Page 32 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“Yes, there is. I don’t know how you get your nose all—” She grimaced and scrunched her nose. It was alarmingly cute. “Because you don’t have a nose, but you do it all the same. And if you haven’t seen this great friend for a hundred years because you’re busy, then I get to be judgmental.”

Fair. He said, “Your temper is more volatile than usual this morning.”

She glared at him and took a final bite of the bagel. She tossed the remainder to Bones, who snatched it midair and swallowed it before her paws hit the ground. She wiped her hands on her trousers and pulled out a phone from her bag and frowned.

“We need to talk,” she said.

GERI

Nearly Departed ETA 8:25.

First, holy smokes, how disrespectful. Second, what?

“The time changed,” she said, slipping the ghost phone back into the hoodie pocket.

“That can happen. There are many moving pieces,” Bazel replied.

“But if management knows who is going to die and where, why did they get the time wrong?” What kind of slipshod metaphysical organization was she working for?

“Details change but the outcome remains the same.”

Lame. That sounded very akin to his infamous I don’t know.

“Things will balance out, given enough time,” he said, as if sensing her doubts.

“So we just wait?” she asked.

“Reaping is an exercise in patience.”

“Easy for you to say. I have a nine-to-five.”

“You are currently on vacation, and when you must return, your work is remote. No one will notice.”

Geri had no idea what her face looked like—currently a sickly green under her makeup and giving a ton of side eye—but the reaper gently added, “I am aware of how the modern world works.”

“So a couple of things. Being remote is an option and I’m on medical leave, not vacation. Meaning I should be home, resting.” A routine of sleeping in late, making herself a little breakfast, and then taking a post-breakfast nap on the couch had developed. It was great. Her body was exhausted. She needed the rest. However, she couldn’t deny that getting up and moving her body was beneficial. Everything was stiff and ached, which stretching and walking could fix.

The walk around the park was good. It was just enough movement to work the stiffness out of her muscles. When she got back to her apartment, she had a quality nap with her cat. Fiddlesticks was a nap professional.

This nonsense? This was a text message at six in the morning giving her two hours to get across the city to collect a soul. That meant showering, dressing, dashing out of the apartment with her bike, and hoping the morning rush wasn’t a problem. She had a commute. Stopping for coffee and a bagel at Reading Terminal Market before getting on the subway was the only bright spot.

Now she lurked. She had a spot at the corner of a narrow street, within eyesight of a busy street. There was a smoothie cart on one corner. Part of the sidewalk was cordoned off for construction, forcing traffic into one lane. No one was happy about that.

This sucked. Waiting for her doomed soul to wander by needed more compensation than a bagel. Maybe a return trip to the Reading Market for a loaf of crusty bread and a pretzel from the Amish place would even out the balance. Geri fully believed in the miraculous properties of carbs to fix what ailed her.

“Work is going to notice if I’m away from my desk,” she said, taking another sip of coffee.

“You’re a pessimist.”

Caught mid-drink, she snorted and nearly spat out her coffee. The living embodiment of death did not just accuse her of being a pessimist. With crumbled napkins, she cleaned up her dribble around her lips. “Aren’t you a pitch black ray of sunshine?”

“I chose you because I believe in you. Now hush and do your job.”

Geri rolled her eyes. A passerby in a sharply tailored suit gave her a concerned glance.

Whatever. Lurking in an alley and talking to invisible people was perfectly normal.

“How will I know who is the nearly departed?” The handbook had been vague on that.