Reaping the Immortal

by Pamela Labud

  She never jumped into the pool. She went in excruciating inch by excruciating inch. Carefully examining all sides of every issue, calculating and recalculating until she was ready to move forward or run away. And, most of the time, running away was her wheelhouse.

  That's one reason why being a Reaper fit so well. She was given orders, performed her job, and moved to the next assignment with little decision making of her own.

  So, approaching the Immortal on a whim was so totally out of character for her. She was not that girl. In fact, the fact that she hadn't planned this out to the nth degree scared her to death.

  But, she had two very logical reasons for preceding and, next to planning, logic was her god.

  First, ever since she'd received her orders, she was sure something was just 'not quite right' about it. She'd Reaped hundreds of people in her short career, mostly humans with a few notable Magics. But, this was different. He was an Immortal — immune to death. Not that these things didn't happen. Long-lived races were Reaped every day. But, not by her. She was a mid-level operative and the fact that this assignment landed in her lap was more than unusual. It was darn right inconceivable.

  The second reason was that try as she might, she just couldn't get him out of her thoughts. Last night had been the worst night she'd ever spent. Tossing and turning, hearing his words, smelling his spiced cologne, and imagining him spending every minute of the day and night beside her. Sharing meals, long walks, late nights and showers...

  Before speaking, Holly swallowed a couple of quick breaths. This was getting out of hand and she had never, ever gone for a guy like this. He was a drug and she was the addict. It was downright unsettling.

  That was it.

  He unsettled her.

  "Welcome to my sanctuary," he said, motioning for her to come inside.

  "Thank you. I'm sorry to bother you."

  He smiled and Holly fairly melted at the sight of it.

  "Nonsense. Please, come and have a seat. What do you have in mind?"

  For the first time, Holly realized that though she'd had some idea of who this man was, her opinions were based mostly on the external face he'd shown her.

  But now, walking into the room that was him, judging by its décor, gave her yet another dimension into the man she'd suddenly become obsessed with.

  "Interesting room," she said, not realizing she'd spoken out loud until she heard his laugh.

  "Thanks... I think. I know it's a little odd, but I like it."

  Odd was an understatement. A wide, expansive space that was dominated by a huge mahogany desk, floor to ceiling windows overlooking what she'd surmised was a 'private' garden, and on the other side of the room, endless rows of bookshelves. Even with her poor understanding of antiques, Holly figured those shelves must have held first print editions of virtually every important book ever written. Beside each bookshelf there were glass cabinets filled with various objects. One, denoted the study of space and the planets judging by the antique telescope, and other instruments designed to measure time and space. On another were what looked like early electronics — phones, phonographs, cameras and televisions from every single period of recent history.

  On the final wall, there were amazing works of art — paintings that she couldn't name but were clearly created by the masters.

  "Wow," was all she managed to say.

  "I know." He motioned her to have a seat at his desk. "I'm sort of a collector."

  Holly didn't realize her mouth was open until she had to close it to speak. "I think that's an understatement."

  "Lovely to look at, but none of its worth very much, I'm afraid. Well, except for me."

  "Are you kidding, those paintings alone..."

  "Are mine. I went through an artistic period."

  "Really? Because that looks like Monet and that one a Van Gogh..."

  He laughed. "Let me clarify. I'm a great 'copier.' Trust me, a true expert could tell the childish imitations a mile away."

  "So you say. And, these?"

  "Not so much value there, just stuff I've owned over the years."

  "You're a hoarder."

  He laughed. "You found me out. Now, tell me what I can do for you?"

  Holly swallowed. Let me fall into your arms? Spend every night gazing at the stars beside me, perhaps?

  She quickly shook off the direction of those thoughts.

  "I think it might be what I can do for you." She paused. If it ever got out what she was about to do, not only would she be drummed out of the Reaper business, she might even be brought up on charges.

  But, something was terribly wrong and she couldn't live with herself if she didn't at least try to set things right.

  "Go on," he said. His expression darkened and he narrowed his eyes at her. His sudden 'all business' manner took her by surprise.

  "I shouldn't be here, Reaping you."

  There. She'd said it. Right or wrong, it felt good to finally speak her mind.

  "What are you saying?"

  He leaned closer and Holly got the first realization of how dangerous this man could be. She could feel the clouds of magical energy gathering around them.

  "It isn't right. Any of it."

  He sat back, obviously relieved. "I knew it."

  "You did?" She let out a breath. Then, it wasn't just her.

  She knew it wasn't ideal to be on the same side as her subject for any issue, but somehow securing his agreement felt appropriate.

  "I'm not sure I should be sharing this with you."

  It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she thought. She just didn't know him. And, if a girl was going to throw away her whole career and possibly her life — if she was wrong, serious jail time could be involved — she had to make sure he was on the up and up as well.

  He sent her a knowing look. "I understand your job hangs in the balance, but my life does as well. Let me reiterate. I'm not ready to die."

  "Right." She smiled. "I don't want you to, either. Of course, as a Reaper, it's not unusual for me to feel that way."

  "Really? I thought you were all about being professional and doing your job?"

  "I was," she said. "I am. But, that doesn't mean I don't feel anything. My typical case, for instance. A lovely, elderly woman who'd lived a long, full life. Her first grandchild was due any day and it was her time. She begged me to let her at least see the baby born."

  "Did you?"

  Holly looked down at her hands. "That's not the way it works. It wasn't up to me. Birth and death are their own entities. I only Reap the souls. I've no say when, where, or how they go. She was blessed that she got to die in her sleep."

  "But, she didn't see her grandchild born, did she?"

  "She didn't." She looked up then, searching his expression for some hint of understanding. "But even if she had, she would have had no time to be with the child. No time to watch it grow into an adult. No time for weddings or births of future grandchildren. So, what good would it have done?"

  "None," he said at last.

  She shook her head. "And, that's not the worst of them..."

  Holly tried to hold back her emotions and it took every bit of her strength to keep the pain of her last Reap from overwhelming her yet again.

  "I see."

  She sniffled. "I'm a good person. A just person. A fair person. Just not a very good Reaper."

  He sat back in his chair. "I disagree. You are the very best person to be a Reaper, because if you don't have feelings for those under your care, who will? Certainly, not the High Council."

  Dabbing at her eyes, she nodded. "Thank you for understanding."

  He smiled at her and reaching across the desk, taking her hand. "Now, tell me what's got you so worried and then I'll tell you what I know."

  "I shouldn't be the one Reaping you."

  #

  Max felt the hopeful atmosphere deflate around him. She'd not exactly confirmed what he'd hoped.

/>   She wasn't supposed to be the one to Reap him? Not, 'there's been a mistake and you're free to continue living.'

  "Go on," was all he managed, doing his best to hide his disappointment.

  She chewed her bottom lip and despite his dangerous predicament, he wondered what it would be like to kiss that lip. To press his mouth against hers and revel in the feeling of her mouth against his, his body against hers...

  Damn. It was happening again. He was getting terribly distracted. Looking down at his desktop, he fought to rein in his emotions.

  Not an easy thing to do for a guy who'd been alone as long as he'd been.

  "Anyway, the High Council thinks I'm very good at my job. Stellar at it, according to my last evaluation. All of my subjects are happy with my performance, if not the fact that they think they were unfairly taken."

  "You can't really blame them," he muttered, himself feeling pretty much the same way.

  "Oh, I don't. Anyway, as good as they say I am, I'm not one of the heavy hitters. I don't do celebrities, government officials, royalty, and, um, special beings. Like yourself. Whether you know it or not, you rank up there with Elvis Presley, or Michael Jackson..."

  He held up his hand. "I get it. And, I'm flattered... sort of."

  "You should be."

  "So, you're not the right person to take me. Don't you think you maybe just got a promotion, or something?"

  "Reapers don't get promoted. Where the Council hires you is pretty much where you stay. That's what so strange about all this."

  "I see. Not that I'm an Immortal? That doesn't strike you as a bit odd?"

  She gave him a sheepish smile. "Everybody dies, Mr. Hyland. That's what the ages have told us. Granted, true Immortals are a rare thing. But, even they eventually succumb to something. If not a physical accident, or perhaps a plague, they die in battle. It's been documented."

  "Or, they kill each other," he said at the last. "You know, like that old movie and TV show?"

  "I don't know about that. I'm not into popular trends. But, either way, you're a pretty important man. One of the Council members should be here Reaping you. Not me."

  "Right." He cleared his throat. "There is one other way an Immortal can buy the farm, you know."

  "There is? How?"

  "If another, more powerful being puts a hit on him."

  He watched realization dawn on her. "I don't know... I suppose it's possible."

  "It's more than possible. I had a visit from someone I trust more than anyone living or dead. He told me that there was a contract out for my death."

  "Holy cow. That can't be legal."

  He laughed at the absurdity of it. "Not everyone magical is on the up and up."

  She leaned forward. "You think this is an Underworld issue?"

  He shrugged. "I doubt it. Those people have an agenda all their own and believe me, I've no part in it. It's not for wealth or privilege either, because I have neither of those."

  "Then why kill you?"

  "That's what I was trying to figure out when you came in." He pointed to the volume on the desk before him. "I was hoping to find my answers in here."

  "What's that?"

  "It's my life."

  "Your diary?"

  He grimaced. "My journal. When you say diary, it makes me sound like a sixteen-year-old girl."

  "Sorry. You think the answer is in your past?"

  "It must be. I have no enemies presently."

  She sat back. "Are you really sure? Because there are a lot of bat-crap crazy people out there, magical and otherwise."

  "I've been gleaning the last century and I've found nothing outstanding."

  "Well, it occurs to me that it has to be someone pretty important to have filed a death request with the Council and have it sanctioned. Pretty high indeed."

  He sat back searching his memory. "The truth is, I've led such a nondescript, boring life, I can't fathom anyone from my past that would go to so much trouble to order my demise."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Well, I've not gone through all of the volumes, but pretty sure."

  She crossed her arms. "We need to be really sure. Because, if not, it's likely politically motivated. Or, maybe someone who wants you dead to prove something."

  "No offense, but it sounds pretty farfetched to me. Still, I wouldn't mind at all if you'd like to help me with the search. Two pair of eyes have to be better than one, right?"

  "Right. But, only until this evening. My mentor should be arriving on the late train. I promised to meet with him."

  "I'd forgotten about that."

  She looked at him, and while he wasn't a sympathy junkie, he enjoyed the expression she gave him.

  "Why don't you come with me? If anyone can figure this all out, it's him."

  "Are you sure? I mean, do you think it's safe to tell anyone about this?"

  "I think it's safe to tell him. As I hear it, it's a forced retirement sort of thing. I've heard it's not an arrangement he's happy about. He'd be the last one running to the High Council."

  "So, maybe he won't be pulling the Reaping cord on me, right?"

  "Not at all. Besides, I've only asked him to advise me. Even though he is way above me in management, no Reaper can just take over another's client. It must be freely given. I'd never do that if there was a valid reason not to. Like if somehow one of the higher ups had made a mistake."

  "Then that's a possibility, then?" Max tried to keep the hopeful tone from his voice.

  "Not really," she said, casting her gaze downwards. "I mean, it's never happened before."

  "There's a first time for everything, right?"

  "I guess. But, I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's such a remote possibility..."

  He took her hands in his and gently squeezed. "Don't worry about me. Anyway, I have even more reason to want to stay alive now. I was thinking that you and I might, you know, get together."

  She suddenly flashed a stunned expression. "Together, how?"

  "Like this," he said. Leaning forward, he pulled her toward him and kissed her. To his surprise, for the briefest of seconds, she kissed him back. Her touch was timid at first, and then he suddenly had the impression that she wanted more. A lot more.

  But, at the last minute, as if she'd suddenly remembered who and what she was, she jerked back from him. Her face turned from porcelain pale to immediate fire engine red.

  "Oh, dear. We shouldn't have done that," she muttered, scooting back from him.

  "Why not?"

  Her eyes brimmed with tears and he saw her bottom lip quiver. "Because, even if somehow you survive, we can never be a...a..."

  "Couple?"

  She nodded. "It's not a good idea for a Reaper to get involved in romantic entanglements. Ever."

  Max crossed his arms and sat back. "Reapers can't fall in love? Why not? Even with other Reapers?"

  She swallowed and then crossed her arms in front of her, as though the air had turned frigid. "With anyone. Let's just say, with pressures of the job, months on the road, and so on — it never ends well."

  She shrugged and the look of misery she wore nearly broke his heart.

  He leaned toward her again, and again gently touched her hands. "We have so much against me even surviving this travesty, why don't we put away worrying over falling in love until after we solve our immediate problem. Then, if we manage to work things out, we'll go from there. Deal?"

  She nodded and the expression of panic and misery started to recede. "Deal,” she said at last, clearly doing her best to send him a halfhearted smile.

  While it wasn't a ringing endorsement, Max was thrilled to see it. Damn the fates that caused this all. He was going to beat them at this, somehow, some way.

  "Good. Now, let's do this," he said, handing her the volume that held his sixteenth century memoirs.

  It was as simple as that. For the first time in centuries he'd not only opened himself to
another person, he trusted her with his past. That, on the relationship scale was akin to moving from a first date in a coffee shop to sharing an apartment and picking out curtains.

  In other words, whether she could accept it or not, they were united in their quest. Like it or not, they were now a couple. Of sorts.

  Heaven help him, Max rather liked it.

  #

  Master Georges Renault watched the landscape slip by his window with very little thought to scenery. Seated in the luxury car of the Roundhouse LTD, he could have cared less that he crossed principalities to get to his destination. After all, geography was more the concern of man rather than Magics.

  In fact, he only cared about one thing — his destination. He'd vacationed in Nocturne Falls once and had found it too 'touristy' for his liking. As a man who'd traveled the world for better than a millennium, he much preferred his own properties to that of the masses. In fact, other than seeing others across the existential planes, he'd had little care for his subjects.

  Whether beings lived or died had simply been a function of his profession. When his job was finished, he preferred to return to his mountain cabin in the Andes, or the lovely grotto in South America. Anywhere that he didn't have to deal with the mewling, miserable beings that walked the planet around him.

  One of the first Reapers, he'd a long, distinguished history of collecting souls. Napoleon had been one of his favorites, as had Attila the Hun, and James Dean — although to be true, he hadn't understood the importance of the movie star's passing. He'd barely been a blip on the face of history.

  Still, it wasn't the quality of his Reaping that made him boil with anger. It was the fact that they'd had the audacity to throw him away like yesterday's nuclear waste. He was more than that. He could have gone on Reaping for two, maybe three more centuries.

  One little mistake with a presidential assassination and that movie star that everyone hated but wouldn't admit to hating, and there it was. Put him out to pasture, send him to the great beyond and abandon him to the ages.

  More than that, after his many years of faithful service, they'd had the audacity to deny him a seat on the High Council.