by Brindi Quinn
You know what they say about assuming. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and . . . well, just you. I did nothing wrong.
Anyway, I blame my older sister, Mallory, for the misunderstanding. She’s academic and athletic – practically perfect if you ask me – and I’ve been wearing her hand-me-downs since the footie-pajama days.
Apparently, that trend carries over into death.
One of the bungeed furniture pieces is a hand-carved dresser. At Pine’s suggestion, I rifle through the drawers in search of attire to replace the matronly smock, hoping to find something sleek and sexy – like a leather cat costume – but finding nothing but Mallory’s old clothes. Polo after polo after god-forsaken polo.
I settle on a green short-sleeved one, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that are tight at the waist and bell out from there. Make it fancy by adding a large-buckled belt.
“You can look now,” I tell the reapers, who agreed to turn their backs while I changed.
Minx’s eyes widen when they find me. “So that’s how you dress.” Absentmindedly, his hand finds his bottommost earring and begins to fiddle, as he studies me up and down. “Your shirt looks good with your red hair.”
“Oh, than– Ack!”
My hair!
How could I forget?!
Probably a snarly mess from being pulled this way and that. If I could just find a brush or a comb . . . even a fork would do. I’m in luck. There just so happens to be a brush on top of the dresser.
Wait, was that there before?
Whatever.
I pull the brush through my dyed red hair until my reflection in the window shows sufficient bounce. Full at the root with a slight curl at the end. JUST like a shampoo commercial. Or . . . at least that’s what I was going for.
Red. I feel like there’s something important about the color, but I can’t remember what.
Huh.
Anyway, my tools are limited, but it’ll have to do.
I’m not the only one to have changed. The reapers’ hoodies now hang from the suspended coatrack. Beneath his, Minx was wearing a tan v-neck t-shirt – one that now shows off his abs in all their splendor. I indulge in them.
Holy potato salad. You have to be dead to encounter abs like those.
Pine, on the other hand, is dressed in that black shirt and white tie that only dared to peek out of the hoodie before. The shirt is a button up with the sleeves rolled up past the elbow, and I couldn’t see it before because of the sweatshirt, but he’s also wearing a vest. He doesn’t look formal at all, though. More like kind of artsy, I guess. The collar of his shirt is undone and the style of the vest matches his tight jeans. I guess even grim reapers can be trendy.
None of that’s really important, though.
Without the sweatshirt to hide his arms, I can now see them for their true glory. The scythe tattoos stretch from wrist to elbow, but beyond that . . . muscle and sinew push against his skin.
Who knew sinew, of all things, could be sexy?
“Well, what now?” I look between the two reapers. “Don’t we have some haunting to do?”
Minx’s eyes widen.
“Don’t even think about it,” says Pine. But the way he stands with his hands in his pockets, kicking at the bottom of the wall with his boot makes it seem like he’s a little restless, himself. “We’re staying put for now. It’s probably time to call that lameass anyway,” he says.
That lameass. Riiight. Beck, my angel, the lameass.
I pluck the red card from the top of a nearby hovering table.
~ Beck Lemmings ~
Angel in Accounting
Reachable at #99-840
“Doesn’t look like any phone number I’ve ever seen.” I turn the card over in my hand. “And do we even have a phone in here?”
Pine points above my head, where an old spiral-corded phone dangles. This time I’m sure – that definitely wasn’t there before. So things are just appearing out of nowhere now? Wonderful. Nether-powers, I tell you. Nether-effing-powers. And with a cord and everything? Man, I haven’t seen one of those in . . . actually, I’m pretty sure I saw one out in my garage the other day. It wasn’t hooked up or anything, just piled in a box with a bunch of other old junk. Now that I think about it, it was the same color as this one. Maybe it’s the same . . .
Whatever.
I stand on my tiptoes to reach the phone, but because I’m a shorty, my fingers only graze the bottom.
Come on, Marley Craw. Think tall! Be the height you know you can be! Maybe now that I’m dead, self-motivation will actually work – as in bring about real, nether-powered results. Taller, taller, just a little–
Minx is in front of me before I even realize he’s coming.
Whoa.
I smell him before I see him, too. He smells like fresh . . . freshness. Like one of those linen candles, you know? The ones that are meant to smell like air-dried laundry. Only, my laundry never did smell quite that good.
Minx does smell that good, though. For sure.
Wonder why I didn’t notice before?
He’s standing closer than you’d normally stand to a person – so that our bodies are almost touching. Apparently, grim reapers aren’t aware of personal bubbles. And as he looks up at the hanging phone with his head tipped back, his eyes catch the light beaming through the window and gleam, ruby-like, but I can’t tell if they’re wicked or lovely. Probably something in-between, or a mixture of the two.
The ‘v’ of his t-shirt cuts low, allowing for a glimpse of his collarbone. Now that he’s showing it off, his neck’s pretty sexy too. And it’s so close . . .
He swallows and his adam’s apple bobs.
I wonder what would happen if I kissed it.
No! I told myself I was going to resist any come-ons the reapers threw at me!
Then again, maybe this is innocent on Minx’s part. Maybe he isn’t trying to seduce me by granting me obvious access to his neck.
He pulls the bungeed phone down to my hand. “There you go, Marley.” Then, he steps away.
Yup, innocent. So I am a pervert, after all. Neat.
“Thanks, Minx.”
But at my use of his name, whatever innocence he had runs away to some far off corner of our glass abode. His eyes sear, and his arms open like he’s about to catch me.
“Mar–”
“Leave her alone,” says Pine. “Let her check in.”
Halting abruptly, Minx scowls and glances at his partner, but soon undergoes another of those drastic changes he’s prone to. His mouth softens, and he takes on a look that’s something like sympathy. “He’s right,” he says. “You should call your angel, Marley. It’s good to check in.” He pats my head once before turning to the oversized couch. “I’m going to take a nap.”
With that, he gingerly hops onto the cushions, throws an arm lazily over his head, and rolls onto his side so that his back is turned to us.
Weird.
I stand with the outdated phone in my hand, trying to make sense of his strangeitude.
“Just ignore him,” says Pine. The black-haired reaper has again taken to looking out the window at the mountainous expanse. He reminds me of something . . . something impatient . . . something caged. Ohh! Got it! He’s like a lynx – a wanderlusting lynx – in captivity.
“You really want to go out there, don’t you?” I say.
His uncovered eye shoots to me. “Do you?”
“N-no.”
Whoops. I stammered because he caught me by surprise.
The corner of his mouth frowns, disapproving of my answer or something. Well, excuse me for not wanting to traverse a mountain.
He puts his hands in the pockets of his vest and stares out the window. “Call the angel,” he says.
Great, now I feel bad for some reason! What, because I don’t want to climb Mount Everest, I’m suddenly a disappointment?!
I stretch the phone’s bungee tight. I’m tempted to pull it even tighter, release it, and send it
catapulting across the room. I could send it right for Pine, even . . . heh, heh, heh.
“Just call him,” Pine says without looking. “We can play later.”
Dang! It’s almost like he heard what I was thinking or something! Not good. If those two start hearing my not-so-innocent thoughts, we’ll be in serious trouble. Not to mention, play? What the what does he mean by play?
I hurry to punch in the number on the phone.
A nasally woman answers. “Case number?”
“Uhhh, hold on.” I read off the back of the card: “887PR2E.”
“A moment while I connect you.”
The line clicks and the woman’s voice is replaced by some kind of jazzy flute. I cover the mouthpiece. “Angels have cheesy elevator music?”
Instead of answering, Pine merely makes a small noise. “Pfft.”
“Marley Craw.” A voice comes on the line. A guy’s voice. I remember that voice. I uncover the mouthpiece.
“Beck, right?”
“Beck Lemmings, that’s right. Have you settled in, Marley Craw?”
I look around the odd glass room with hanging furniture. “Uh, I guess.”
“And how are you feeling?”
“Fine. Dead-ish.”
From the other end of the line, I hear the scribbling of a pen. “Have you found yourself experiencing any disagreeable emotions?”
“Disagreeable emotions?” I repeat.
“He means, are you sad?” Pine throws over his shoulder.
“Oh. Sad? Umm, not really. I’m doing okay.”
“Perfect.” The scribbling continues. “Call me instantly if that changes, okay? Okay.”
“Sure. Soooo, Beck. You’re an angel, right? Do you have wings?”
“Now is not the time to–”
“Wait!” I cut him off. “Are you, like, a fat naked baby with wings?”
Pine snorts.
On the other end of the line, the scribbling stops. “No.”
“No, you don’t have wings, or no, you aren’t a fat baby cherub?”
“That’s a highly inaccurate misrepresentation.”
“The wings?” I persist. “Or the baby?”
Beck pauses. “The baby.”
“So you do have wings?”
“We aren’t here to talk about me, Marley Craw. We’re here to talk about you. And yes, I have wings.”
“Feathery ones?”
“They’re light.”
“As in not heavy?”
“No, as in they’re MADE of light.”
“Ooooh.” I coil the cord around my finger and hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder. This convo is getting interesting. “Sounds pretty. So are you sitting on a cloud right now?”
“Heh.”
Aha! I broke him! From the sound of it, Beck’s all-business attitude is just a work thing.
Sadly, though, he’s quick to pick up where he left off. “That isn’t how it is at all. Now, enough about me. Just answer a few questions, and then I’ll hand you over to them for good.”
“Hand me over?”
“Until your judgment.”
“About that. What, exactly, am I being judged on? I mean, it’s not like I ever killed anyone, right?” I fiddle with the cord.
“You’ve lied . . . a lot,” says Beck.
“Not true!”
The scribbling picks up. “There’s another.”
Whoops.
“No! Don’t write that down! Just–! Ugh. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Simply do what comes naturally to you.”
“Naturally?”
Naturally.
Yeah, Minx said something like that before, too. But what does that mean? I’m supposed to . . . “Wait a second!” I steal a look at Pine, who’s still transfixed on the window, before turning my back to him and cupping the phone. “Is that why you shacked me up with two hot reapers, Beck!?” I whisper. “Are you just waiting for me to give in to their seducing so that you can sentence me to eternal torment, or what?”
“I’d be careful if I were you. Reapers have very good hearing.”
“Eep!” Slowly, very slooowly, I turn to find Pine no longer looking out the window. Now, he’s leaning against the wall, fully facing me, with a smug sort of look on his mouth. No way! He totally DID hear!
Good going, Marley Craw. There’s really no saving face now. Sigh. I feel my cheeks heating up.
Whatever. I’m sure Pine already knows he’s hot. It’s not like it’s some big secret.
I drop my cupped hand. “That IS what’s going on here, though, right? I mean, lust is a sin too. And I’m pretty sure it’s one of the Bad Seven,” I tell Beck.
“Bad Seven?” Pine raises his eyebrow. “The seven deadly sins aren’t in a biker gang, Marley.”
I stick out my tongue at him.
On the other end of the line, there’s the sound of something being set down. Kind of like a mug or a cup. Does that mean Beck’s at some kind of heavenly office right now? Is he sitting in a cloud cubicle drinking angel coffee?
“Are you wearing a suit?” I ask him.
He ignores me. “Back to your other question, Marley Craw. The mortals have one thing right: Everything isn’t black and white. More accurately, NOTHING is black and white. Not life, not death. Not the universe or the worlds beyond. Your judgment is catered to you, Marley Craw.”
“Meaning?”
“Things aren’t as they seem. Think about what you want – what you REALLY want – and your soul will end up where it should. Now then, tell me what you’re feeling at this exact moment after hearing all that.”
“I’m . . . fine.”
Well, that’s a big whopping lie. Beck knows it, too. He clears his throat.
Gah! All right, all right!
“I’m–”Again, I turn my back to Pine, and in a small voice, say, “Scared.”
“Then think about this: Life isn’t fair, Marley Craw, but the Creator of Worlds – God, as you know him – is fair, and you’ll be judged fairly.”
“Oh.” Am I supposed to be relieved?
“Next,” Beck goes on, “answer me this: How are you getting along with your ‘hot reapers’?”
“They’re . . .” Too hot to handle? Prone to rapid shifts of personality? Built like mustangs? “They’re okay, I guess.”
Scribble, scribble, scribble. Wait! That was another lie, wasn’t it? Oh crud. Maybe if I don’t say anything, Beck won’t notice.
But the scribbling continues on dangerously long. Scribble, scribble– “Alrighty then, you have my card. Call me if your feelings begin to change.”
CLICK.
Wow, Beck. Not one for lengthy goodbyes, eh?
I hang up the phone and let it bungee back into place. Pine has returned to gazing at the outside terrain. Meanwhile, Minx is still right where he was. Napping, apparently.
“How long’s he going to stay like that?” I ask.
“As long as you let him, I suppose.”
“As long as I do? Why’s it up to me?”
“This is your reaping, Marley. You make the rules.”
“Oh reeeally? Because so far it seems like YOU guys have just been pulling me here and there and not really letting me in on the name of the game, even. How am I supposed to make the rules if I don’t even know how to score?”
Pine doesn’t feel the need to answer me outright. “Do you want to go outside?” he says.
Random much?
I let out a huff. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has to do with everything.” Pine taps the glass with his finger. “Everything,” he says again. Then, he looks expressionlessly at me from over his shoulder. “So, do you want to go outside?”
“Not rea–”
In a flash, Pine’s no longer at the window. Now, he’s in front of me with his hand over my mouth. “You have a choice, Marley. You can choose to wake HIM up, or you can choose to go outside with me. Think about it before you answer.”
Pine carefully removes his hand from my mouth, but in the aftermath, he’s standing closer than close, towering over me. For the first time I notice that he, too, has a scent. And it’s kind of familiar, too. It’s like . . . wood? A forest?
Ohmigosh. I’ve got it.
Pine smells like an actual pine.
Wait, is that why his name is Pine? That’s kind of corny.
Because he’s so close, I take a step backwards, but it doesn’t do much good. The step puts me flat against the wall. I’ve been cornered. Pine leans in, putting the tattooed part of his arm, from wrist to elbow, against the wall over my head. With his face tipped forward like that, both eyes are uncovered. The silver part of each iris is outlined by a ring of dark, but the inner silver shines and shifts behind drilling pupils.
I’m not quite sure, but it seems like Pine’s nether-powers might be stronger than Minx’s. At least, his stare is stronger than Minx’s.
“What will it be, Marley?” he asks in a voice that’s deep and even.
My breath comes in and out louder than it usually does.
Oh gawd! That’s so embarrassing! But the harder I try to make it quiet, the louder it becomes.
It reminds me of this one time I had to give a speech for my basic com. class, and I was way nervous and sweaty. So sweaty, in fact, that I was in danger of being one of those people with the pit stains that look like someone just squirted them under each arm with a water gun, and no matter HOW hard I told myself to quit sweating, my body just kept producing more and more liquid until I looked like someone from a sports drink commercial all doused in orange or blue drink-sweat, only, lucky for me, my sweat was clear. I ended up swallowing four packets of salt because my not-friend, Amy Jo, told me it’d help me dry out, and when that didn’t work, I finally went running to the bathroom to dry myself under the hand dryer.
I made it through the ordeal without any pit stains, but I had a hell of a time spurting off my speech anyway because my mouth was all salty, and I swear my tongue shriveled up just a little.
