Reaper Society

Chapter 15: Breakfast with a Side of Gossip

The rest of my shakiness leaves me as I wander into the mess hall with Reginal. The Reaper's not on breakfast duty this morning, shuffling through the line with me as other, sleepy-eyed Reapers from the same few teams I saw last time file into the room. It's morning, Reginal lets me me know the exact time and human date. It's disorienting to realize that more time has passed when I feel like I got less than four hours rest. It's two days later in the human world right now.

"We don't follow human conventions when it comes to time," Reginal explains as we collect what looks like sausage links, three strips of bacon, and a heap of eggs from the first row of plates. I eagerly peek over the shoulder of the Reaper in front of me, noting the knot of hunger twisting my stomach into a full-on riot of gurgling. "Make sure you get lots to eat, Puppy-Chow." Reginal laughs, nodding to my still noisy stomach. "You'll wake the dead with that racket."

"Can we do that?" I ask the man, my eyes widening in horror. The older Reaper laughs, reaching for the next row of plates and adding a stack of five pancakes to his tray. I follow his example and wait for him to stop chuckling already and give me an answer.

"Thank salt, we can't." Reginal finally chortles, taking another moment to skim over yet another row of plated breakfast. This row is some sort of creamy soup that smells amazing. I eagerly pull a bowl onto my tray and continue down the line with the older Reaper. "No, reviving the dead is reserved for a type of Dark Magician called a Necromancer." He replies nonchalantly. I stare at Reginal in utter shock.

"What - like a witch?" I sputter my response in a too-high, too-loud voice that has a few Reapers glancing at us. Reginal turns back to me and frowns, wrinkling his middle-aged face further.

"Why, yes." He agrees. "Hasn't your mentor told you about the other supernaturals in the world yet?"

"Asher's not exactly into lecturing about anything right now." I growl my response, feeling a little deflated.

"Ah, I forget you've got Ash-hole." Reginal sighs and pats my shoulder with one free hand in commiseration. I slouch a little as we get to the end of the line, sulkily picking up a couple utensils and three boxes of juice to take to my seat. There's a table in the center of the room that has several pots of coffee, hot water, and paper cups with a variety of single-packet tea bags and drink mixes. "I'm gonna go eat with my team, see you later, kid." Reginal tells me when I spot the only other two Reapers I know in the room.

"See ya, Reg." I nod to the man and maneuver through the now crowded hall of Reapers to sit across from Tegan and Dante. "Morning." I tell them as I sit. Tegan waves at me, pressing a hand to her mouth as she chews. Dante smiles at me warmly, setting a paper cup of steaming coffee down.

"Good day," He tells me with a smirk. "We don't really say what time of day it is unless we're on Earth." He adds, then tilts his head as he considers something else. "We will say 'good night' when we're going to retire for rest, though." I roll my eyes at this odd revelation.

"You will get used to it, eventually." Tegan tells me gently.

"I feel like I'm missing out on so much already," I groan in annoyance, the whole swear-word alphabet fluttering through my head as I mentally curse my mentor's 'teaching methods' or there lack of. "Asher's fucking frustrating!" I hiss as I pull my fork and knife out to tear into the stack of pancakes on my tray. My hands grip the utensils like a toddler would, the anger in my movement fueling the weaker muscles to function. It still feels odd, using my hands to complete tasks that require finer-tuned muscle movements, but I'm starting to get used to the awkward feel of things along my scarred up skin.

"He is on probation for a reason," Dante hums under his breath, but I hear him clearly. Tegan makes a sound of agreement as she takes a few bites of food. Dante finishes his coffee and starts on his own tray of food.

"Is there any way I can get him to actually teach me something? Or, I don't know, force him to follow a more conventional route?" I ask after a moment. By now most of my pancakes have filled my no-longer-starving stomach and I feel a little calmer. The edges of exhaustion still haunt me, and I make a mental pro and con list for getting up to get a cup of coffee or green tea to perk me up.

"Most Reaper mentors follow the same teaching method of theory first, then hand-to-hand combat," Dante sighs, giving me a distressed look. "But they're all on assignment, so that leaves...well, let's just say the options are limited for instruction right now."

"Couldn't I blackmail him or something?" I insists, considering every available option to force my mentor to give me the training I need to be a Reaper. Both my Reaper friends burst into laughter. I glare at them as they continue their guffawing over the next few bites of breakfast. Tegan slows first, but Dante answers first.

"Even if you could find a weakness for Ash-hole," He starts with an extra chuckle. "I'm almost positive he'd find out long before you attempted to blackmail him."

"Yes, especially since he's...you know" Tegan hums, gesturing in the air as she tries to translate the exact phrase she's thinking of. "He's...your mentor is a soul-stealer who can scent intentions." Tegan explains offhandedly.

"He'd probably smell it on you before you could carry out the blackmail." Dante gives an agreeing bob of his head and all I can do is stare at them in confusion.

"Soul-stealer?" I ask, the echo of the term feeling gross in my mouth. Wrong somehow.

"Yes. He was a demon in his last life." Dante explains with a slowly growing frown as surprise makes my eyes go wide.

"Had no one told you?" Tegan asks me with a frown twisting her lips. "I would have thought someone would have at least mentioned it to you before they made him your mentor." She wrinkles her nose and glances at Dante.

"No. I've only been here one day." I explain, my head whirling as I try to process what they're saying. "How can a demon even become a Reaper?" I lower my voice a little, though I know this isn't a touchy topic if they brought it up so easily.

"I don't know the whole story, but the rumor is that he made a deal with Death himself after trying to dismantle the regime in Hell." Tegan lowers her voice so I have to lean in to hear her. She casts her liquid gold eyes around nervously. Searching for the subject of our conversation?

"No one knows the real story, though. But that's why his nickname was White Fang when he first joined up." Dante throws in with a slight widening of his eyes and a finger lifting the corner of his upper lip to expose one of his normal-sized canines. I blink, recalling how Asher had changed back in the alley when we faced the cat-horde. Was that his demon form or something? Is that why his eyes glow red?

"Can't you two find something better to talk about?" An annoyed voice rasps from beside me.

I jerk back, both Dante and Tegan blanching as my mentor seems to materialize in the empty space on the bench beside me. I can't tell how long he's been there, only that I'm just now noticing his presence. Whiplash sensations and all, smack into me the second I see him leaning against the table on his forearms. Asher's not looking at me, though, his reddish-brown eyes are fixed on my Reaper friends, staring the pair down.

Tegan and Dante mutter some excuse and grab their trays in unison, not even looking at me as they shuffle to the drop-off area for empty trays and all but run from the room. I don't blame them. If I had an ounce of self-preservation, I'd have run after them. As it is...that creepy-ass feeling of anticipation and fluttery nervousness has crept back into my body, making my temperature and heart rate sky rocket.

"Am I not allowed to have friends now?" I hiss at my mentor. Asher turns his raptor-like gaze to me, the chilling emptiness in it making alternate hot and cold shivers creep along my spine. For a moment, the red in the brown flares incrementally brighter, warming the non-expression into something almost predatory.

"We have work to do."