Mason was wrong.
Our reaps didn't hog the rest of our night. Their 'post-mortems' stretched all throughout the next day as well, the three of us returning to the Mortuary around noon. With the soft jingle of the doorbell, I entered the antique bookstore Kevin owned as a cover for the Brooklyn's Reaper Alliance headquarters.
As I dragged myself through the deserted racks, my feet screamed to be released from their high-heeled prison. I wanted nothing more than to get some rest and recharge. Not to mention forget the colossal mess my recent assignments had been.
Mustering whatever strength I had left in my body, I nodded at auntie Euphemia, who was minding the counter. The half-mummified elderly woman sat curled up in her rocking chair, taking advantage of the slow day to work on some crochet. When she noticed me, she lifted her head and shot me one of her 'prune smiles', the ones that made the saggy folds of her skin droop and swallow both her eyes and lips.
"Anyone home?"
She nodded and kept silently smiling with her skin folds.
"Alrightey then," I said, and clanked past the counter straight into the back room, leaving our shopkeeper to her crocheting. Believe me, I wish I could explain her and all the others like her. Our Almighty boss wasn't too keen on sharing where he found all the ancient, seemingly immortal old ladies to manage his cover shops.
Speaking of my lovely boss, he ruined whatever dreams I had of rest. As I entered the elevator, I turned on my phone and discovered a text from him. Apparently, he'd called an official Alliance Mortuary meeting, at two p.m. I was mentally preparing myself for the scolding I would be receiving since I'd missed it when I noticed a note in the postscript with four different time stamps. It called all Reapers who couldn't make it to the official meeting to come to whichever rescheduling suited them best.
-Great. Now what?
Kevin never called group meetings. Our hectic schedules didn't allow for organized gatherings.
-Something big must have happened.
Bad news was definitely the last thing I needed at the moment.
Exhaling, I waited for the familiar elevator ding to signal that I'd arrived at my dank, underground destination. When the doors slid open, I exited and followed the familiar scent of mold and humidity to the dorm area I shared with the Reapers who were still under Kevin's patronage-which was a fancy word for newbie reapers in need of training, or those he didn't trust enough to emancipate themselves and build cover lives outside the Mortuary.
Entering my painfully bare, shoe closet of a room, I hurriedly peeled out of my horrid party dress into a comfortable pair of jeans and a cotton sweater. My feet sighed in absolute pleasure when I kicked off those horrible torture devices people called shoes, and let my toes sink into the soft carpet. I gave myself a few moments to breathe, letting my reaper powers kick in to heal the three ugly blister that had formed on my right toe, before sliding them into a comfortable pair of slippers. Afterward, I speed-walked back out into the poorly lit hallway. I stopped just as I entered the cafeteria's spacious, yellowed interior.
"Hey," I murmured to Lillian as I approached our Division's usual table close to the kitchen. My gaze trailed across the empty cups, carton plates, and ketchup-stained tissues littering the tables around us. "Are we early?"
Lillian scribbled something in her Death Ledger, the lock of hair falling into her eyes a stark contrast to her porcelain complexion.
"Nope, everybody already attended the thing at two. It's just us from the Accident Division."
YOU ARE READING
Death's Rulebook
Paranormal"You cannot change fate. But maybe, you can edit it just a little." If there is one thing Violet Ellis has learned in her five years as a Grim Reaper, it's that a) reaping souls and sending them off to the afterlife is the worst job in existence, b...
