Page 29 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“One last question,” she said, licking the melting ice cream that dribbled down her hand.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Wow, that’s an awful lot of attitude for someone who hasn’t apologized for this mess.”

A woman passing by gave Geri a concerned look.

Geri took a lick of the cone and waited. She didn’t have to explain herself. Once the woman was sufficiently far away, she said, “Would you like a taste?”

“I cannot.”

“Not even if I hold it? Will that bring it close enough to the veil for you to have a bite?” They had touched, briefly. “When I jabbed your chest, I felt something.”

He was silent, as if contemplating. “It would serve no purpose.”

“Well, I could argue that food and culinary traditions create a bridge between the generations and with the culture as a whole. It nourishes our body and our spirit. Food tells a story,” she said, repeating something she heard on a documentary.

“And what story does ice cream tell?”

“Well, modern ice cream was invented in Philadelphia, for one. The oldest ice cream company in the country is here. It’s hot. I deserve a sweet treat. Mostly it tastes good. That’s the story. Now, do you want a lick or not?”

His face just shadows over bones, but she knew he raised an eyebrow as if amused. She had no idea how he could be so expressive without eyebrows, or even skin.

She rolled her eyes in response and swiped a finger through the top of the cone. Chocolate and vanilla ice cream clung to her finger as she offered it to him.

“Live a little,” she said, pushing her finger against his mouth. Well, his skeletal grin and the gaping black void where lips and a mouth would be.

He opened his mouth and she could feel the warm interior, briefly, and then the touch of a tongue.

Geri gasped, certain she imagined the sensation.

“It is cold,” Bazel said, sounding surprised.

“It is ice cream. The clue is in the name.” She shouldn’t give him a hard time. He said he didn’t consume food and she shoved her finger in his mouth.

“It is agreeable.”

Geri finished her cone before it melted, savoring the chocolate and vanilla swirl. A bit of melted ice cream trickled down the back of her hand. She licked it, momentarily forgetting she had an audience.

“It’s sticky,” she explained. “So you don’t eat? Like at all?”

“Not mortal food.”

“Rainbows and sunshine? Puppies?” she asked in a teasing tone. “Is it souls?”

He did something and it was like his eyes darted nervously from side to side. Again, no actual eyeballs, so it was weird.

“It is! You eat souls.”

“It is complicated. I have always⁠—”

“Been thus,” Geri intoned over him and laughed, momentarily forgetting about the debt, her death, the complicated nature of Bazel’s existence, and how he changed her life in an instant. This was nice, enjoying an ice cream in the park with her invisible friend. Almost ordinary.

It’d be nice if it could last.

BAZEL

He had always been thus.