Page 4 of Grim Tidings

“What did Brian want?” she asks while I’m busy counting steps, trying to remember where I am.

“His name is Brad,” I answer, distracted.

“Whatever.” Her lips press together. “Was he trying to touch your scythe again?”

I clutch it tighter to my body. “He does seem preoccupied with the specifics of becoming a Reaper. He said he wanted to come to the assignment room.”

Aelia stops; I almost mow her tiny body down. “He asked you that?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I don’t trust him.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t go to the break room.”

Before us, the door to the assignment room looms at the end of the hall. My chest tightens. I don’t want to do this, I think wearily, the blade across my shoulder feeling like a thousand pounds. I’m so tired of death.

“How long has he been a Ferryman? A month?” Aelia scoffs. “A month. And he thinks he can get in front of the tree.”

“You were in front of the tree on your first day.”

“Yes, well.” She examines her nails. They’re painted a pastel pink. She has flower decals on every other finger. “I’m special.”

I snort a laugh. “That you are.”

We come to a stop in front of the last unmarked door. Two ornate sconces anchor either side, matching flames that never extinguish. The handle is a burnished brass, curved in the shape of a scythe. I stare at it, knowing I should already be inside.

But I hesitate.

Aelia tilts her head up and gives me a curious look. “What’s going on with you?”

I debate lying, but Aelia has always been able to see right through me. “I don’t know.”

I don’t know how to describe this itchy, uncomfortable feeling that crawls through my bloodstream. A tug, right at the base of my skull. It’s as if I’ve misplaced something. Like there’s something I’m supposed to remember.

“Do you ever—” I pause, trying to untangle my thoughts.

“What?” she snaps, impatient as always.

“Do you ever get tired of this work?” I ask carefully, pulling at the string that loops around all my most persistent thoughts. “Do you ever wish … you were with a different office?”

Aelia blinks at me. Pale blue eyes in a perfect cherub face, with the knowledge of a thousand lives coursing through her tiny body. “Our work is the most important in the department,” she says.

“Yeah.” Disappointment curls in my gut. I don’t know what I was hoping for. “Yeah, of course. I know that.”

“We are the most powerful beings in existence,” she continues, her young voice ringing with finality. “We represent death, Darcy. We cannot take that lightly.”

But I want to take it lightly. I’m tired of the doom and gloom and the tears and the bargaining. I don’t want to be there at the final moments. I want—I want the middle ones. Lazy mornings in bed and cups of coffee gone cold. Flowers in bloom and lipstick smudged on the edge of a glass. A single candle wedged crooked in buttercream icing. Towels fresh from the dryer and junk mail shoved through a crack in the door.

My entire existence is defined by the end. I want the beginning back.

But a Grim Reaper who’s tired of death? That sounds like the punch line of a bad joke.

Aelia straightens, her face brightening. “You know what you need?”

A vacation, probably. One of those sensory-deprivation tanks, maybe. For everyone to stop telling me what I need, definitely. The flames on either side of the door flare then settle, as if they can sense my mood.

I narrow my eyes and try to redirect my thoughts somewhere neutral. Just in case.