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Fourteen
Continual and consistent ensoulment was tiring work. Bunny wasn’t entirely sure what time it was when she fell asleep, but it was still dark outside of her bedroom window when she woke up again. A quick glance at her watch told her it 7 pm, meaning she had slept through the night and the following day. Her stomach growled its confirmation and she rolled off the bed to make for the bathroom. At last count, she had managed to get herself up to about three hundred souls at once, but counting souls, it seemed, was just as similar as counting sheep.
Maybe next time she’d try it sitting on the couch instead of lying in bed.
Not a bad idea, she congratulated herself, heading into the kitchen to rustle up something quick and easy for dinner. She was halfway through devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich over the sink to avoid crumbs on the floor when a sharp knock at her door made her jump. Shoving the remainder of the sandwich into her mouth and chewing like a hog to swallow it before she fiddled with the deadlocks, Bunny managed to croak, “It’s not like you to knock,” assuming it would be Death as she wrenched the door open.
Ben and Death stood on her doorstop, almost shoulder to shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat for a second, only jumping back to a normal rhythm when she remembered that Ben couldn’t see the specter standing next to him. She took another breath, forcing her eyes onto her brother even though she could clearly see Death’s bemused smirk in the corner of her vision.
“I always knock,” Ben said with the flicker of a frown, pretending to sound injured. “My mama raised me right. My sister, on the other hand, was raised in a barn.” He peered past Bunny into her apartment, a cheeky spark in his eyes. “You expectin’ someone else, Bun?”
“No,” she lied, stepping out the door to wrap her baby brother in an impromptu hug. “Just surprised is all!”
She rested her chin on Ben’s shoulder and glared sideways at Death. One of his brows was perched higher than the other, his lips in a slanted line that denoted curiosity. But the strangest thing was that there, in the depths of his gaze, she could swear she saw just a hint of jealousy. Not that Bunny cared. Her brother could visit her anytime he damn well pleased.
“Come back later,” she mouthed to Death, who first looked offended and then imperiously slipped around the hugging siblings.
Shit.
The gratitude she’d felt for him showing her the ropes of inter-dimensional travel and the thrill of him lying so close to her on the bed went up in smoke as her indignation at his blatant rudeness took the reins.
“I wasn’t sure you’d open the door,” Ben admitted in a low voice as they broke from their hug.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bunny asked, scared for a second that he could read her mind. She looked up at him as she pulled away, realizing he meant because of the way they had left things when she’d been in Mosswood the day before. “It was just a talk. Don’t worry about it.”
Ben rubbed the back of his neck, a sure-fire tell for when he was feeling sheepish. “Well, I do worry about it,” he grimaced. “We’re all the family we got, you, me and Dad. We shouldn’t spend our time arguin’.”
Hearing Ben say those words softened Bunny’s heart more than just a little. Her burning desire to find out just exactly what had happened to their mom hadn’t dimmed one iota but being reminded of her only remaining family did bring things into perspective a little better.
“You’re right,” she admitted, shaking her head with resignation as she looked up at her baby brother. “I’m sorry.”
“So’m I,” Ben said, smiling back before he nodded at her open apartment door. “Now. Any chance of a sandwich?”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to invite Ben in. It was that she didn’t want to invite him in while Death was lingering around inside like week-old garbage. But she didn’t really have a choice. It was dinner time. Ben had obviously come straight down to Atlanta after his shift at the Go-Go, and he always crashed on her couch whenever he was in the city. She couldn’t very well come up with an excuse to kick her own brother out—and she didn’t want to, either.
Caught in a no-win situation, Bunny rolled her eyes at Ben and hoped she seemed her usual sisterly self as she led him into the apartment.
“What did your last slave die of?” she asked, the way their mom used to whenever the kids were being a little too lazy for her liking. She nodded at the bread still sitting on the counter and reached for the coffee pot instead. “You can make it yourself,” she added. “I’m exhausted.”
She was keenly aware that their every word was being assessed. From her position just by the sink in the kitchen, Bunny could almost see the edge of the couch through the gap beneath her upper cupboards and the counter. Ducking down slightly brought more of the couch into view. Inch by inch, Bunny pushed herself into a strange squat, coffee pot in hand, as she tried to see exactly what Death was doing in her living room.
A long leg swathed in black was clearly visible, one booted foot resting atop the opposite knee. It jiggled impatiently, as though it belonged to someone at a doctor’s office awaiting an appointment, rather than an immortal interloper who for some reason thought he enjoyed more privileges in her apartment than he did.
“You do look tired,” Ben was saying, making Bunny straighten hastily.
“That code for telling me I look like shit?” she asked defensively, finally dumping the old coffee down the drain before she rinsed the carafe and filled it with fresh water.
“Not really,” he smirked, dancing out of the way of his sister’s playful swat as he buttered his bread.
“Uh-huh,” Bunny mumbled, playing up to his teasing as she finished preparing fresh coffee. “What are you doing here, anyway? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you.”
Ben’s answering silence immediately made Bunny feel nervous. For a couple of seconds, the only sounds in the kitchen were the noise of the coffee pot beginning to warm up and the gentle clink of Ben’s knife against the inside of her peanut butter jar.
“I needed to talk to you, actually.”
“What about?” She turned to face him, drawn in so much by the seriousness of his tone that she forgot all about trying to wind Death up. “Must be something serious, if it dragged you away from the home fires.”
Her brother pressed his lips into a thin line of resignation, before tipping his head to the right. “I spoke to Dad,” he said eventually. “About exhuming Mom for an autopsy.”
