for the rest of the afternoon.
Having missed both breakfast and lunch, he was ruminating on how a nice bowl of clam chowder would taste awfully good at that moment, but his attention was grabbed once again by Ms. Dent.
Rounding the corner into the main hall, he couldn't help overhearing his guest chatting on her phone.
"Master Renault, I understand what you're saying, but he is refusing to accede to my authority."
Max crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the den's doorway. Ordinarily, he wasn't one to eavesdrop, but since his very existence was at stake, he gave himself permission.
"Yes, sir. I know. I hate to ask this of you, but, you've been my teacher, my mentor and my friend. He's extremely resistive to my magic, and more powerful than even the High Council believed when they assigned me his case. I need your help."
Peering around the door frame, Max saw her standing, as tense as a cable pulled taut. Even though she was trying to end him, he had to admit, she was beautiful. Had he not been concerned about her taking his life, he would have made a play for her.
As it was, he needed to thwart her efforts and send her on her way.
"You will?" she said, her entire body relaxing. "Thank you. I'll be looking forward to your visit."
Hearing her click off the phone, he ducked back in the hallway. The last thing he needed was for her to discover him spying on her. Just as he slipped out of the hall and into the foyer, he grabbed the mail from the table beside the door.
"Oh, Mr. Hyland," she said, slightly out of breath, her cheeks pink with excitement. "I'm glad I've run into you. I wanted to let you know I've a friend coming. Would you able to accommodate him as well?"
"I'm sure arrangements can be made. When will he arrive?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
He nodded. "He won't be staying in your room?"
Her pink cheeks reddened. "He's not that sort of friend."
"I see. Do you want him to be?"
It was a cold question and Max knew he shouldn't be so direct, but he couldn't help himself.
"That isn't your business, now is it?"
She was single and for a reason he didn't understand, Max was glad of it. He shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin.
"No, it's not. Sorry. I'm not an experienced innkeeper, you know. The reason I asked was to see if I needed to have another room prepared."
"Oh," she said, clearly more than a little shaken. "My apologies." She cleared her throat. "Master Renault is my mentor. I apprenticed with him for ten years."
"Wow. Ten years? I didn't realize that Reaping was a skill."
To his surprise, her face reddened even more. Clearly, he'd touched a nerve.
"For your information, escorting the soon to be deceased to the afterworld is a delicate and complicated job."
Max stepped back. "I apologize for my ignorance. Tell you what. How about I make it up to you?"
"Make it up to me?"
"Absolutely. There is a quaint little diner within walking distance. It'll be on me."
"I don't know..." She chewed her lip. "Policy doesn't allow Reapers to engage in social interaction with our subjects."
"Oh, come on. This isn't an engagement. Heck, it's not even a date." He could see her wavering. "I assure you, I will be a perfect host. Come on. Reapers eat, right?"
"Of course, we do."
"It's just a meal."
"Right."
"Um, one thing..."
"What?"
She tipped her head sideways which improved her cuteness factor. Cute squared? It boggled his mind.
She started to walk away but Max touched her shoulder. "Your robe. You might want to leave that here."
"I can't. Reapers are only allowed to dress in civvies when they're not working. Now that I'm on a job..."
Max grimaced. "Yeah, but if you go out in that costume, people are going to talk. Once they realize who you are and what you're here for, there will be widespread panic. And, there are lots of tourists here, into the thousands even. Can you risk it?"
"Right." She shook her head. "I've never been in this situation before. And, I'm pretty sure there's no mention of it in the policy and procedure manual."
"So, dinner?"
Max held his breath as she wavered. "Okay. Let me change."
"I'll be in the dining room when you're ready."
With that, she turned and headed toward the stairwell. He'd always had a thing for redheads. Add her quick wit and determined manner, she was literally his dream girl. Luckily, he wasn't the sort to fall for a woman so easily, or he'd be a goner.
"So, whatcha doing, Boss?"
Max whirled around to see Melody behind him, leaning on the doorjamb.
"Nothing," he said, standing straight and doing his best to keep a guilty expression from his face.
"Looks to me like you were checking out that little Reaper lady." She wiggled her eyebrows at him and pushed away from the door. "Come on, boss. You don't have to lie to me."
"As if," he said. "She wants to Reap me, for magic's sake. Besides, you know I don't do that mushy boyfriend-girlfriend stuff."
Melody laughed. "Well, maybe you should."
Before Max could further argue the point, she giggled and in her witchy way, waved a dismissive hand at him and sauntered past.
"You're being ridiculous," he called after her, but she'd already started up the stairwell.
If he was that transparent with his secretary, how long would it be before the Reaper caught on?
He had to get this resolved and soon, or he'd be doomed.
Seriously, end of life doomed.
CHAPTER THREE
The first thing Holly realized was that she'd made a huge mistake.
After spending most of the day trying to connect with her former teacher, she was glad for the chance to take a break. Although she'd been unable to complete her assignment by herself, and the man beside her was the reason, she refused to feel like a failure.
But now, having dinner with the guy she meant to end, she couldn't help feeling like she'd given up too quickly. That she'd let his amazing good looks and clever conversation sway her better judgment.
"Wow, this place is really homey," Holly said as her host ushered her into the restaurant. It was a big, open cabin-style room. There were polished wood tables, a giant hearth in the center of the room, the windows even had homespun curtains. Every table had an old-fashioned oil lamp and woven place settings.
"Told you. And, they have the best food you'll ever taste. I promise."
"Right."
Th
e hostess, a middle aged grandmotherly type wearing a blue checkered dress, a white apron and white waitress shoes, met them at the door. "Howdy, Max. I see you've got company this evening."
"Yes, Mrs. Miller, I do have uh..." He shot a blank expression at Holly.
"Business associate," Holly said, practically pushing herself in front of him. "We know each other through work."
The woman's bright expression dulled a little. "Are you a funeral director, too?"
Oh, gosh, Holly nearly swallowed her tongue. "Um, no..."
"She's with the casket company. Lovely, job they do, too. Did you see Mrs. Branson's case?"
The hostess lost all her color. "Oh my goodness, um, was that your work?"
Holly gave her a weak smile. "Not mine, directly, but um I know the person who made it. At the factory, I mean. He didn't make it on his own..." Of course, she had no idea just how they made the darn things.
Holy cow, she thought. Did I just lie to a stranger? What next? Sleeping with him?
He must have sensed her unease, because he stepped forward. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm really starving. Do you have a table open?"
The woman was visibly shaken but nodded. "Of course. Follow me."
Once they were seated, her subject leaned forward. "Are you a vegetarian? Any food allergies I should know about?"
Holly nearly bit her tongue. "Awfully personal, don't you think?"
"Sorry, I should have prefaced my questions first. They have the best prime rib here you'll ever eat or if you like, there’s chicken or salmon, both of which they cook in peanut oil..."
She put up her hand. "The prime rib sounds great to me."
"Allow me to order for you."
"Maybe another time," she said before she realized that it gave credence to his intentions of avoiding his Reaping.
Without saying a word, he waved the waitress over and when she came, the statuesque blonde gave Holly a once over, she smiled at Max. "Hey gorgeous, what can I get for you?"
He smiled up at her and for a moment Holly thought the two might be having a thing. Great, she thought. I'm going to be the third wheel on this two-wheeler.
Before she could comment on it, though, he turned his smile to her and it grew wider.
"Beer or wine?"
She smiled. "Ice tea."
He nodded. "Two iced teas, Miss Heather."
"Right away," the woman said in a breathless tone as she retrieved the menu’s.
"Thank you," Holly said, almost pushing her menu at her. "I'll have the Cesar Salad and a plate of spaghetti."
"Ah, no prime rib, then?"
"I think I need to stay away from red meat tonight. Maybe another time."
The Immortal smiled up at the waitress. "Then, I'll have the antipasto and lasagna."
Holly watched as the waitress leaned across the table, showing her ample bosom. A little bit ticked off that the woman had practically thrown herself on her—
Oh, wait, she thought. He's not my date. Surprised and a little bit angry for even thinking such a thing, she did her best to reassure herself. It was just a meal and he was her subject. Once she and Master Renault had him under control, this magical being would be safely on his way...
Holly cringed. She was not one to shirk her duties, but this charming, amazingly handsome guy was going to be Reaped and it kinda bothered her.
Well, it had been awhile since she'd had a guy in her life...
"So," he said, shooting her another amazing grin. “Tell me all about yourself..."
Holly looked at him. "There's not much to tell, Mr. Hyland. I'm no one special." She looked across the room, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze.
He reached across the table and touched her hand. "I'm sure that's not the truth at all. And, please, call me Max. I'm not one for formality."
He smiled at her and Holly was suddenly aware of just how charming this man could be. "I am, Mr. Hyland," she said, pulling her hand back. "I appreciate your sentiments, but you've no need to placate me. In fact, I think it best, that we keep this on a professional level."
The waitress returned and put their salads in front of them. Holly busied herself with arranging her plate and didn’t dare look up at him.
But, he wouldn’t let it drop.
"So, I'm to go on calling you Ms. Dent?"
"Reaper Dent," she said. "That is my title, after all."
"Well, it's a bit silly, don't you think? I mean, here we are enjoying a meal and sharing pleasant conversation. It would be like me insisting that you call me Funeral Director Hyland."
Holly shrugged. "I think Director Hyland would be sufficient. Dignified, in fact."
He grinned at her and plucked an olive from the antipasto tray and popped it in his mouth.
"Oh," she said, not realizing that she'd spoken, suddenly entranced by the shape of his mouth and the way his jaw worked as he finished his food.
"Excuse me?"
Suddenly embarrassed, Holly looked down at her food. The last thing the Immortal needed to see was her mooning over him like a love-starved teenager.
"Nothing," she said, clearing her throat. "I was just remembering some paperwork I have to finish."
The waitress appeared with her helper arms laden with their entrees. Two heaping plates, a basket of bread and a pitcher of tea. Holly watched as she filled both the glasses and set the remainder aside.
"Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you," the Immortal grinned. "I think we can manage for now."
Damn, she thought. This man was smooth. It didn't help that the waitress practically melted right in front of them.
"That was a wonderful meal," Holly said, settling back and wishing she could spend the night just being a girl out with a guy.
Unfortunately, that was impossible.
Unfortunately, that was impossible.
Once you're a Reaper, you're always a Reaper. Except, of course if you could convince the Council that you were ready for retirement. Or, if they deemed you unfit for the job.
Either way, at least for now, Holly would be a Reaper, and the handsome, charming, and very clever Immortal in front of her was her target. She'd have to take his soul, or die trying.
"Is everything okay?" He asked, wearing a darn near swoon-worthy expression of concern.
"No. I think I'm still tired from the trip." Or, that she was a frustrated young woman with no hope of having a normal life.
"So, what made you want to become a Reaper?"
Holly's breath caught in her throat. "Why would you ask that?" Was he reading her thoughts? Was he one of those mages who also read one's aura or had he done some sort of search online and discovered her entire life?
"Just curious." He sat back. "I think I see where this is going. Look, I know this is an awkward situation. I didn't mean to put you off.”
“I know.”
Holly looked at him for a moment, and her breath caught in her throat. What was it about this guy? He was her subject and here she was letting him winnow into her heart like a puppy snuggling under a blanket.
“So, how about we make this night complete. I know this absolutely amazing ice cream shop. It will change your mind about desserts forever, I promise.” He stood up and held his hand for her. “Are you game?”
"Sure," she said, breathless. Unable to help herself, she rose from her seat and took his hand. "But just this once."
“Gotcha.” He nodded.
Holly sensed that convincing him there was no chance for anything to happen between them was not a problem.
But, convincing herself was an entirely different matter.
#
Like a sugar dependent kid in a big box candy store, Max just couldn't help himself. The Reaper was seriously affecting his judgment. She was sweet and kind, and clearly struggling with her own feelings. It was like she wanted to claim his soul, but found it to be the most detestable act ever.
; In other words, seriously conflicted.
Not so different from his own dilemma.
Like, who didn't want to be immortal? No worries about long suffering illness that end in death and despair. No need for 'final' arrangements. And, no saying good-bye.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Because, unless you secluded yourself to a life only with other Immortals — a place that didn't exist — then you were stuck with the rest of the mortal world. And, everyone else besides you died. You were reminded again and again that every time you said hello, there waited a tragedy in your future for that inevitable and final goodbye.
"How far away is this mind-bending ice cream shop?" she asked, her eyes clouding with a hint of doubt.
"Just a couple of blocks away. After, if we turn right on Rosemont street, we'll be back at the funeral home. A nice stroll for an evening, I think. I've made it many times."
"So, do you usually tempt your lady friends to a fantastic dinner and then follow up by sweetening your approach with ice cream?"
He grinned, though felt a bit shameful at being discovered so easily. "I have been known to frequent this route on occasion."
She laughed. "Since this isn't a date, you're off the hook. But, with your next potential paramour, I'd recommend mixing it up a bit."
"Good advice. I can always choose Indian food, there is a lovely place about five blocks the other direction and a sweet shop not far from that. Thank you."
"You're most welcome." She sent him a smug grin, but it changed abruptly to something darker.
While he wasn't a mind reader, he knew exactly what had crossed her thoughts.
"Ahem," he said. "This conversation turned a bit to the dark side, eh? After all, if you're successful, there won't be any more cozy evening strolls for me. Or, dinners at Aldo's, or ice cream, or, well, anything."
"Sorry. I don't mean to be a downer; it just comes with the job."
"I'm sure it does."
They arrived at the shop and the moment they entered, the air was filled with the sweet aromas of sugar-laden treats.
"This must be what heaven is like."
Max laughed. "So, let's get down to it. Are you a chocolate girl? Vanilla? Or, the more decadent Neapolitan?"