Reaping the Immortal

by Pamela Labud

  The woman looked across the expansive counter with the multitude of colorful bins of ice cream. "Um, yes?"

  "Of course." He knew instantly what was right for her. "Do you like a little surprise in your ice cream, a sort of sweet, minty mix?"

  Her eyes grew big. "How did you know?"

  "I'm wise not because I'm so clever, but because I'm old."

  "Well then, I bow to your expertise."

  Walking to the counter, he winked to the proprietor. "My good woman, my friend and I would like two scoops of your best Spumoni in those tasty sugar cones, please."

  "Coming right up." The counter lady, who's name tag read Agnes, grinned.

  Ten minutes later they were deeply involved with their treats. Doing his best not to stare, he watched as she daintily lapped at her cone, an expression of euphoria crossed her face, her mouth upturned with joy. His heart flipped when she sat back and her eyes went heavenward.

  "You, sir, are a genius," she giggled.

  "I'm so glad you think so." And, there were so many more things that he wanted to share with her. His past experiences, for one — the good parts, not the bad. And, of course, he wanted to share his opinions on any number of magically related political issues. He had no care for current events beyond Nocturne Falls. He'd learned long ago not the mix into the affairs of mortals.

  "So, would there be a lady Immortal that I should know about?"

  He looked up at her, suddenly ripped from his thoughts. "No," he said, surprised at her sudden interest. "The position is available."

  Her hand went to her mouth, and she turned a pleasing pink about her cheeks. "I'm not asking for any reason other than to know if there's someone I need contact after..."

  There it was again. "No matter how much we try to avoid it, we always come back to the unpleasantness of my mortality."

  "I'm sorry. I was trying to learn more about you without being so painfully obvious."

  He reached across the table and touched her hand. "You've no reason to apologize. It's your profession, after all."

  "Thank you for being so understanding."

  "I am curious, though, why get to know your client when you know what you must do?"

  She shrugged. "I know it doesn't seem practical, but I think it's important to help a soul transition if you're more understanding of their circumstances."

  "For instance?"

  She glanced out the window and saw an older couple walking side by side. She had long gray hair pulled in a tight bun and he was nearly bald. The two were deep in conversation — whether about the mundane or more important things, he couldn't tell.

  Clearing her throat, she nodded toward them. "I'm guessing they've been together a long time. A half a century, for instance. When one goes before the other, it's a terrible loss. But, it helps for the subject to know that death, like life, is only another level existence. And that, depending on what sort of soul you have cultivated over the years, it's possible to meet up again with their loved ones in the beyond."

  "Does that happen much?"

  She looked at her hands. "That is the goal," she told him. "Though to be honest, no one knows for sure."

  "So, death is as much a mystery to you as it is to every other being, magical or not."

  "I'm afraid so."

  Quickly pulling her hand back, as if she'd just realized that they were touching, she sent him a sheepish look.

  "Then, why do you do it?"

  She blinked. "Do what?"

  "Reap. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think it's likely not a thing you enjoy doing."

  She sent him a scathing expression. "It isn't a matter of what I like. It's my calling. And, it's a noble profession. Easing one's passing into the next realm is a time honored and necessary pursuit."

  "You sound like one of those army recruitment posters."

  "It was all I could think of." She put the remainder of her ice cream cone in the cup. "Perhaps we should be heading back."

  "Now, it's my turn to apologize. I didn't mean to insult you."

  "It's okay," she said, her tone a bit less distressed. "It's only natural to be curious about my job. It's not like you cross paths with a Reaper every day."

  He shrugged. "Actually, it's not Reaping that has piqued my curiosity. I've been around many hundreds of years and I'm pretty used to the unsettling nature of mortality, futile and hopeless as it seems. I was more interested in why you chose it?"

  "It's a calling," she said, as if repeating the lunch list to a child.

  "You said that, but I don't believe it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because one of the benefits, or curses, depending on how you see it, for living a long life is that I have conclude there's no such thing as fate but rather it's all about choice."

  "Then, you've never been compelled to do something bigger than yourself?"

  Well, that was a surprising question, wasn't it?

  "I thought so once, but time passed and I realized that I was a fool and mistook what I thought was meant to be as nothing more than a passing fancy. Coincidence rather than fate."

  Tilting her head to one side, her mouth formed the perfect little 'o,' and the sight of her expression sent a deep stab into his chest. Dammit all, she was feeling sorry for him.

  "Don't do that," he said, suddenly feeling small and unguarded.

  "I don't know what you mean?"

  "Don't send me that sad-eyed look of sympathy. I'm the lucky one here. I have the gift of immortality and I mean to keep it."

  She closed her mouth and pushed back from the table. "I never meant to insult you. Thank you for the dinner and desert. You're most kind."

  They stood up and he motioned her to the door and she walked past him in stiff, measured steps. It was clear he'd pricked a nerve and though he knew he would likely regret it later, he felt justified.

  "I was just curious," he said once they'd stepped out into the chilly evening. "Why a person who cares as much as you do would chose such a cold, heartless profession."

  She walked ahead of him now, her steps quickening by the moment until he was sure that she would break into a run at any moment. She didn't stop until they reached the corner.

  "You know, I find it interesting that you've lived all these years and have never bothered to find out more about the people around you? I only meant to know you better so I could help ease your passing. I've found it beneficial to have a kind hand at a person's back helping them go forward rather than a fist that pushes a person into the abyss."

  Her statement felt like a cold slap across his face. He'd been right about one thing, though. She was the most interesting and insightful woman he'd ever met.

  And, he was a complete ass.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Finally, back in her room, Holly collapsed onto the bed. She hadn't even bothered to undress or even kick off her shoes.

  "So, how was your date?" Artemis asked, while she sat on per perch, pecking at the wooden stick beneath her.

  "It wasn't a date."

  "Really? You, that hot guy, romantic eatery, and — do I scent chocolate? Ice cream, candy, or pie?"

  "Ice cream, and again, it wasn't a date."

  The bird fluttered her wings and made a sputtering sound. "Call it what you want, you plus hot guy plus four hours together equals date. Do the math, Holly."

  "Whatever." Holly yawned. She couldn't remember being this tired — ever. "I'll tell you one thing. He wears me out."

  "Hmm, ready for bed and you've not even kissed?" Artemis coughed. "Or, have you?"

  "Stop it." Holly rolled over to her side, her back to the bird.

  The truth was, a younger, less Reaper Holly would have fallen for this guy in a hot minute. Thankfully, she was no longer that girl. She was grown up, dedicated to her job and to her single life.

  That other girl? The one that had spent years waiting for 'Mr. Right,' had withered into nothingness. There had been no hig
h school sweetheart for Holly. No college boyfriend, no one even remotely interested in her and none that sparked her fire, either. So, she'd gotten the message. And, then the day the Reaper came to call on her grandmother

  It'd been a coincidence that she'd been in the room when the old gentleman visited. Tall, lean, and grandfatherly, she'd not expected him to be a Reaper. He'd introduced himself, spoke loving words to her grandmother, and then right before Holly's eyes, she saw the waning light of a soul drift away for the first time.

  The stranger told her she had a gift and should consider being a Reaper.

  The choice had been clear, and one she'd not doubted until recently when she'd had to Reap a young mother who had a loving husband and three small children.

  "Are you still thinking about Mrs. Kelton?" Artemis asked.

  Silly bird was always quick to figure her out.

  "No. Well, sort of."

  "They were prepared for it, you know. She'd been sick a long time."

  Holly rubbed her eyes. She would not cry again.

  "I know. And, for the record, I'm no longer grieving." The truth was — and her friend knew it — that the very best thing she did for her clients was acknowledge their grief.

  Rolling back to her other side, she looked up at the bird. "I just can't help feeling that though their lives are so much shorter than mine and their passing so sad, that they've lived volumes more than me."

  "So, you're grieving a life you've never known?"

  "Something like that, yes."

  The bird cocked its head and ruffled its feathers. "You're thinking about making changes, right? Putting in for your early retirement?"

  "I might. I don't know."

  "What do you really want?"

  Holly looked up at her friend, surprised that she'd never even asked herself that question before. But, the answer popped into her mind immediately.

  "Love," she said. "I want to be loved."

  #

  "Hello, brother," Matty said, as he pushed the door open. A mirror image to Max, Matty wore a grateful dead t-shirt, faded distressed jeans, and a grin that split from ear to ear.

  "What in blazes are you doing here?"

  Max was usually a bear in the morning. Without coffee, he was a prehistoric carnivorous beast.

  He'd not had coffee yet.

  "I know it's an unannounced visit, and I know how much you hate seeing people first thing in the morning, so I brought crullers and coffee."

  The previous morning he'd been on his best behavior, drinking a full pot before his breakfast with Ms. Dent. Now, he had no reason to put on airs.

  "And you can turn around and take them back. I'm not interested in whatever you have to say."

  He started to shut the door, but his annoying sibling stuck his foot in the room and pushed back. "Oh, you'll be interested, brother. I promise."

  Max looked at his brother for a long moment.

  Looking at Matty these days was like looking at a before digital, old school negative. Max was dark, tanned with mahogany hair and eyes the color of bitter chocolate. Matty had died his hair blond, wore blue contacts and dressed like a wild surfer crossed with a seventies' hair band. Something like, 'California screaming’ was how Max saw him.

  But, the shape of their faces, the cut of their expressions and the timbre of their voices were the same.

  Max had been told that a lot of people felt uncomfortable around them, and he didn't blame them. Where Max was dead serious, Matty was the class clown. Max was organization and Matty was chaos.

  And yet, in ways that many people couldn't see, they were very alike. Both were strong willed and stubborn. While they usually stood on opposite sides of an issue, neither one would budge no matter how hard he was pressed.

  "Coffee?" Max asked, settling back.

  "Whiskey."

  Max motioned his brother into his office toward a seat across from his desk. Pulling down a bottle of Scotch, he poured them both a healthy shot.

  "So, what is it that has brought you out so early in the day? I didn't think you ever got up before dusk."

  To say that his brother preferred the night life was an understatement. More than that, Max was sure his brother's residing in Nocturne Falls was likely the result of something bad. Like a business deal fallen through, or infidelity with one of his associates.

  The truth was, Matty preferred urban settings. Vegas, New York City and LA were among his favorite haunts. It must have grated against him to have settled in the quaint little Nocturne Falls.

  "I've done some asking around, big brother." He threw back his whisky and smacked the glass on the desktop. "I've heard some, shall we say, unsettling things. Oh, and by the way, it's a good thing you called me. I only found out how much trouble you're in because I've got a connection."

  "Connection?"

  "Underworld."

  A small town about fifty miles away, tucked away from the main roads. It was a gathering spot, rather than a town. A hideaway, really. Not a place decent folks, humans or Magics, frequented. Some said it was no more than a legend, others that it existed in a realm apart from the real world.

  That was unsettling enough, but to think of his brother frequenting the place, even worse.

  "Really? So, I'm on someone's radar in Underworld? How is that possible?"

  Matty shrugged. "Someone's put a contract on you, brother. Who have you ticked off lately?"

  "Me? I thought that causing trouble was more your purview than mine. I'm a simple small town businessman."

  "Right. Well, somebody not happy with their funeral, maybe?"

  Max crossed his arms. "I've had no complaints. But then, undertakers rarely get bad press from their clients since they are dead."

  "There are the undead, brother."

  "Yeah, well, I don't see too many of them. Or, any of them, in fact." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps I need to put in a call to law enforcement."

  "I wouldn't do that," Matty said. "You don't know who you're dealing with. And, can the local cops really help you?"

  "Just because this is small town, doesn't mean the sheriff can't do his job. I've seen him. He's a werewolf and he can get really mean."

  "Still, take precautions. I know I've not been the best brother, but I rather like being half of a pair. Try not to get yourself whacked, okay?"

  Fifteen minutes later, Max stood at the window and watched his brother's little black Porsche pull out of the driveway.

  "Everything okay, boss?"

  Max turned to see Melody standing at the door. Despite her relatively young age, the witch was no fool. He had a sense she'd been listening in so it'd do no good to lie to her. Besides, having a witch looking out for you wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

  "How much did you hear?"

  Melody's porcelain completion turned a light pink. "Most of it...well, all of it." She let out a breath. "I'm sorry, Max. I know he's your brother and all, but I don't trust him."

  "If it's any comfort, neither do I. But, he showed good faith just stopping by to give me that news in person, so I have to give him credit for that."

  "Yeah, credit might be the right word. I suspect it's going to cost you later."

  Max sighed. “No doubt.” He paused a moment and studied his friend. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

  Melody looked down at her hands and it was clear that something was bothering her.

  "I heard through the grapevine that your guest is a Reaper and she's come for you."

  "You've been talking to Millie?"

  "She's worried about you."

  He waved his hand. "It's some sort of mix up. I'm sure we'll get it figured out. I can't be Reaped, you know. The whole 'Immortal' thing."

  "Yeah," she said. "I guess you're right. There are laws over this magical stuff."

  "Exactly," Max said.

  While the analytical side of him knew that was the truth, there was still a niggli
ng of doubt. One thing he'd learned in his long life thus far, was that just because there were laws, didn't mean that could keep them from being broken.

  Someone wanted him dead.

  Him.

  A man without enemies. An Immortal who'd never taken sides in any conflict, Max had no idea why anyone would want him gone. If anything, he'd been a friend to many — the last hundred years or so helping them with their final or faux final arrangements.

  So, why put out a hit on him?

  And, other than his business, he'd always kept his net worth low. A man of simple means, managing to pay the bills with enough left over to enjoy a few finer things, by no means extravagant. There were plenty of others with more wealth than him.

  It wasn't money, then.

  After giving Melody a list of things for her to do, supplies to order, appointments to arrange and so on, he returned to his office and retrieved the one record book that no one knew about but him.

  'Les Journal,' he'd called it. The one thing that he'd been meticulous about over the years. God help him, but Max was the ultimate record keeper. It was almost a compulsion, really.

  Just as he'd opened the tome, a knock sounded at the door.

  Hesitating, he thought about putting the book away, but decided against it. Maybe it was time to share it with others. It was so massive, after all, it would take days to go through it. And, by the time he did — and figured out who wanted him dead — it would be too late. So, he needed help.

  And, he knew who would be the perfect one to help him.

  "Come in," he called out.

  The door opened slowly and the very person he was planning to ask for help magically appeared at the door.

  "Director Hyland," the Reaper said, poking her head into the room. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I think we need to talk..."

  He smiled up at her. "I was about to say the very same thing. Please, come in. Welcome to my sanctuary..."

  It was very likely the biggest risk of all, trusting the Reaper.

  Destiny on one hand and disaster on the other. What choice did he have?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Holly was not usually a person who acted on her impulses. In fact, she was the exact opposite. Forming a plan, examining it for every contingency, and then using every precaution to execute it...