Page 38 of How to Survive Your Own Death

She threw out the biggest bomb she had. “Who took your scythe?”

His shoulders went back and his body—or the suggestion of one under the cloak, as it were—tensed.

“You know who took it, right? Or did you lose it?” Geri asked. “Pretty careless of you.”

“You are provoking me.”

“I’m asking questions. You’re incorporeal, so it doesn’t make sense that some rando took it. They’d need some flavor of paranormal to touch it, I think.” She paused, as if thinking. “A ghost? Were you mugged by a ghost?”

She really was flinging any old shit out there, wasn’t she?

“I was not mugged,” he said, irritation in his voice. “Nor was I careless and lost my scythe.”

“You claim it was stolen, but I wonder. Did you lose it gambling?” She tilted her head to one side. Bones rose to her feet and copied the move. “Not going to lie, that’s disappointing. Once, my ex—you know, Patrick—lost our rent money at the track. Talk about a red flag, and I still stayed with him.”

“I was not gambling, and I will not be judged by you,” he said.

“Yesterday I watched a man die. I didn’t like it, Bazel.” And he put her in that position, giving her the authority to judge him.

“You are not required to enjoy the work. It is better for your soul if you do not.”

Well, that wasn’t comforting at all, although she didn’t think comfort was his aim.

It wasn’t the gore, although that was nightmare fuel; it was the standing around and waiting for the inevitable when every fiber in her being screamed to do something. To help. To prevent it.

“I can’t stand around and do nothing,” she said, every word true.

“The man’s fate was sealed. It was inescapable.”

She snorted. “No. Management sent a text and that sealed that guy’s fate.”

It felt inescapable, like the cogs in a machine whirling into unstoppable motion, but she suspected it was entirely escapable. What happened yesterday wasn’t fate. She knew soul-crushing bureaucracy when she saw it.

“You are making wild assumptions based on incomplete information,” he said.

“I am, huh? Then why don’t you fill me in?”

“That would violate confidentiality. It is in the handbook.”

This was aggravating but effective. The last thing she wanted to do was contemplate a relationship with the reaper. Her crush was officially over.

“You know where your scythe is?” she asked.

“Certainly.”

“Then let’s go,” she said. “I’d like you gone ASAP and you can’t leave until you have your scythe back, so let’s do it. I can grab my bike or get a taxi. I’ll splurge, just this once.”

“It is not that simple,” Bazel said.

“Sure it is. I’ll use my grabby mortal hands and grab.” She flexed her fingers to demonstrate her grabbing skills.

“They are too powerful.” The words sounded as if they were difficult to confess. “Seraphina is a wraith.”

“A ghost stole your scythe.”

“Nothing so simplistic as a simple ghost. A wraith. A mortal soul that did not cross the veil and subsequently soured and rotted. They are, categorically, vengeful spirits.”

“A super ghost. Fantastic.” Geri fell back onto the sofa. “How do we even fight a basic ghost?”