The Necrodancer

Chapter 1- Job

It was a fairly normal day in college for Cicero. Everyone knew them as "Cecilia" or "Cici" for short. "She" had three classes on Mondays, all in the morning going into the early afternoon. They talked to their professors about the lectures and said hello to the few acquaintances they had in said classes. They were heading to the bus stop, a black umbrella in one hand and their cane in the other, when someone called out to them.

"Cecilia!" Cicero turned around to see a guy jogging towards them, his breath turning to vapor from the cold. "Hey!" Cicero could only stare as he slowed down until he was standing in front of them and under the umbrella. He had dark blond hair, fair skin, and baby blue eyes that looked a bit green in the lighting. He smiled wide, flashing white, slightly crooked teeth. He wore a black beanie, a black hoodie, dark blue jeans, and brown boots. He carried a couple of notebooks, a textbook, and his winter coat, since it was quite a chilly day. They were nearly the same height, perhaps just an inch's difference existing, so their eyes were nearly level with one another.

    "Hello," Cicero answered. They recognized the boy from their Principles of Ethics and Morals lecture. His name was Thomas Camberwell; he was a junior on the pre-law track like Cicero, but he was studying forensic linguistics.

    "Aren't you cold?" he questioned. Cicero shrugged. Besides their clothes, they had nothing to shelter them against the cold, not because they didn't own any winter gear, but because they didn't care. "Here." Cicero's eyes went wide behind their glasses as Thomas wrapped his black coat around their shoulders. "Where are you heading?"
    "The bus stop."

    "I'll walk with you." Without further ado, they began walking side by side towards the bus stop. "You know, Cecilia, we've never talked, but we have taken and, well, are taking, a lot of classes together." Cicero nodded in agreement. "But, for some reason, I've never taken the opportunity to get to know you."

    Cicero shrugged. "I'm not very approachable or interesting. There's not much to know about me."

    Thomas chuckled. "Everyone's got a story, and you seem like you have a long, eventful one."

    Cicero grinned. "That's an interesting opinion."

    "Well, what do you like to do for fun?"

    The reaper couldn't tell the human that they liked to slash through souls with their scythe. "I like to read, listen to music, and garden." It wasn't a lie. "It's not weather for it, though."

    "Do you like emo music?" Cicero scowled. "I mean, your clothes..." He scratched his head awkwardly. "Sorry."

    Cicero grinned. "Yeah, but it's also just the style I like."

    Thomas grinned. "That's cool." They made it to the bus stop. "Why do you use a cane?"

    "Why are you asking me so many questions all of a sudden?"

    Thomas's expression fell; he looked stumped. "I mean, um... I just think we might... have some things in common, and I'd like to get to know you better." He paused. "If that's too personal of a question..."

    "I was in a car accident." That was a partial lie. It was a train accident. "I broke my hip." That was the truth.

    "I'm sorry."

    Cicero shrugged. "It healed as well as was expected." They watched as a bus began pulling towards the sidewalk.

    "Hey," Thomas shouted over the noise, "meet me in the café on the corner of Frederick Street and Garron Street at 20:00, and we can get brainstorming for our original research proposals!"

    "All right!" Cicero shouted back before waving as they climbed onto the bus, closing their umbrella as they did so. Once they found a seat, they watched Thomas wave as the bus pulled away.

    If the reaper knew any better, they would've thought the human was flirting with them.

    Unfortunately for the romantically-inept immortal, they didn't know better.

Cicero was home in time for a late lunch with Reyna and Tilde.

    After returning home, they stayed in their bedroom for the majority of the afternoon, doing homework, listening to music, or napping. They were always so tired because they were constantly doing their job, whether they were doing it actively or not. The souls of those who died were supposed to naturally come to their designated when the time was right. The only times a reaper had to do anything was if a soul was being difficult, in which case Cicero had to go and take the soul by force, or if a soul died or was killed or was going to die or be killed before their natural time, in which case Cicero would have to save the soul if there was still time and/or deal with the cause of the early death, whether it occurred or not.

    The previous night, a soul was keeping attached to her husband and wouldn't let go because he cheated on her several years prior. She had put up quite the fight with the reaper, but it wasn't anything Cicero couldn't handle; despite their youth, they were both quite experienced and extremely skilled. Reaping came more naturally to them than most. Perhaps that was why they were assigned the reaper of England. Many in the field envied them.

    But, no. Cicero envied mortals: their ability to live, and their ability to die.

    That evening, the rain had morphed into a storm: a heavy downpour, raucous thunder, and flashing lightning, making the conditions outside more bitter. Reyna, Tilde, and Cicero ate shrimp and potato stew at the kitchen table. Cicero had a criminal justice textbook open next to their glass of apple juice. They were keeping track of time, as it was nearly 19:00, so their date, though Cicero thought of it as a studying get-together, with Thomas was in about an hour. They hadn't told their aunts because they saw it as no different from any other studying session they'd ever attended. One hand held their spoon and fed the reaper while the other hand supported their head as their elbow rested against the table. Their skinny fingers tangled absentmindedly in their curls. Their skeletal legs were crossed on the chair.

    Suddenly, a wave of information filled their head, and they saw a man in an alleyway, in the dark and the rain. His bloodied face was illuminated by a flash of lightning. Rain made his skin and hair sparkle. He stared down the barrel of a pistol.

    His name was Octavius Marsh, and it was too early for him to die. It appeared as though Cicero may miss their date.

    "Time to fly." Reyna and Tilde stopped talking and turned to look where Cicero had been sitting before. Their stew, book, and juice were as they'd been.

    "Ah, the rush of a job," Tilde chuckled reminiscently. "Don't you remember the good ol' days, Reyna?"

    Reyna wore a soft grin and nodded. "All too well," she sighed.