by Cate Lawley
He stood in the doorway of his townhouse with his mouth slightly agape. “What? Missing?” He must have picked up on her panic, because he moved from confused to very, very concerned in a heartbeat. “Have you called the police? How long has he been gone?” He opened the door and motioned her inside.
Zelda checked her phone again. Nothing. Not from Uncle Bedivere, not from Glenda’s shop. No voicemail, no text, no missed call. Nothing. What if Uncle Bedivere was off on one of his all-consuming projects? It would have been incredibly irresponsible of him not to leave an alternate contact number. Just in case. Zelda squeezed her eyes shut. Of course he had—with her dad. She followed Mark to a small side-room that looked like a study. She sat down in a big overstuffed armchair. Mark took the chair at the desk.
“No police. It’s been about sixty hours since I saw him last. We talked three nights ago. He called the next morning, but I didn’t pick up and he didn’t leave a voicemail. And he was gone by the time I went down for breakfast. I was a little slow that morning—so it wasn’t strange that I missed him. But then he didn’t come home for dinner.” Zelda bit her lip, trying to think how to convey how out-of-this-world bizarre that was for her dad. “I can’t begin to describe to you how strange that is. He is always home for dinner.” She frowned then, remembering how he’d come home late just the other night. And how tired he’d been. “Almost always, but it really is strange. And he’s never just not come home for dinner. He tells me ahead of time.”
“Wait, three days, nights, whatever—sixty hours? That’s a long time. And you have no idea where he could be?”
She had a few ideas, but they all related to reaping. And since his job was one massive secret followed by another, she had only the vaguest of guesses what could have gone wrong. She sighed. “No clue.”
He cocked his head curious and surprised. “Really?”
Oh, gosh. That empath thing could be inconvenient. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through. Zelda flipped through her possible contacts. She knew people in the magic world, but only a few that she trusted. And Uncle Bedivere was the only one who might know if her dad was on some special job, or if something might be wrong at work. “Um…no specific locations.”
Her brain raced. She hadn’t called Kitty, because she didn’t stay up to date on gossip or news—and that was when she was in the country. Kitty really liked her dad, and it would only upset her to hear about the situation. It would be cruel given the fact Kitty couldn’t help and was so far away. Ugh. She’d already been through this. She didn’t have any way to find her dad, she’d exhausted the few available channels she had to Bedivere, and there was no one else who could help.
“What are you not telling me?” He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Because as of right now, I’m saying call the police.”
“Here’s the thing.” She bit her lip. “I have no idea of a physical location where my dad might be. That’s absolutely the truth. It’s… It’s my dad’s job. It makes this all complicated.”
“Whatever it is, I promise you can trust me. I mean, if he’s a mafia or something, I’m not sure I can help. But whatever it is, I can keep it to myself.” He gave her a grim smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“I’m not supposed talk about it. On pain of death or torture or something. But seriously, I’ve called everyone I know to call, and I can’t exactly knock on my uncle’s door—I don’t even really know where he lives. I mean, I’ve been, but I don’t know where it is or how you get there.” The words tumbled one after the other out of her mouth. She could see Mark’s worry increasing as her panic spiked. She closed her eyes and told herself that it was all going to be okay. She had to believe that. This was her dad. When she cracked her lids and saw she still had Mark’s attention, she took a breath and blurted, “My dad’s the Grim Reaper.”
Mark’s eyes seemed to look at her, through her, into her.
She licked her lips. “Really. Cross my heart.”
He just kept looking at her. It was starting to freak her out.
Maybe this was a bad idea. She stood up. “Bad joke, sorry. Not really the right time or place. More a Halloween thing, right? And showing up on your doorstep—”
“No. I’m glad you did. This isn’t really a conversation that works well on the phone.” And he was back to his fresh-faced, easy-going self.
She peered at him suspiciously. Was he just placating her so he could call the men with the white coats?
“Sit down. It’s okay—I mean, clearly it’s not okay. Your dad’s missing and he’s a guy who—what exactly does a reaper do? Is that top secret, too?”
Zelda sat back down. “No. No secret there. Just the usual reaper stuff. He separates souls from their mortal ties.”
“That’s poetic.” Then he grimaced slightly. “In a morbid and terrifying way.”
“Wait till you meet him. He’s nothing like you’d expect.” Then she realized what she’d said. Mark was a normal and probably wasn’t going to meet her dad. Even assuming her dad was okay and could be found. She closed her eyes and fell back into the deep cushions of the chair. “Good grief. What am I going to do?”
“Yeah, if you think his disappearance is job related, then calling the police isn’t a great option. You said you tried to contacting some people?”
“My Uncle Bedivere. He’s one of my dad’s best friends, since he started, um, reaping. Oh, no. I’m in serious trouble. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about any of this. Magic, disappearing castles, Dad.”
“Sorry, magic and disappearing castles?”
“I said earlier. You know, Uncle Bedivere’s house. It’s somewhere, but not someplace you can drive. I don’t know exactly. He digs the mysterious sorcerer image, so it’s sometimes hard to tell what’s smoke and mirrors for effect and what’s real magic.”
“Magic. I know we were kidding about the whole empathic thing being a superpower—but it’s not. And I don’t actually know anything about magic.”
“Even magic folks don’t know much about the Grim Reaper job. It’s not something you apply for; you’re approached. It’s…I don’t know. It’s weird. No, I was thinking more about a psychic connection. Do you have any kind of ‘in’ with the psychic crowd?”
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it. Blinked. “The Grim Reaper is literally a job? Like with a salary and benefits?” When she nodded, he said, “No wonder you had issues with career planning and strategizing.”
She waved her hand in front of him. She almost snapped her fingers but figured that would be a bit much. “Hey. Psychics? Any thoughts on that? If I’m still alive after Uncle Bedivere gets done with me, we can revisit the whole reaper thing.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not particularly plugged in, but I do know someone.” He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket.
He scrolled, and then made the call. “Marv, please. Yes, thank you. That’s correct.” He ended the call, and said, “We’ll get a call back in fifteen minutes. It must be a slow morning.”
“Who’s Marv?”
Looking sheepish, Mark said, “Marv’s a psychic. He has a sort of upscale hotline that he and three of his buddies work together.”
“A psychic hotline.” Zelda hadn’t quite ventured so far as to consider calling a psychic hotline, but if Mark said it was okay—so be it.
The phone rang. Mark glanced at the caller ID, frowned, and then answered the phone. “Hey, that was fast. Can I put you on speaker?”
Mark tapped the phone then set it on the edge of the desk.
“Hello,” a man with a southern accent said.
“Marv, I’ve got a friend, Zelda, here with me on the phone.”
“Hi,” Zelda said. She had an odd urge to wave.
“Zelda, Mark. I had the sense you might be contacting me concerning a pressing matter. Ah, not a psychic sense. Mark doesn’t call often.”
“Yeah, sorry about that Marv. We need to get together next time I’m out in Chicago.” Mark gave Zelda a look and
nodded.
“Hi, Marv. Um, I need help finding my dad. He’s been missing for almost three days and—”
“Honey, let me stop you.” Marv’s southern accent twanged. He must have moved to Chicago recently, because his accent was strong. “You need to contact the authorities. I don’t do that kind of work anymore. And when I did, I only worked with the police.”
“No, you see, I can’t call the police. It’s…I can’t.” Zelda looked at Mark for guidance. Telling Mark was bad enough but telling a stranger? A psychic hotline stranger?
“Your father’s involved in something the police can’t know about.” Marv sounded disapproving.
“Yes,” Zelda said. “But not how you mean. He’s not a criminal.”
“As a favor to me, Marv, please,” Mark said. “She’s on the up-and-up, and so is her dad. At least give us a local contact. I know you can’t do this kind of work long distance, so if you know of someone reliable who practices psychometry locally or another option for pinpointing his location, I’d be really grateful.”
Marv let loose a gusty sigh. “If this comes back to karmically bite me on my hind end, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You’ll only get good karma points for this one,” Mark said. Eyes never leaving the phone, he said, “These are good people.”
“Best be. I’m texting you the contact. Not in Austin, but close as I’ve got.” Marv’s tone changed, losing some of the grumpy-old-guy and turner softer. “Take care of yourself, Mark.”
“Always.” Mark tapped the phone to end the call then checked the text he’d received. His eyebrows climbed. “It’s a website.”
He must have been working when she’d come to the door, because his laptop was open on his desk in sleep mode.
Zelda felt terrible that she hadn’t even considered whether she’d be inconveniencing him when she’d decided on the spur of the moment to stop by. He’d just been the only person she could think of who might be able to help. “Obviously this is an emergency, and I’m definitely not sorry I came, but I’m sorry to mess up your day.”
“Not a problem.” He turned the laptop so she could see as the website loaded. He clicked on a contact button and began an email. When he finished, he turned to her and said, “No problem. I’m glad you felt like you could tell me. And I don’t have any client appointments today, so I don’t even have to reschedule or anything.”
Zelda felt even worse. There was a plan unfolding, and doing something felt better than doing nothing. But in the absence of blind panic, there was room for guilt. Mark was clearly ready to rearrange his life to help her out. And this was probably over nothing. Her dad was probably fine. She hoped he was fine. He had to be.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.” And though Mark had no way of predicting the future, his words made her feel better.
“What’s with the email?” she asked. “No phone number?”
“No. But Natalie assures web visitors that she responds promptly. Let’s hope that means hours and not days. How about you tell me anything else that might be relevant while we wait?”
“He’s been pretty normal. He really sticks to a schedule, as far as work goes. And he’s mostly been doing that, except for a few nights ago. Actually, that was the last time I saw him.”
“Any ideas where he went or what he was doing?”
“No, just that it had something to do with work. He doesn’t talk about it—isn’t allowed to talk about it.”
Mark shook his head. “The Grim Reaper, that’s just so…I don’t even know what it is. Amazing? Crazy that he’s your dad? Scary that he’s so involved with death.”
She couldn’t help but notice that the scary part hadn’t been a question.
“You know he doesn’t have anything to do with killing people.” Not that it mattered, but Zelda felt compelled to set the record straight. Then she remembered that odd conversation she’d had with her dad recently. “I asked him recently why he took the job. He wouldn’t say. I don’t know what they said to convince him, but it must have been big. It wasn’t an easy change for ether of us to make.”
“Does he have any colleagues? Besides your uncle?”
Zelda shook her head, but that reminded her that she hadn’t called Uncle Bedivere in at least thirty minutes. She’d been trying to catch him for the last twenty-four hours. This time when she called, the phone rang briefly and then was picked up.
“Oh, thank goodness.” But it took her a split second to realize it was a recording, a different recording from before. “Hi. This is Zelda Parker, Devlin Parker’s daughter, and a friend of Bedivere’s. It’s urgent that Bedivere contact me as soon as possible. There’s an emergency. He needs to contact me right away.” She left her number and hung up.
Mark gave her an inquisitive look.
“I was calling Uncle Bedivere. I’ve been getting his voicemail. I left a few messages, but his box has been full the last few times I called.” She sank back into the armchair. “This was weird. Like an answering service, but with a strange message. ‘The caller you are trying to reach has been unavailable for twenty-four hours. In case of emergency, leave your name and contact information.’ Something like that. How would a service know he’d been away for twenty-four hours? And if Uncle Bedivere set up the service himself, he must have gotten his messages. Why isn’t he calling me back?”
“Maybe he’s with your dad and they’re taking care of some unexpected business. Either way, he’d call if he could, I’m sure.” Mark gave her a critical look. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?”
That had been the last thing on her mind. “No. Just forgot.”
“Let’s head into the kitchen and I’ll make you some brunch. How does that sound?” He must have seen her hesitation, because he added, “We can’t do much until Natalie emails us back. Come on.”
He reached out a hand.
He was right, and now that she thought about, she was a little queasy—probably from hunger. She took his hand and let him pull her off the sofa.
He immediately let go, but in that moment, with his hand wrapped around hers, she exhaled. Not physically, but emotionally. They’d sort this out. Her dad was going to be fine. He was.
Mark’s disembodied voice asked, “How do you feel about granola?” He popped his head out of what had to be a huge walk-in pantry. “It’s great. I get it from one of the stalls at the farmer’s market. And I’ve got some fresh fruit. Add some milk, and it’s pretty much a meal.”
“Perfect.” She inched her way a little deeper into his kitchen. She felt like she’d invaded his home. Not that he’d said or done anything to make her feel that way. No, it was just the fact of having shown up on his doorstep uninvited.
He puttered around the kitchen, gathering up a bowl and spoon, milk from the fridge, and blueberries. “I don’t actually cook much from scratch, but I do keep the kitchen stocked. Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll bring everything over.”
She sat down at the small breakfast table. It was just about big enough for three place settings, but it didn’t look like he used it much. “I cook a bit. Dad and I alternate who cooks and who cleans.”
He carried a tray over with granola fixings for both of them.
After they’d both prepared their brunch—though it was closer to lunch in reality—they ate in silence for several minutes.
When they were about halfway through the meal, Mark asked, “Does your dad being a reaper have something to do with you not having a ton of friends?” When she raised her eyebrows at his question, he clarified, “Clearly you’re capable of meeting people and making friends. Is the reaper thing why you haven’t?”
“Well, my dad and I are close.” She tried not to think where her dad might be right now. She gave herself a good mental shake. “Anyway, between my dad and Kitty, being busy with work, and partying like a rock star, there just wasn’t that much time. And I didn’t really see the need. But also, yes, that was part of it. Kitty never seemed to car
e who my dad was, and it doesn’t hurt that my dad adores her. Other magical people, however, tend to be wary of both my dad and me. And as for normals—people without magic—it’s hard to be friends with someone who can’t understand or even know about one of the most important events of my childhood.”
Mark cocked his head.
“Ah. There’s a catch to the reaper gig. When a candidate accepts the reaper position, almost all of their ties to their former life are severed. Close friends and family remember you—my mom, for example, still knows she has a daughter—but for everyone else, he just disappears from memory. And since I decided to go with him, I disappeared, too. That’s magic.” She wiggled her fingers as if casting a spell. “Most of my old friends and acquaintances have no memory of me.”
“Wow. That’s huge. You must have resented your dad for making that choice.”
“Weirdly, I never did. Or if I did, it wasn’t for long. Once he took the job, he was a different man. He was always so tired before. And sad.” She blinked, misty-eyed as she remembered that time. “Yeah. He was really sad back then. But it all changed when he took the job.” She shrugged. Then she remembered Uncle Bedivere. “Ugh. I am so dead. I’m spilling all of the beans. I’m probably getting my toenails plucked or something.”
“There are extenuating circumstance.”
She sighed softly. “Yeah.”
Mark’s phone vibrated. After checking his email, he said, “This is it. Marv gave her a heads up that we’d be contacting her. She says we have to come to her, but she’ll fit us in whenever we arrive. She practices psychometry, so she needs an object of your dad’s. Preferably something he wore close to his skin for a while or of some sentimental value.”
Zelda was having a hard time catching her breath. Putting their plan into action made his disappearance real and immediate. She blew out a breath. “I checked. His wallet and watch are gone. I think I know where his wedding ring is, but there’s not much sentimental value there and it’s been a while since he’s worn it close to his skin. Oh! I’ve got it. His high school ring. He loves that ring. I know exactly where it is; he’s been meaning to get it resized. It’s in the kitchen.”
