by Riley Archer
I matched his sip with a gulp. Wow, that was bitter. “It hasn’t been bad. Easy to acclimate in a place like this.” Shit. Was that flattery? I took another gulp, which did nothing to wash away the acidic tang coating my tongue.
My cheeks felt suddenly warm, and my skin was beginning to buzz. Note to self: being part spirit matter did nothing for alcoholic tolerance.
“Where did you grow up?” Atlas’s glass clinked on the table.
Why is he being so inquisitive? I narrowed my eyes and bit the edge of my cup. “You know the answer to that question, don’t you?”
He crossed one ankle over his knee. “I know the paper answer, yes.”
After another glug, I said, “Papers are wordier than I am.” Maybe not true, but I wasn’t interested in talking about jumping from foster home to foster home. Not even if it’d get him off his couch. “Where did you grow up?” I countered and then blurted, “Better yet, where did you die?”
It wasn’t a boring question, but it was a bold one. In reaper culture, it was taboo to ask.
Atlas didn’t appear affronted. “In this very city.”
Shoot. I sucked my teeth. I wanted to know how he’d died, not where.
I numbly nodded my head, distracted by the delicious warmth branching across my body. This wine tasted like fermented dirt, but it settled nicely.
Atlas tapped the side of his retrieved glass. “Since we broached the matter, I have to say that your death was curious. For a reaper, I mean.”
Just like that, all my tingly warmness was swept up in cold discomfort. I did my best not to let it show. “True. Not many murder victims are recruited.”
“Tanaka was questioned deeply for that decision. Moved out of recruiting so that his fate hung with yours. But tracking your performance in the agency, it seems the judgment against him was misgiven.”
Huh? Otto’s promotion to Grim was a form of punishment? Because of me?
I downed the rest of the wine and set the glass down. “I hope to continue on that trajectory. Speaking of, nothing to report for Gerry Schneider. He transitioned seamlessly.”
“I heard. Very good. Have you eaten?”
I thought of my half-eaten gyro. It’d been so long since I felt truly hungry that I was surprised when my stomach gurgled. I frowned and poked at the noisy thing.
The Command Coordinator chuckled. It was a surprising sound. “I forget. This is part of the curriculum at the Academy. Being rooted in the physical realm, your human side is dominant. Meaning your fleshly urges will return in full force.”
“Fleshly urges?” I made a face. “That’s a weird way to say I’m going to get hangry.”
“Let’s prevent that, shall we?” Atlas stood and held out his hand.
When he was partly hunched over, gravity exposed bands of muscle beneath the unbuttoned fabric of his shirt. A hot flutter wound through my core, and I forced myself to meet his eye. I accepted his hand, and he pulled me up. One tiny trip and our chests would be touching.
Dear Lord, he smelled good.
Dear Lord, fleshly urges didn’t just mean food.
Of course I thought Atlas was conventionally attractive; he could sell any product with his symmetrical face slapped next to it. But he was tightly wound upper management and only spoke to me because I might be useful. If it wasn’t for my RC Form 5000 report, he might not know me as anything other than the murdered recruit Otto Tanaka had staked his reputation on. I shouldn’t have any kind of reaction to this guy. But now that I’d had one, I couldn’t shut it up.
As I followed him to the kitchen, I swallowed dryly and thanked the sweet universe that it wasn’t Otto with me right now. If Atlas had me practically panting, Otto would be defending himself against unprovoked advances.
Atlas gazed into the fully stocked refrigerator. “What’s your favorite meal?”
I shrugged. “Whatever’s available.”
“There has to be something you miss. Close your eyes.”
Not looking at him would be good for my inner temperature, so I listened.
“You walk into a restaurant that smells like the most delicious blend of spices that’s ever graced your senses. You’re at home as you walk in; you know this place won’t disappoint. You take a seat, and a covered plate is set before you. You lift the lid and gasp in excitement. What are you looking at?”
“Macaroni and cheese!” I shouted like it was the correct answer on a game show.
I doubted Atlas would think it was the right answer. He seemed like the kind of guy who ate filet mignon on the regular. I expected to see judgment swirling in his hazel eyes when I opened mine, but I saw a pop of delight instead.
“Dry pasta is up there.” Atlas pointed at a cabinet and then retrieved two pots.
He handed one to me; I dumped the shells in the cool water since I wasn’t patient enough to wait for it to boil. From his armload of ingredients, Atlas passed me a crispy bunch of chives. I gave him a weird look—because green stuff on macaroni? But he pretended not to notice. He melted butter in the smaller pot with milk and blocks of cheddar. I grabbed a cutting board and a knife, knowing the location of each from my sweep of the place last night.
The pasta was almost cooked to completion when Atlas pulled out a sleeve of Ritz Crackers and crushed them in their plastic wrapping.
“Bowls?” Atlas asked.
A couple minutes later, we both held creamy servings of macaroni and cheese dusted with crackers and chives. I took a bite, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.
“The Abyss opened up and took us to heaven,” I said before I realized my bowl was almost empty. I took it back. My heaven would never let my bowl empty so quickly.
“Heaven has good company.” Atlas smiled, setting his dish down to fill the sink with suds. He wasn’t close to done, but the mess was probably getting under his skin.
“Are you flirting with me, Commander?”
He turned and found me outstretched with my spoon dipped in his macaroni.
Busted.
I froze. His posture went rigid, and I realized I’d messed up twice. Not only had I pushed a boundary by asking him a dumbass question, but he’d caught me red-handed, stealing his food.
He was going to fire me. He was going to shred my license—
My panic was cut short when my shirt was doused with sudsy wetness.
I glanced down and confirmed my boobs were soaked, and then I stared at Atlas with my jaw hanging open.
“You …” I started and trailed off. Is this the same uptight CC? “There’s soapy water on the floor.”
“And on you. Because you were stealing my dinner.”
I blinked. Then I filled my spoon with the biggest bite possible and shoveled it into my mouth. The spoon was still in my mouth when another wave of dishwater was flung my way. I ducked, and it splattered onto the counter, narrowly missing the bowl of uneaten macaroni. Now by the sink, I submerged both hands into the scalding water and threw it at Atlas. Half splashed onto the tile, and the other half drenched his white button-up, leaving little of his washboard abs to the imagination. As if I wasn’t drooling enough.
I grinned as best I could with a spoon between my teeth. I pointed to mock him, and then Karma took hold of my foot and pulled. Atlas caught me and stole my spoon in the same motion. He didn’t push me away, and I didn’t move as he took my spoon and finished the remnants of his meal.
I was watching him like I was jealous of the silverware. Wine turned me into a creep.
I shook my head and pushed off him, clearing my throat for an apology. “Atlas—”
“Cameron,” he said. “If you’re comfortable enough to eat my food, you can call me Cameron.” Before I could respond, his pocket started beeping.
“CC Atlas,” he answered.
His brows furrowed as he listened. I tried listening, too, but I couldn’t make out anything the other person was saying.
“I’ll be right there.” He set his bowl in the sink and faced me. All busin
ess again. “I’ll text your next assignment in the morning. The risk will be higher, which I’m comfortable with since you’ve had time to rebalance. But remember, you’re not there to intervene. I just want to know what you see and hear.”
I nodded with the bearing of a soldier instead of a tipsy underling whose drenched boobs had just been pressed against him. His focus drifted down and landed on the sodden mess of a floor.
“I’ll clean this up,” I said quickly.
He nodded and made his way around the bar. He almost reached the door when the image of a kitty with a bow on her head flashed across my vision.
“Wait!” I yelled.
Shit, shit, shit.
If he saw my sock, I’d be in trouble twofold. He’d know I expected someone other than him to come to the apartment, and/or he could safely assume that I’d expected things to get much more heated between him and me. Neither was good.
He was already opening the door to leave. I bolted over and slammed it shut.
“Is something wrong—”
I was going to whatever hell existed for idiots; I really was. I stood on my tippy-toes and pressed my lips against his. He stiffened in surprise. I’d wanted it to be a platonic peck, but my body arched too much into it. I wasn’t taking the credit. I blamed my fleshly urges for that one. I pressed back into my heels and patted his shoulder.
“Thanks for dinner.” I opened the door behind me and scooted around to the other side as he walked out. I felt the doorknob, and my fingertips met nothing but smooth metal. No sock. No. Freaking. Sock.
Atlas squinted in confusion, but I smiled as if all were normal.
“I eagerly await your instructions, boss,” I said with a salute.
I closed the door, leaving him in the hall with a wrinkle in his forehead.
So much for boring him.
8
The Bad Boy
I needed an ice-cold shower, but first, I needed a run. My muscles itched for labor. I finished cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, which honestly wasn’t too bad, considering we had thrown around soap, and then I changed into running gear.
I pressed the elevator button, and it instantly pinged open. Ash and Jose were inside it. Ash was swinging my Hello Kitty sock around like a lasso. She let go, and it hit me square in the face.
“Got some tension to release, Ellie?”
“I think she did already.” Jose’s eyebrows did a little dance. “Tell me, leash or no leash?”
Ignoring them, I stuffed the sock in the pocket of my hoodie. “I’m going for a run. But since you’re here”—I pulled my license from the zip compartment in the back of my workout pants—“wanna show me how to use this?”
I had a gentleman’s club to find after all. And from there, a freak who got his jollies off by suffocating girls.
“Tomorrow,” Ash whined and pressed her cheek against the open elevator door. “Tomorrow, please?”
“Sure.” I forced a smile. Letting someone know how desperate you were was always a bad idea. I squeezed into the elevator with them. “You guys wanna run with me?”
They evacuated like I’d threatened them with a weapon of mass destruction. Before the elevator closed, I tossed the sock back out. “Leash.”
I grinned evilly as Jose’s face lit with glee.
I wasn’t invisible like I was when I was on the job, collecting souls, but I might as well have been. The city streets were slick from rain, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. The lights glowed brighter and yellower than the moon, and people bustled like they ran on electricity.
I ran as hard as I could on the dampened streets, nudging shoulders every now and then. The more my body complained, the better I felt. The exertion enlivened my nerves and set me at ease at the same time. I ran in place behind a small crowd when something pulled at my senses. There was a glint of silver in the distance.
I knew darkened alleys were a bad idea. Everyone knew darkened alleys were a bad idea. So, what did I do?
I followed the shiny object.
Two streetlamps gleamed beyond the corner, flickering dim orangish light over the brick walls covered in graffiti. Nobody was there. No scythe—for some reason, I’d expected to see one. Then one of the square windows in the left building shattered. I darted to the skinny metal door. I gave the handle the tiniest of twists. It was unlocked. I retrieved the spirit taser from my hoodie and primed it for use as I slipped inside.
Shouts and knocks rumbled upstairs. I was nosy and dumb enough to crouch up to them to see what was going on.
“Who are you working for?” a raspy voice bellowed like he’d watched too many movies.
The other person didn’t answer. There was the telling whistle of air being shredded and something thudded and rolled like a basketball. I peeked over the top stair.
Oof. Not a basketball. A head.
A decapitated body was slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair. The severed, greasy noggin leaking a pool of blood beneath the body’s untied sneakers looked even less comfortable.
I’d seen too many deaths to be queasy about it, but my survival instincts finally kicked in. I was barely two steps down when something sharp against my neck held me in place.
I glanced down. A thick curve of old metal. Outdated. That coffee-spilling jerk.
“You owe me a coffee.” My voice was steady. “Let me go, and we call it even.”
“Are you saying your life has the same worth as an overpriced cup of sugar with a splash of espresso?”
“Oh, don’t be condescending,” I muttered, and then I gasped. “You did it on purpose!”
I whirled on him and got a good look at his face. It was pretty with bored green eyes and jet-black hair that almost fell into one of them, but I still memorized it as one of an enemy.
Rogue asshole made no move to free me. Instead, I felt the sticky edge of his blade press the nape of my neck. “Do you value your life—or your head—at all?”
A dead dude’s blood was on me, gelling with the sweat from my run. Lovely. “I valued my overpriced drink. You didn’t seem to care about that either.”
“I guess I’m glad RC is hiring idiots like you. It’ll make it easier to burn down.”
I was allowed to call myself an idiot. He, however, was not. I dropped against the stairs, holding my weight with one arm while the other zapped his black-clad ankle.
He hadn’t expected it, and his scythe transported to Neverland while he tumbled down the stairs. Ha. That’d show that Keanu Reeves wannabe. Unfortunately, he managed to take me with him, and we both hit the cement landing with a grunt.
Mr. Sparky found its way beneath his chin.
“Okay!” He lifted a surrendering hand.
I smiled, and then I lit his face like it was the Fourth of July.
When he had control of his eyeballs again, they were bloodshot with anger and centered on me. “ALL RIGHT!”
“All right?” I asked too sweetly.
“I’ll buy you a fu—”
“Language!” I zapped the air, and he flinched. I breathed in a plume of sick satisfaction. That’d show him to call me an idiot.
I helped myself up, and he followed suit, keeping a wary gaze on me.
I pointed at his Neo cosplay. “What’s with the trench coat?”
“What’s with the questions?”
“What’s with the dead body upstairs?”
He huffed. “Who are you?”
“Ellie Ken. Who are you?”
“What kind of name is that?”
“Fuck off.”
“You followed me. You fuck off!”
His scythe clinked in his hand out of nowhere, and I aimed Mr. Sparky at his man parts. The blade disappeared again, and I decided I really wanted to learn that party trick.
After a quick glance down, he said in a much nicer tone, “Coffee then?”
Starbucks wasn’t open, so I settled for cheaper stuff at a diner with the stipulation that I also got hash browns. Clearly, this was a night
of comfort food and tense encounters with men. Moss eyes and I had two contests going: a staring contest and a who could give the dirtiest look contest. I was pretty sure I was winning both.
“What’s your name?” I asked him, blowing on my steaming hot cup. The warm ceramic on my palms was a welcome heat after a run in the rain.
“What’s it to you?”
“You know mine.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
I snorted. “Me too.”
His almost-smirk matured into a scowl. “You’re very strange. My name is Damian.”
The waitress delivered my side of hash browns, and my insides squeezed with excitement.
I muttered, “Thank you,” and then batted my eyelashes at the murderer across from me. “Do you always lay the flattery on this thick, Damian?”
“When my company is as lovely as you, I sure do.” He was dripping in as much sarcasm as he was in leather.
Beneath his massive trench coat was a tattered black tee with chain necklaces tucked under it. I guessed he probably shopped at a place called Bad Boys ’R’ Us.
I bit into my crunchy potatoes, and salty crispness lit my senses. I clapped my hands; they were so good. I now knew full well that the taste of everything in reaper dimension was dulled, like color behind sunglasses. I took a breath and focused on murder boy again. “So, Damian,” I said between bites, “what’s a rogue?”
He pressed his forehead. “What are you, a baby reaper?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “A very good one.”
“Then ask your boss and quit holding me hostage. Actually, you don’t have the firepower to hold me hostage. I’m leaving.” He dropped a wad of cash on the table and got up.
“You came because you like me then?” I yelled out, drawing the stares of the weary patrons around me. I smiled at them and downed my coffee.
Once Damian’s fluttering coat was out of sight, I got ready to pursue.
More dark alleyways. He really bought into the bad-boy bit. When he slid something like a license down a suspicious patch of air and a rickety RC elevator appeared, I stopped bothering with stealth mode. Wherever he was going, I was going too.
