Reaping Me Softly

former despite her conscience saying, I told you so! She dumped her bag by the table and slumped into a chair.

“Rough night?” her father asked from the stove.

“You’re cooking?” she asked back, surprise dulling the pulse in her head.

“Just some eggs.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Scrambled?”

“With cheese, please.” She reached out for the carton of orange juice and poured herself half a glass.

“Coming right up.” Her father added a fistful of cheddar into the pan before dumping a heaping hill of orange-yellow fluff on Arianne’s plate. “You have to stop partying like you do. It’s not the era of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll anymore, babe.”

“Dad,” Arianne whined before scooping eggs into her mouth. She savored the tangy, cheesy goodness.

“Why were you sneaking out so early anyway?” He sat down and dug into his own egg mountain.

Arianne paused then swallowed. She took a sip of her juice and said, “I had to talk to Ben about something.”

“I bet he didn’t like that.”

“He listened to me though. Then he sent me away without really saying much about what I told him.”

“As your father—”

“Oh God, Dad, you’re not seriously—”

He held up a hand. “As your father, I feel that it’s my manly duty to say that at your age, it’s extremely inappropriate to be climbing into a boy’s room in the middle of the night.” He pointed his fork at her. “No matter how cute said boy is.”

“I don’t know what’s more horrifying, the fact that you’re giving me a version of ‘the talk,’ which Mom already gave, by the way, or that you just said Ben is cute.”

“With your mom at the hospital most of the time, I need to step up to the plate, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Arianne’s heart turned to mush.

“So, no matter what it is, you have to wait till decent hours to talk to Ben about it.” He stirred sugar into his coffee. “And I don’t want you climbing into his room anymore. Am I making myself clear?”

“Love you too.”

“Good.” He nodded his satisfaction and returned to his breakfast. “Now eat up, you don’t want to miss the bus.”

Arianne’s stomach flipped like a tumbler in a three-ring circus. She’d briefly forgotten why she’d spoken to Ben in the first place. Will I see him today?

Tension headache gone, nervous energy prevented her from finishing breakfast. She grabbed her bag, gave her dad a quick kiss good-bye, and ran out of the house with her heart pumping a million miles a minute.

Chapter 8 DEVIL DEALS

NIKO WALKED OUT OF HIS BATHROOM in unbuttoned jeans and nothing else. A long, languorous shower was just what the doctor ordered after the night he’d been through. For fifteen minutes, he had his forehead plastered to the tile in front of him. He let the heavy stream rain down his back to ease the corded muscles before he did anything else. An hour later, he dried his hair with a towel, not acknowledging the figure that stood by his four-poster in a crisp, navy suit.

Even at sixty, the current incarnation of the Reaper of California still looked younger than most men in their early forties. Vitality and power oozed out of him. It befitted Death’s right hand in the United States. The other Reapers of RUSA acknowledged Tomas as their superior. He’d been around longer than any of them—one of the first created by their master.

“How long are you going to ignore me?” Tomas asked.

“For as long as I can. I have a feeling I’m in trouble,” Niko answered. He knew quite well he held the status of favorite younger brother with the Reaper of California. When Niko was created, he’d been assigned to Tomas’s tutelage. Everything he knew, everything he believed in, even his work ethic and sense of duty came from Tomas. He recalled Arianne mentioning something about a Mr. and Mrs. Clark. If he considered anyone his parent, it would have to be Tomas.

“Wipe that loony smile off your face, boy. Of course you’re in trouble!” Tomas shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you have any idea how much distress your little stunt in the basement caused?”

Niko dropped the towel and draped himself on a bedside chair he used for reading. He covered his face with one hand and peeked at Tomas through his fingers. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here.”

“Damn right I am! You let yourself get so weak that you pretty much drained all the energy from the souls you had in your basement,” he rumbled like boulders bumping together down a mountain. “It’s called residual energy because you only take enough to replenish what you’ve lost!”

“I did take just enough.”

“I looked at those souls, Nikolas! They were emaciated when you brought them in. Some barely made it through processing. Why did you let yourself get so weak anyway?”

“I don’t know.” He pushed deeper into his chair, unwilling to lift his gaze.

“You don’t know?” Tomas paced in front of him. “What kind of a response is that?”

“I’m a teen, remember?”

Tomas cursed like a dockworker. “Do not give me lip, boy!”

Niko sobered. He’d never seen Tomas so upset. Prickling energy radiated from the old Reaper, stinging everything it touched. Niko eyed the shirt on his bed. Sitting bare-chested near an incensed Reaper was far from comfortable.

“I apologize, Tomas.” He stood and reached for the other Reaper’s right hand and touched its knuckles to his forehead.

“Oh, my boy—” Tomas softened “—you need to be more careful. I’d like to think that I taught you better.” He pulled his hand away from the younger Reaper’s grip and ruffled his wet hair. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sit down.” Tomas nudged Niko.

He tumbled back into the chair, feet planted firmly on the floor. “I don’t think—”

“How long have you been depressed?” Tomas interrupted. His voice took on a fatherly tone that he rarely used. It caused Niko to gape for a full minute.

Suddenly, Niko found himself feeling like a newborn Reaper again. The way Tomas searched his face for answers always called to bonds of family they only shared in private, and not as of late. He tried to recall the last time Tomas had actually sounded like a father to him. The civil war had still been raging, the North and the South locked in a bare-knuckle battle.

“Since when, Nikolas?” Tomas urged.

Heart melted, composure close to non-existent, Niko choked up when he said, “Three, maybe four lifetimes ago. I can’t really be sure.” His head fell into his hands. He watched dark dots scatter over the carpet directly below. “Everything just seemed the same. No matter how many times I’m reborn. No matter the time I’m born into. Nothing really changed. Yes, the people changed, but everything remained the same. Slowly, so slowly…” His voice hitched. He had to swallow to continue. “I began to lose sight of what I was living for.”

“The job—”

“Yes, I had my job. I reaped souls, escorted them to the Crossroads. But what was I living for?” He laughed, straightening from his position to stare Tomas in the face.

In a blur of movement, the older Reaper wrapped Niko in firm, solid arms. A fatherly embrace. Niko used Tomas’s shoulder to cover his eyes, dried the river that refused to stay inside him. He knew Tomas wouldn’t care if his suit was ruined. He probably had a thousand more just like it hanging in a huge closet in a mansion somewhere in California.

“Tell me the rest,” Tomas said. “Finish your story.”