Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  “GRS has a psychiatrist on staff?” I shifted in my chair. “That makes me a little nervous.”

  “Let’s face it, this isn’t your ordinary nine-to-five. He’s a great therapist and you might find yourself needing to talk about something that happens on the job.”

  I widened my eyes. “Can’t I just come and see you?”

  She gave a little snort. “Psychiatry is not on my list of specialties, but I will admit, I give my best advice after a few beers.”

  “Me too. I’m a veritable font of wisdom after a six pack.”

  There had been several times over the last year when Vella and I had solved the world’s problems. With each bottle we became more brilliant. But, as with reality, by the morning my genius had been replace by self-loathing and a monster headache.

  She scooted her chair forward and pulled a blood pressure cuff off a hook on the wall. “You’ll need to take off your jacket.”

  Obviously there was no way I was getting out of revealing my sweatshirt. This was a good lesson for me. I’d dressed like a frump for so long, I’d become immune to it. Already this job was forcing me to give myself higher standards. I slipped off the jacket and pushed up my sleeve, resting my arm on the chair. Candace didn’t comment on my poor clothing choice, and I didn’t bring it to her attention.

  After positioning the cuff, she pushed a button. The whir of the machine kicked in. The band tightened. I attempted a few calming breaths, trying to make my blood pressure as low as possible. The pressure reached that painful point when my hand felt three times its normal size.

  A second later a tiny puff of air hissed, releasing pressure every few seconds. I mentally tried to slow my heart rate. Not having any real medical training besides what I learned from television, I didn’t know if that had anything to do with my blood pressure, but figured it was worth a try. A quiet ticking clicked from the machine. The painful throbbing ebbed to a tolerable level. After another few seconds, the cuff gave a loud sigh and deflated.

  “One twenty over eighty.” She yanked on the strap, and with a loud rasp of Velcro, freed my arm. “Perfect.”

  Relief, and I’ll admit, a little surprise washed through me. “Great.”

  She hung the cuff back up and stood. “Now, your weight.”

  I groaned. “Do we have too?”

  “Sorry.” She indicated a fancy scale the size of my treadmill. “It’s required.”

  “That thing looks big enough to weigh livestock.” She laughed as I plodded to the scale, my shoulders slumping. Before climbing on I kicked off my shoes. Like I said, any edge I could give myself. I doubted it would matter when it came to finding out just how fluffy I’d become.

  I stepped on it and stared at the digital reading. The numbers scrolled quickly upward and landed on a nice round one hundred and fifty. “Holy crap.”

  Candace wrote the weight on the file. “It’s natural to put on weight during a time of grieving, but you’re young and the weight shouldn’t be too difficult to take off.”

  She sat back at the desk and I dropped into the plum chair. “I didn’t realize I gained thirty pounds.”

  Instead of making me feel better, her consoling smile drove home just how much I’d played into the grieving widow. Though perhaps not consciously, I’d used putting my kids’ needs before mine a few times too often.

  “I guarantee you’ll drop some weight once you start your training.” She closed the file. “Until then, try to eat better. I recommend cutting out sugar, which includes limiting your drinking.”

  “This job just keeps getting better and better.” I let out a sigh.

  “Well, we’re done except for—” She opened her drawer and pulled out a plastic cup with a blue lid. “Getting a sample.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “There’s no way I’m pregnant.”

  “Drug testing.”

  “Oh—right.” I took the cup. “Bathroom?”

  “Straight across the hall.”

  I exited the office. The bathroom mirrored the other room, with elegant granite countertops and tiled floors. I really needed to give my house a makeover. The 1970’s harvest gold bathtub and black laminate counters hadn’t been changed since the day the previous owners installed them.I mentally added yet another project to my growing list.

  After doing my business, I handed Dr. Jensen the cup. A low growl rumbled from my stomach. I hoped we were finished. I got cranky if I went too long between meals. And after facing the harsh reality of my weight, I was definitely feeling a little grouchy. “Anything else?”

  “All finished.” She walked me to the outer office. “I’ll set up a time to examine and test your ankle. From there I can set up a rehab program. In the meantime, I suggest taping it.” She reached behind the desk and pulled out a promotional pamphlet. “You can get this at most sporting goods stores, and there’s a website that shows you how to properly tape up a weak ankle.”

  “Roger that, doc.” I took the brochure and my stomach grumbled again.

  At that moment Nate opened the door. I had to wonder if he’d been listening outside. “Finished?”

  “Yep.” I turned back to Candace. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll call you later this week for rehab,” she said.

  “Everything okay?” Nate sounded a little too hopeful, reminding me again that he thought I wouldn’t make a good reaper.

  “Just fine.” I brushed past him. “I’m starved.”

  Not waiting for him, I headed down the hall, not exactly sure how to find my way out of GRS’s inner sanctum. I can be stubborn, and my determination to prove him wrong took hold. I’d show Nate Cramer that I had what it took to be a damn fine reaper—right after I refueled with a jumbo basket of parmesan-garlic fries.

  Chapter 7

  Nate offered to buy me lunch, and we ended up across the street at a restaurant I didn’t particularly love. Despite Dr. Jensen’s suggestion to eat better, I’m pretty picky about my food, and craved something cheesy and unhealthy. But Nate was adamant, even after I recommended a nearby diner that made the best burgers in town. Control freak.

  I perused the menu. Greens, grains, and things I couldn’t pronounce dominated the list. I ordered a Santa Fe chicken salad with extra ranch and a Diet Coke. At least I recognized the ingredients. Nate ordered the Asian chicken salad without the mandarin oranges. What’s the point?

  I toyed with my wrapped set of silverware “So, what’s up with you and Willow? You guys have a nasty breakup or something?”

  “There’s nothing between me and Willow.” He tapped his finger impatiently on the table.

  Oh, there was definitely something between the two co-workers. “Huh.” I slowly peeled the wrapper from the napkin. My innate curiosity wouldn’t let the subject drop. “It sure looked like there was some history?” He didn’t reply. I glanced up, but he was staring at a spot behind me. The joke was on him. I was immune to the silent treatment. I had a teenager. “Why do you hate her?”

  His eyes drifted back to me. “I don’t trust her.”

  “Because she’s a beautiful, independent woman?” Nate didn’t strike me as the type to be threatened by a successful woman. And I didn’t know if his opinion about me not making a good reaper was personal, or a blanket judgment about women.

  “The reason I don’t trust her is none of your business.” He glanced behind me again, narrowing his gaze. “But I suggest you keep your distance from her. She’s bad news.”

  “Right.” Sure sounded like sour grapes to me. When he didn’t meet my eyes, I followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.”

  I craned my neck and noticed two men sitting at a table across the restaurant. They appeared normal—really normal. As a matter of fact, if Nate hadn’t clued me in, I wouldn’t have noticed them at all. “Do you know those two?”

  “In a sense.” His eyes shifted to me. “They’re our competitors.”

  “Reapers have competitors?” Chancing an
other look, I assessed them. Both men appeared benign. One caught my eye and lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment. I smiled and turned back to Nate. “What kind of competitors?”

  “Angels.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  I’ve had a major thing for angels all my life. As a child, they were grouped in the same category as mermaids and the little people I was certain lived in my walls. After Jeff’s death I took comfort in imagining them spiriting him away on heavenly wings. “That is so cool.”

  Nate snorted, which I took as an insult to my intelligence. “They are not cool. They’re a pain in the a—”

  “Hey.” I cut him off before a bolt of lightning struck us for blasphemy. “If you’re going to insult the heavenly hosts, do it when I’m not around.”

  “Trust me, they give as good as they get.”

  Trying to reconcile angels to the same level as us reapers went against all the beliefs I’d been raised with. Or at least the ones I’d glamorized. “I’m sure you’re wrong. Angels are all loving.”

  “You newbies are so naïve.” He sat forward and lowered his voice. I leaned away from him, fairly certain he was about to burst my bubble. “Not all angels are jerks, but those two are. They’re guardian angels.”

  I turned and looked at the men again. Both were staring at me and smiling. Did they have x-ray hearing or some kind of all-knowingness?

  “God, would you stop doing that?”

  I faced Nate again. “Sorry, but this is all new to me.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Go on.”

  “Guardian angels interfere with our reaping. Their job is to save their charges.”

  Relief washed through me. “Wow, that’s so amazing and awesome.”

  “No.” His head shook vigorously. “Not amazing, Lisa. People are meant to die at certain times. These guys come in with their free pass from Heaven and muck it up.”

  “Free pass?” In addition to all the paperwork and exams GRS made a new reaper go through, they obviously needed to incorporate an Afterlife 101 class. I made a mental note to bring that up to management.

  “It’s all part of the Free Will Project, which is stupid, in my opinion.”

  I glanced at the ceiling, waiting for that bolt of lightning. “Easy with the insults.”

  “People are going to die. Sometimes I have to attempt a reap three or four times before I get the soul.”

  “Wow, militant much?” I leaned forward, giving Nate my best mom face. “Souls aren’t a prize you collect to reach a quota. This is somebody’s life we’re talking about.”

  “You’re going to lecture me on what a soul is?”

  He had a point. I really didn’t know what I was talking about. I’d only officially been a reaper for a few hours. “Fine, then why are they here? Just having lunch? Are they human like us?”

  “No, but they take human form when they need to.” He flicked his head toward a table to my right. “See the large man at the end?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s about to—”

  Before Nate finished his sentence, chaos erupted at the table. The big guy clutched his throat, his face turning red. I jumped to my feet. “He’s choking.”

  The other people at the table leapt up. Chairs scooted across the tile, a few banging when they hit the floor in the panicked rush to help their friend. The two guardian angels and I started toward the table, but Nate gripped my arm. “Wait.”

  I yanked my arm free. “He needs the Heimlich.”

  “It won’t matter.”

  My feet froze, unable to take another step. “Will the angels help him?”

  “They’ll try—but it won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “William has been slated for a long time.” Nate stepped around me but didn’t go any further. “Heart attack, diabetes, the man has been on borrowed time thanks to the guardians.” A look of satisfaction stretched across his mouth. “I’ll throw the boys a bone and let them give it their best try.”

  “You sound pretty confident.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I am.”

  I blew out a long breath. “So that man is going to die? No matter what?”

  Nate gave a single nod, continuing to smile.

  It didn’t matter how many years I’d reaped, I’d never become as callus as him. Just knowing there was nothing I could do for William, made my stomach turn.

  The big guy’s face darkened to purple. He collapsed to the floor, hands still at his throat. It was awful to watch. The wait staff and diners crowded around him, turning William on his side and pummeling his back, trying to dislodge whatever was stuck in his throat.

  “Call 911,” Nate said before striding toward the crowd.

  It took a few seconds for his order to sink in. “Right, 911.” I dug in my coat pocket and hauled out my phone. My hands shook and I kept tapping the wrong number. “Frickin’ hell!” Finally I got the number dialed, and in a quivering voice, gave dispatch all the info. He assured me the ambulance was on the way and that somebody had already called. I clicked off and backed up until my legs hit the chair. I dropped heavily into it. “Holy crap.”

  Nate wound his way through the crowd and knelt beside the man. I saw the bottoms of his hiking boots peeking through the throng of legs. The breath froze in my chest when he stood and wove his way out of the mob with the fat guy’s spirit firmly in hand.

  He stopped at the table. “I need to take care of this.”

  “What’s going on?” William’s spirit looked from me to Nate. “Do I know you?”

  No doubt the guy was confused—and rightly so. I knew what was going on and it was almost too much to take in. “I’m Lisa.” Realizing my introduction did nothing to clarify the situation, I added. “There’s been a little accident.”

  A woman’s cry emanated from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and the man turned toward the table he’d been sitting at. “What’s going on?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer him. “Well, William.” I glanced at Nate, widening my eyes with a silent jump in anytime. “Somebody in your lunch party choked to death.”

  “Oh no.” He spun, trying to get a better look. “Was it Charlie? It had to be Charlie. The man shovels food in like a conveyor belt.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Charlie is fine.”

  “It’s you, William.” Nate could really use a lesson in tactfulness. “You’re dead.”

  William glanced from Nate to me, and then started laughing, the white aura round his translucent form growing. “How can I be dead when I’m standing here talking to you?”

  “Yeah, that’s a tricky one.” My gaze leveled on Nate. He seemed impatient to get the job done. Maybe this was some kind of on-the-job training. I pinned him with my best glare before turning back to William. I let my ire morph into the same type of smile I used when comforting my kids. “Nate will be escorting you to your final destination.” The explanation made me sound like a paranormal travel agent. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I can tell your journey is going to be very enjoyable.” By the bright white of his aura I assumed he’d be going to Heaven. Hopefully I wasn’t making a rookie mistake. My smile widened. “If you just go with Nate, he’ll get you on your way.”

  William didn’t move. “I’d like to see for myself.”

  I assumed William meant he wanted to see his body. Unsure if this followed procedure; I looked at Nate for confirmation. He nodded. Not letting go of the big man’s spirit, they edged toward the crowd. A lump grew inside of my throat and my nose tingled. I’m usually not a crier, but the forlorn look on William’s face pushed all my buttons. He seemed so lost. After a few seconds, his wide shoulders slumped. From what I noticed Nate did nothing to comfort him. No arm around his shoulder. No pat on the back.

  Mental note to self: Be interactive with clients.

  Another minute passed before they headed back to where I waited. I took a deep breath and
smiled again, certain this time I looked more sad than encouraging. “Are you okay?” That was probably a really stupid question, but nothing more profound came to mind.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I think I am. I mean, it’s not every day a man witnesses his own death, right?”

  Heck if I knew. Maybe they did. This whole afterlife thing was almost as new to me as it was William. But I knew he didn’t need my uncertainty. “Just think, you now have the answer to one of the great mysteries. There really is life after death.”

  That made him smile. “I guess you’re right.” He turned to Nate, who still held onto William’s shoulder, but with only one hand. Rambo Reaper must have surmised William wasn’t a flight risk. “I’m ready.”

  “Come with me.” Nate took a step to the side, but didn’t let go. “We’ll need a little privacy for this.”

  In a busy restaurant there was really only one place that was private. “The bathroom again?” Nate ignored me and guided William forward. Feeling like I should say something, I quietly called, “Safe journey.”

  The big man gave me a little wave and then turned the corner, leaving me standing alone. How long would the reaping process take? The memory of my own experience in the Holiday bathroom was convoluted. To me it felt like hours. In reality it had probably only been a few minutes and that included Nate’s pitch to become a reaper.

  I sat on the wooden chair and waited. The faint wail of sirens grew, but this time the sound didn’t make me nervous. Ever since my husband died, the screech would send a wave of anxiety through me. I always wondered if somebody was hurt or dead. Morbid I know, but I couldn’t help it. At least this time I knew. In an odd way that knowledge gave me a little comfort.

  The waitress stopped at the table and set a Diet Coke next to me. “Can you believe this?”

  That was a loaded question. I shook my head. “No.” I picked up my soda and took a long drink.