by Cate Lawley
Devlin looked at the calendar in front of him. He had to start making plans for his daughter. He was already in negotiations with his partners, and he expected to be bought out within a few days. But even more than the financial concerns, the questions of day-to-day living worried Devlin. He had to speak with his ex-wife and his parents, because they needed time to make adjustments in their own lives. As things stood, Sylvia only managed three of four monthly lunch dates with their daughter. And much as his ex-wife would try, she wasn’t equipped to be a full-time parent. His daughter Zelda’s grandparents would help, but Sylvia’s dad had passed and her mom wasn’t in good health. His own parents would most likely assume his daughter’s care.
He rubbed his burning but dry eyes. So here he was, staring at a calendar, trying to calculate the best time to give his family news that no one wanted to hear, and with no answers appearing magically from the ether, the unexpected knock at the front door was a relief.
Devlin opened the door to an older gentleman dressed for a business meeting and a second, somewhat younger man, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt.
Large, with craggy features, the younger of the two men was the first to speak. He extended his hand, and with a Scottish accent, said, “Hello. I’m Callum.” His handshake was exuberant and accompanied by a warm smile. “You’ll be Devlin Parker, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Hi. That’s right; I’m Devlin. How can I help you?” Devlin smiled. It was hard not to respond to the guy’s overt good humor.
The second man extended his hand. For some reason, Devlin was hesitant to grasp it. He shook off the odd sensation and grasped the man’s hand.
“Bedivere,” the older man said pleasantly enough. But then he continued to hold Devlin’s hand in a surprisingly firm grip for an uncomfortably long amount of time. When he finally let go, he said, “May we come in? We have a proposal for you.”
The Scot’s smile widened, as if he’d just gotten some good news.
Devlin stood firm, blocking the doorway. “If you have a legal question or a case for my firm, I can give you my admin’s number to set up an appointment.”
“This is a personal matter,” Bedivere said. “Concerning your illness.”
Devlin’s heart pumped into overdrive. “I’m not sure how you know, or what you want, but that is none of your business.” He didn’t raise his voice, but Callum took a step back nonetheless.
Bedivere placed a hand on his colleague’s arm. “I have a job offer for you. Take it, and you’ll be cured. We can discuss it further inside.”
He laughed. Bitter laughter, that these men—complete strangers—would torment a dying man with false promises. Laughter turned to anger. How had they found him? How did they know of his illness?
But even as he doubted the two men’s words, part of him felt a small flash of hope. His throat closed, and then the anger he’d felt for Bedivere and Callum turned inward. Why would he consider their foolish and impossible words? How could their fantastic claims stir hope when there was none for him? But…what if?
Which was just enough for him to let them in the door.
Bedivere didn’t delay. “We have an offer for you. A job with a seven-year commitment, excellent benefits, and one very enticing perk.” He paused, turning to Callum. “My friend here currently holds the position, and he’d like to retire. In order for him to do so, he has to find the next…ah, the next Grim Reaper.”
“Of course,” Devlin murmured. Mostly because he didn’t know how to respond. These guys might be dressed like normal people, but they were clearly psych ward escapees. Or he was being punked.
Callum shot him a sympathetic look. “I thought the same thing. I’m living, breathing proof. Stage four lung cancer ten years ago.”
Bedivere moved closer to the living room wall. “I belong to a council of individuals tasked with ensuring the position of Reaper is filled at all times.” He looked at the mirror hanging on the wall a few feet away. “Glenda, darling. Say something for the candidate, if you please.”
The mirror’s surface changed. It flattened, losing any reflective properties, and then it shimmered as a woman’s voice said, “Bedivere. I do have other responsibilities. Can you not find some other demonstration of magic?”
Bedivere watched Devlin closely. Ignoring her question he replied, “Thank you. Your cooperation is, as always, appreciated.”
Devlin lifted an eyebrow. He’d been married; he recognized Glenda’s tone and Bedivere’s response. If Glenda was his significant other, Bedivere was in trouble when he got home. If she wasn’t his wife, then the two had been working together for a very long time.
“It’s a nice show—but real magic?” Devlin touched the surface of the mirror and then tipped the frame slightly askew. “I’m sure there’s a trick. There’s always a trick. And, besides, there’s a huge flaw in your plan; I don’t have any magic.”
“No,” Bedivere said. “You don’t.”
“If the Grim Reaper,” Devlin indicated Callum with an inclination of his head, “If he’s got magic and I’m the new reaper, then the logical conclusion is that I have magic. But I know I don’t, and you’re even agreeing.”
“It’s true you don’t have magic.” Bedivere shifted his weight. “Accepting the position confers certain abilities. But they are tied to the execution of the reaper’s duties and ceded on retirement.”
“What about the cancer? You use…” Devlin closed his eyes and forced the word out. “magic to get rid of my cancer?”
“No.” In one word, Bedivere managed to convey both sadness and disappointment. As if magic had failed him. “The cure is simply a side-effect of the job, one that we discovered purely by accident some years ago. We can’t explain exactly how it happens—only that it does. But magic can’t be used to cure normal human illness.”
Normal human illness. That’s what he had, what was killing him. A normal human illness. It diminished the disease. Made cancer seem like a cold. He narrowed his eyes. “So what’s the connection between magic, the Grim Reaper, the council, and you?”
Bedivere sighed. “It’s complicated. I can tell you the position is recognized by magical people and those who live within our communities. And once you accept the position, you’ll receive certain unique skills—magical skills—that make the job possible, and over time all signs of your illness will vanish. Permanently.” Bedivere’s gaze veered away from Devlin to a photo on the wall. “Should you decide it’s appropriate, your daughter can be brought with you.”
Bedivere must have been convincing, because Devlin spent the next half hour discussing the specifics of the job with him.
Thirty minutes later, the flair of hope he’d felt earlier didn’t seem so foolish. Just maybe this chance was real. Just maybe he would live. Maybe magic was real. Maybe he could be the Grim Reaper.
Once acceptance seemed a viable option, the questions came. What was reaping? Cleanly cleaving the soul of humans from their mortal ties. What exactly did he have to do? Ensure that every soul was freed from the prison of its lifeless body exactly at the moment of death, guaranteeing a smooth and timely transition. A transition to where? On this question, the men were silent. Apparently, being the Grim Reaper didn’t give one any insights into the afterlife. How did they know he could do it? There were certain genetic markers, as well as a particular set of characteristics and talents, that each reaper candidate possessed.
His list of questions exhausted, the group lapsed into silence. It was a lot to process, assuming it was no hoax. Devlin couldn’t believe he was buying into the fantasy these men were weaving. But what a wonderful fantasy if it were true. His health for… what exactly?
“You said you were retiring?” Devlin asked Callum. “But not until you find a replacement.”
“That’s right. It’s in my employment contract.”
“You have an employment contract. For your job as the Grim Reaper.” Devlin had a
hard time reconciling the mundane nature of contract law with fantasy creatures.
“As it happens, most qualified people don’t actually want this job.” Bedivere looked put out by the fact. “Over the years, the council learned that by exploiting one, very peculiar, side-effect of the job—the immunity to illness that reapers develop—and targeting terminally ill candidates, the acceptance rate increased significantly, as did the success rate of the candidates. It’s a simple transaction: take the offer, commit to seven years on the job, and be cured.
Devlin couldn’t help but consider the possibilities, the most relevant of which was: he might live beyond the six months he’d been given by the doctors.
“And after seven years, my daughter and I would be free to return to our lives?” Devlin asked.
“Well, there’s a catch,” Callum said. “After seven years you can retire to build a new life. But you can’t return to your former life. Very few people will retain their memory of you after you accept the position. Another side-effect of the job.”
As soon as the Reaper had said, “there’s a catch,” Devlin had been a step closer to believing it was real—the offer, the job, magic. There was always a catch in real life. “Let’s have a look at that contract.”
Chapter 1
Glenda had reservations about a face-to-face meeting, but she’d agreed with Bedivere that she’d do it. Since Bedivere was basically her boss, here she was, in the parking lot of her favorite donut shop. She sniffed. She was no coward. She checked her make-up, then exited the car and marched to the entrance.
Her appointment had already arrived and was sitting in the back corner of the empty shop with a coffee. She recognized him immediately from their one previous face-to-face meeting months ago.
As she approached, he stood up. At least he had some manners. That always helped. In matchmaking, it was important to note all of the advantages of one’s subject. She smothered a sigh. Especially if that subject was the Grim Reaper.
She smiled as she extended her hand, surprised at how natural the expression felt. Dark hair, tall, handsome but not to the point of painful perfection, dressed casually but not too casually, relaxed, and friendly. In sum, the Reaper was a man who put people at ease. She didn’t remember that from their initial meeting—but it had been a rather stressful moment. Souls incorrectly released from their mortal bodies had been trapped in Limbo, and converging around the reaper and—since she was only feet from him—herself. Yes, it had been stressful with a dash of terrifying.
“Hi, I’m Devlin,” he said as he shook her hand.
Firm, but not over-firm. He shook hands with her much as she expected he’d shake hands with a man. She allowed the smile that had played about her lips to blossom. She did like him, and he’d hardly said a word. Unexpected, since she hadn’t run any numbers on him. She’d preferred to save her magical mathematic equations for a more specific purpose than spying on her prospective client. “Glenda. Lovely to meet you.” After he’d returned to his seat, she added, “How may I help you?”
“Would you like a drink?” His eyes crinkled when he asked, “Or a donut?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Glenda leaned a little over the table and quietly said, “Perhaps not a typical meeting place, but the donuts are quite good and there’s rarely anyone here. I come sometimes to work on my laptop. They have the internet.”
“I see. I understood you were somewhat opposed to technology.” He showed the slightest hint of teeth as he spoke, giving away the smile he was trying to hide.
But Glenda didn’t feel laughed at. This man’s amusement was warm and open. And suddenly she could see him as the reaper. It was a kindness to separate a living soul from a body that had become nothing more than a prison. And she could see that Devlin Parker was a kind man. She did enjoy her job so much more when the clients were likable people.
She gave her head a small shake. “I do abhor cell phones, but I use email.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, well, my daughter missed that, obviously. Probably never thought to ask once she learned you had no mobile.”
“How is Zelda doing?”
Fatherly pride practically shone from his eyes. “Very well. It looks like she might become a florist in the near future. Since arranging flowers makes her happy and the work environment is positive, I couldn’t be more thrilled.” He gave her a knowing look. “She and Mark are getting along fabulously. He’s good for her. Grounded and responsible. Supportive.”
“But not pushy or demanding.” Glenda nodded. “I thought they’d be a lovely match.”
“Thank you for whatever it is that you did.” He paused, giving her a considering look. “She thinks you passed on the case and stood her up. I’m well aware the truth is more complicated.”
“I facilitated a second meeting between Zelda and Mark. Barely a nudge, hardly even interfering.” She waved a hand, dismissing with one gesture the hours of calculations she’d done to find just the right match.
“You facilitated a second meeting with the right man. I’m more grateful than I can say.”
Glenda felt a little warm glow. Rarely did she receive outright thanks for her matchmaking. Not that seeing couples happily matched wasn’t sufficient reward, but it was a very pleasant change for her actions to be recognized.
Glenda straightened in her chair, assuming a more businesslike demeanor. “But what can I do for you?”
His demeanor changed as well, but not to match her own. He looked sad. “You’re aware of the memory wipe that takes place after a human accepts the job as reaper?”
“I am, but I don’t believe it’s a wipe. This is a hypothesis, but I think the memory loss is gradual. As you remove yourself from your old life and then begin to move differently through space and time, your former life fades away. But the people with whom you have regular contact hold on to both the past and present versions of you.”
Devlin ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re right, I wish someone had explained that from the outset.”
“Well, it’s a theory, and as of yet unproven. The Reaper position and the powers and side-effects of the position have always been clouded in mystery. The council has learned certain pieces of information through repeated experience, but I don’t believe even they have a clear understanding of certain aspects.” Glenda’s lips twisted. “Certainly, common magical folk like myself have even less knowledge. So if the council didn’t inform you…perhaps I’m mistaken.”
Devlin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s already done. The woman I love has no memory of me.”
Glenda flipped through her mental file on the Reaper. There wasn’t much information. “Not your ex-wife, then, since you’re still in touch.”
“No. That was a complicated relationship—for both of us. The only love I have for my ex is as the mother of my child.” He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “If I’d known…well, I’d have reached out to her. Dropped a Christmas card every year, something, no matter how odd it would have seemed to her. Now, well, now I don’t know what to do. I’m retiring—finally. I’ve found a replacement who looks promising. There are a few more details to work out and then I’m a free man—but free to do what?”
“Who are we talking about? Who should you have stayed in touch with?” Glenda knew better than to become emotionally attached to her clients. Sometimes unpredictable factors came into play and the math didn’t quite work out. It was best to be removed from the situation when that happened. But Devlin struck a particularly sympathetic—maybe even motherly—cord in her.
He pressed his lips together. “My first love. My high school sweetheart. Felicity and I were close through high school and dated all through college.” He ran a hand through thick dark hair with silver-streaked temples. “You think you have forever, you know?”
“What happened?”
“We made it through college, but then there was law school. And her family wouldn’t support a marriage while I was still in school
. I don’t know. Maybe she got tired of waiting. Met someone else. Decided she was too young to be in a committed relationship. I just don’t know.” Devlin took a drink of his coffee. “We split up near the end of my first year of law school.”
Glenda could feel herself being reeled in. “And you want to reconnect with her now. Is she even available?”
He tipped his head. “That depends on what you mean. She’s not married and hasn’t been in a long time. Otherwise, I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I don’t want to disrupt her life if she’s happy in a relationship.”
“And?” Glenda clasped her hands together on the table.
“Right. And I’d like for her to remember. Is there any hope?”
She considered his question. “There’s always hope. But in this instance, your hope should be for a new beginning. You can’t recover what’s been lost. Those memories can’t be retrieved. This isn’t a curse or a nasty prank by a new witch. You’ve been manipulating time, and that has serious repercussions.”
Devlin laughed, showing the first signs of bitterness. “I can’t believe my ex-wife remembers every last disagreement, every scored point, every time I lost my temper. But the love of my life has absolutely no memory of me.”
“Again, this was all included in your employment contract. The agreement was to be made quite clear. Do you feel the terms were obfuscated in some way?” Glenda knew the answer, but she hoped the question would prod him into recognizing the reality of his circumstances.
He blew out a harsh breath. “No. Callum and Bedivere explained it. But…” Weary eyes stared deep into hers. “That was a lifetime ago.”
Many lifetimes, in fact. Because Glenda had some understanding of the time manipulation required to ensure his job was completed in a timely fashion each day. “Why now?” She hadn’t done the math, so might as well ask.