Page 44 of How to Survive Your Own Death

That was what her gut wanted, and she was too exhausted to be a better person.

“Really? They can’t be changed at all, Mr. Poe Was In My Book Several Times? There’s absolutely no wiggle room on that?”

The sun passed behind a cloud and the world grew darker. “He died in Baltimore.”

“Right, but he almost died here. A lot, according to you. Why is that?” she asked in a falsely sweet tone.

“That is different.”

“Different because he was your friend?”

“Different because I did not manipulate circumstances to give him another handful of days,” he snapped.

“So we can avert a death.”

This seemed to tip him over the edge from grouchy grim reaper to full on wrathful reaper. Bones whined, sinking low to the ground with her tail tucked tight against her body.

An imperceptible wind blew, catching his cloak and yanking back his hood.

A skeletal face stared out. Empty sockets for eyes, yet they were dark and luminous. A grin. A meaningless grin of all teeth because he had no lips. No mouth. Nothing. He was empty, just a collection of bones in a tattered cloak.

“There are consequences to meddling with fate. It is not for mortals,” he said, his voice reverberating in her chest.

“Do as I say, not as I do. Got it,” she said and pantomimed a yawn because she was tired of this. Of him. Of being a reaper. Of the whole situation, really. “Resurrect dead girls without impunity, but you can’t have the common mortals saving lives.”

“Do not shirk your responsibilities.”

Yeah, she wasn’t having any of that.

Geri’s eyebrows shot right up. “My responsibilities? You mean the thing you shove on me without my consent because you were in a pickle? This debt I have to pay off that I never asked for?”

“You would be dead without my intervention.”

That again.

Her fists clenched and the damn phone vibrated again. “Don’t toss that in my face. That is not the trump card you think it is.”

“It is a fact.”

She wanted to scream. Actually, she wanted to say fuck it and quit. The only thing that kept her from walking away was the memory of the poor dead barista lurching back to life as her soul tried to reanimate her body. Tearing open the veil was the only way to prevent that from happening again, and only she could punch a hole in the universe.

The phone vibrated again.

Thank you for the successful collection of a soul. Please complete this survey.

Paperwork? Bazel was a big ol’ liar because clearly she was dead and this was hell.

She grabbed the phone and tossed it into traffic, where it was immediately crushed under the wheels of a passing car. Before she could feel a bit of satisfaction, the weight of the phone returned to her pocket.

“Listen up, buttercup,” she said, spinning toward Bazel and jabbing a finger at his chest. The tip of her finger was cold as she almost connected with something. Almost. “Stop throwing that in my face. Yeah, I would be dead. That sucks. But you know what? If you had just said, ‘You’re in a spot of bother. Would you like my help?’ The answer would have been yes. But you didn’t even ask. You just stood there and waited until I was dead and then did your thing, and that makes you an asshole!”

Her chest heaved and she had a vague sense of awareness of being watched. She was so fucking furious, she didn’t care. Let people stare. A woman screaming at no one on the street added color to the urban landscape.

“You are being emotional,” he said, his voice as cold as the air around him.

“You think? I just stood by and watched a second man die in as many days. It’s traumatic as fuck and I need a bit of compassion, not a lecture on rules and paperwork.” The phone was back in her pocket. She threw it to the ground and stomped as hard as she could. It was a futile act. The phone would return like a curse, but the crunch of a busted screen provided some satisfaction.

“The rules cannot be defied without serious consequences.”