Page 18 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“I am from the seventeenth century. I did not recently arrive from then,” her reaper said.

Paused at a traffic light, Geri planted both feet on the pavement. Bones took the opportunity to shove her head between Geri and the handlebars, demanding pets.

She obliged, marveling at how an imaginary dog’s fur felt as soft as a cloud, and said, “Fine. Not a time traveler, just the immortal personification of death.”

“I am mortal. My life will end the same as yours—it is merely longer. From your perspective it may seem like immortality, but that is only because your life is too brief to perceive the effects of time upon my person. You are like a mayfly to me,” he said. He then added, for some reason, “I imagine it is how your cat perceives you.”

Wow. Just wow. This figment of her injured brain managed to be both rude and depressing.

“Don’t drag Fiddlesticks’ good name into this,” she said, pedaling off as the light changed and determined to stop arguing with herself. Her calves protested from the exercise but she knew that the benefits outweighed temporary discomfort. Besides, riding a few blocks to the market for milk wasn’t the same thing as doing a century— a 100 km— whatever extreme shenanigans cycling enthusiasts did for fun.

“You forgot your phone,” he said. The phone in question sat in the front basket.

“Let me take care of that.” Geri reached forward and flung it into traffic. “Look at that, it’s been handled.”

The phone had not been handled. Bright and early the next morning, Bazel and Bones were waiting in the kitchen. The blasted phone sat on the table.

Bones crouched down into a playful pose, tail wagging, and crawled forward toward the cat until they were nearly nose to nose.

Fiddlesticks hissed and swiped at the dog’s nose before running away, likely to her preferred hiding spot in the bedroom closet.

“Your cat has a nervous disposition,” Bazel said.

“She’s shy and you’re strangers in her territory.” Geri headed toward the coffeemaker. Hot brown juice waited for her as she remembered to set it up the night before. “Don’t you have a home? Why are you always at my place?”

“Interesting that the cat reacts to beings you claim are hallucinations,” he said, not answering her question.

She paused, carafe poised over her mug. That was an annoyingly good point. She said, “Must have been picking up on my body language. I freaked out, therefore she freaked out.”

The reaper made a doubtful noise.

“You know what?” she asked, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and shutting the door a bit too hard. “For being a grim reaper and not the grim reaper, you’re very Eurocentric, Bazel. Seems limiting when there are so many other, more interesting reapers in the world.”

“My physical appearance is based on your own cultural paradigm,” he replied with ease. “If you find this manifestation uninspired, that says more about you than about me.”

Damn. That was savage, although she had no idea where her subconscious dragged cultural paradigm from.

She finished making her coffee palatable and put bread in the toaster. “Can we have a truce? No bothering me when I have dinner with Molly and Anh tonight. We can argue about you being real or a hallucination tomorrow. I need to focus and not freak people out by talking to myself.”

His bony fingers drummed on the tabletop. “Very well, but I will no longer be able to delay your obligations. The work begins tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 6

GERI

True to his word, Geri did not see Bazel or his dog while she had dinner at Molly and Anh’s. The auras—as pretty as they had been—were gone. She felt like herself. Sore, stiff, and bruised, but herself.

The next morning, they were still absent. This called for a celebration: fancy coffee with lots of caramel. Nothing said hooray the hallucinations are gone like caffeine delivered with sugar. The walk helped ease the stiffness in her muscles and the air was crisp but not too chilly. Then she’d take a nap and maybe actually enjoy her time off before having to return to work.

A perfect day.

Bazel and Bones waited outside the café, like a storm cloud ready to ruin her perfect day.

“You have an appointment,” he said instead of greeting her.

“Not now,” she said, holding up a hand. This was her favorite coffee shop and now it was ruined. Every time she came back, she’d associate her reaper delusion with the slices of lemon poundcake in the display case. Actually, she should get a slice.

Bones followed Geri right up to the counter and honed in immediately on the glass jar of free dog biscuits. Despite sitting, she was eye level with the jar.