Page 19 of How to Survive Your Own Death

Glowing red eyes.

“Your dog has to be on a leash,” the barista said.

“Sorry?”

The barista pointed to a “Pets Welcome” sign on the counter. “Store policy. Your dog had to be on a leash,” she repeated, sounding bored.

“You can see the dog?”

“Lady, your dog is impossible to miss.” Actually, the barista didn’t look bored. She looked exhausted, like she was about to fall asleep on her feet. Her aura flicked green and gold, leaving a trail behind her as she moved.

Geri blinked and rubbed her eyes. No, no, no. The hallucinations were gone.

Bones did not care about Geri’s mini crisis of reality. Her tongue lolled, as if pleased to be part of the conversation.

“Do you want a pup cup or something?” the barista asked.

Bones’s entire body vibrated. She gave Geri a look that demanded a pup cup immediately.

“Umm, yeah. She’d like one,” Geri said and gave her usual order, sans poundcake.

While they waited, Bones nudged her arm and returned to staring at the jar of treats.

“Fine, greedyguts.”

The pup cup arrived. Bones stretched up and retrieved the cup, daintily holding it in her massive, ominous jaws.

“Interesting dog. What breed is she?” the barista asked.

An ill omen.

She didn’t say that. That was unhinged and she was trying her best to keep it together. Grabbing her latte, she sputtered, “Sorry, she’s not my dog.”

Thoughts came to her one at a time, stacking on top of one another.

Someone else could see the dog.

She wasn’t hallucinating.

Bones was real.

Bazel was real.

She died, had been brought back, and now owed a debt to the grim reaper. A grim reaper, if everything he told her was true.

Understanding did not bring peace. Her heart pounded. She felt sweaty and lightheaded. She liked it much better when she thought her brain was bleeding. This was real and came with complications.

Bazel waited outside, near an empty table. Bones parked herself under the table and consumed her pup cup in one gulp.

“You!” Geri marched toward him. A phone buzzed in her pocket. Impossibly, it was important to note.

“Fucking thing,” she muttered, withdrawing the phone. The screen flashed with a message. “I left this at home, and these pockets aren’t even deep enough for a breath mint—how the hell is it here, and why can the barista see your dog?”

His cowl moved to the side, as if curious. “She saw the portent?”

“Yeah. That means she’s going to die, doesn’t it?” She waved the phone at him. “Doesn’t it?”

“You know the answer to that question. You’ve received the same message.”