Chapter 130 - Face Down

Emma's window opened onto a lower roof, with a tree right alongside it to serve as a convenient escape route. Getting down just required stepping onto one sturdy branch that Emma pointed out, and then Morrigan had to stretch a leg to the next branch below. From there, it was just a four-foot drop to the ground.

Emma peeked around the corner to make sure no nosy neighbors were around to witness their suspicious departure, then signaled for Morrigan to follow.

Once they’d made it down the street and turned the corner, they settled into a casual pace, free from the worry of arousing suspicion or being seen by Emma’s mom glancing out the window at an inopportune moment.

“So, where are we headed?” Emma asked.

“Noir?” Morrigan prompted, glancing down at the cat since she hadn’t gotten her physical list back from him yet.

“2332 Maple Run Road,” Noir answered. “Your client is Sean Morrison—a 57-year-old man who will be suffering a heart attack. It would be advisable to utilize public transportation to reach the destination in a timely manner.”

Emma already had her phone out, fingers tapping the screen as she searched the address. “Seems like reaping at night is a lot easier, huh?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Yeah, kind of. But shadow stepping is difficult in its own way—and a bit disorienting. I’ve gotten used to it but the real problem is losing out on sleep. I swear I was dying at the shelter. I probably need to sleep for a straight week to catch up on all the hours I missed.”

Emma chuckled. “This is kind of exciting, though. I never really got a chance to watch you work before.”

Morrigan frowned. “Well… it’s not really anything worth seeing. And you said you’d stay back, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll make sure I’m not getting in the way. I wouldn’t want Noir getting mad at me.”

The changeling stirred slightly, but not enough to cause concern—just a soft ripple of motion across Morrigan’s back. She watched Emma through the corner of her eye, just now noting how the black hoodie she wore didn’t match the rest of her outfit in the slightest. She was skipping along, arms swinging at her sides, clearly enjoying herself, and Morrigan felt slightly bothered by that.

“Emma, it’s not just about Noir. You really should just stay back when I do the reaping. It’s… really not something worth seeing.”

Emma’s swinging arms stilled as she gave Morrigan a more serious look. “How come?”

Morrigan sighed. “I mean… have you ever seen someone die before? Some spirits accept it easily, but others are pretty upset about not being among the living anymore.”

“Oh yeah, I mean… I wasn’t planning to ask them to snap a picture with me or anything. Not like I can see them in the first place.” Emma’s lips quirked up, but when Morrigan didn’t respond, the smile faded. A short silence stretched between them until Emma spoke again. “If you’re worried about it upsetting me, I’d rather know what your daily job is like. I know it affects you pretty badly sometimes.”

“Yeah, but I’m a reaper. It’s my burden.”

Emma tilted her head. “Don’t you remember the two-way-street thing?”

“Not for this.” Morrigan’s tone was firm. “Just stay back when I go to reap my clients.” Then she forced a smile, reaching out to take Emma’s hand. “But I do appreciate your company in between. Normally, I only have Noir to bounce thoughts off of.”

Emma smiled and took Morrigan’s hand, with Morrigan feeling a little more comfortable with it. Granted, it was kind of like holding a gun to Emma’s head but with the safety off (an act she assumed would give any gun safety advocates an aneurysm), but realistically, there was no danger as long as Emma wasn’t yanking on her hand and the gloves had a snug fit. The new one she was wearing even had a strap that tightened around her wrist, so it would be impossible to slip it off without undoing that first.

“Only Noir around to keep you sane? It’s a wonder you haven’t gone completely crazy already.”

Morrigan smirked. “I think I’ve gotten a little close a few times.”

A brief silence settled over them before Emma said, “Sorry, I hope I didn’t sound pushy a minute ago.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just not something you should have to witness. Dying sucks. You’re better off not witnessing it if you don’t have to.”

“Alright, I get it.” Emma’s smile returned, softer this time. “Sorry, I don’t mean to seem morbid, but I do find it kind of interesting. I mean, I’m dating a reaper, after all. I guess that makes me a slightly morbid person.”

Morrigan returned the smile, though a subtle discomfort lingered. She knew Emma was trying to lighten the mood, but the truth was her casual attitude toward death struck a nerve. Emma had no idea what it was like to see people die right in front of her—sometimes in horrible accidents—let alone to speak with their spirits.

On the bus, they got slightly quieter, probably because they couldn’t exactly openly talk about reaping or witchcraft with so many people around. Morrigan found it strange how so few people were aware of the supernatural stuff that went on in the supernatural world around them. To everyone else, they were just two teenage girls on a summer afternoon. But in reality, one was a witch, and the other a reaper—both still new to their respective supernatural roles, true, but still living lives that most people couldn’t even imagine.

Morrigan looked out the window, catching a glimpse of her own reflection.
I wonder what we’ll be like in ten years. My body count will be in the thousands, and considering how good Emma is at magic after just one summer, I can’t imagine what kind of spells she’ll be capable of.

Morrigan knew she’d have to leave her human life behind eventually, but she hoped she could at least remain a part of Emma’s world—even if it meant Emma would have to pretend she was dead to everyone else.

Will I have to have a funeral? How is that going to work? Closed casket, or let them bury me and wait for Death to come dig me up later?

Once they were off the bus and walking down the street, Morrigan said, “Oh yeah. I met another reaper today.”

“Really? What were they like? I hope they were more like Lawrence and not that Alice chick you told me about.” Emma shuddered.

Morrigan hummed thoughtfully. “Mmmmm… I’d say more like Alice, but still pretty different. His name was Fenris.”

“Like Fenrir, the Norse god?”

“Yeah. He reaped my client because I was a little late… He kind of seemed like a jerk, and his voidling was even worse than Noir.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Emma said.

Noir’s voice slipped out from a shifting shadow alongside them. “I am still here, you know.”

“Oh yeah, and I never got a chance to ask. Who was that Lori person he mentioned? Said she was like… a mother? Did he mean like a mother of reapers?”

“I will not speak on this in front of Emma. Either way, you should ask Master,” Noir replied.

Morrigan sighed. “Why does everything have to be a huge mystery?”

Then a random thought surfaced as Britney crossed her mind for some reason and she realized she hadn’t told Emma yet. With everything else going on, that tiny piece of normalcy seemed almost irrelevant, which was probably why she’d nearly forgotten.

“Oh yeah, you know Britney from school? Turns out we’re neighbors,” Morrigan said dryly.

“Seriously?” Emma’s lips quirked slightly.

“Yup. Just a couple houses down. We’re in the same cul-de-sac.”

“And you’re just now telling me about this, why?”

“Seems pretty mundane compared to all the reaper and magic stuff going on in our lives lately.”

“Okay, okay, fair point there. Well, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing, really. I guess she’ll notice me eventually. Mmmm, maybe not with all my new goth gear, though.”

“Heheh, yeah, not at first anyway. Honestly, it suits you. You should have gone goth a long time ago if you ask me,” Emma said with a wink.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket. It was her maps app, alerting her, and she pointed ahead. “So that’s the place over there.”

The house was a pale blue, with neat flower beds lining the front walkway. Inside, however, there would soon be a dead body and a soul waiting to be reaped.

“Noir, what time is on the list again?”

“4:53 p.m.,” he answered.

Morrigan checked her phone—still a few minutes to go.

Emma clutched her phone, her earlier excitement cooling into something more cautious. “So... how do we do this? I mean, what do you want me to do?”

“Just hang back,” Morrigan said firmly. “I won’t be long. Okay?”

Emma nodded, watching as Morrigan walked toward the house. She engaged her perception blocking as she got closer, slipping into near invisibility.

Morrigan fished the skeleton key out of her skirt pocket—thankfully, it was a skirt with pockets—and slipped it into the lock. She eased the door open and checked the time again. Only a couple of minutes left.

She heard a television set and music coming from another room as she moved quietly through the house until she saw a man in the kitchen, chopping vegetables on a cutting board, nodding his head along to the music he was listening to. Morrigan assumed he was her client, so she slipped a shadowed corner with her perception blocking keeping her invisible—although unnoticeable would be a more accurate term—and waited.

She checked her phone again. Less than a minute.

She watched the man set the knife down and touch his chest. He cleared his throat, then moved to a cabinet and started rummaging through bottles. His knee buckled suddenly, but he caught himself on the counter. He pressed two fingers against his neck as a low groan escaped him, and his other hand clutched his chest tighter.

His movements turned suddenly frantic—searching his pockets, maybe for a phone—but as he left the kitchen, his body gave out. He collapsed, falling right at Morrigan’s feet.

Morrigan gulped, staring down at him. She waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t moving, then knelt down and slipped off her glove. She touched the back of his neck with the palm of her hand then took a quick step back as his spirit emerged.

“Ah!” the spirit gasped, standing up and clutching his heart. “Oh... oh, I’m okay,” he muttered, pressing his fingers into his neck again.

Morrigan canted her head curiously. Maybe he’d been aware of his heart condition and knew how to check his pulse. But as his fingers continued to probe his own neck, his expression became confused.

Alright. Time to get into character.

“Mr. Morrison?” she asked, stepping into the light.

He instantly backed away, eyes wide with shock. “What the—who...” His voice trailed off. She was used to that. Most of her clients tended to ask who when they really meant what.

“Hello. Unfortunately, it seems you’ve suffered a heart attack, and you are now dead. I’m what’s called a reaper, and my job is to guide you to the afterlife.”

“No way... this is a joke, isn’t it? I mean...” He looked around until his gaze landed on his own dead body sprawled on the floor. His spirit hand trembled as he flexed his fingers, turning it over and back again, as if trying to disprove the truth.

“I’m very sorry. It’s never easy to accept when one’s mortality has come to an end. However, the fortunate thing is that your spirit is destined for heaven.”

Tears filled his eyes. “No. No, I can’t be... I can’t be dead. My wife—she’ll be home any minute. I was in the middle of making lunch for us.”

Morrigan’s chest tightened. She had to tread carefully. “You’ll see her again. Not right now, but someday. I promise.”

He clutched his head. “No! You don’t understand. She’ll find me like this. Oh, I can’t do this to her.”

Morrigan frowned.

Yeah, I guess that’s a tough one. Maybe I should have just reaped him before he had a chance to realize he was dead. Hm... so how do I make him feel better about the situation? What would Death say?

Sometimes she could pull it off—find a silver lining, offer a shred of solace—but there was no glass-half-full angle to the thought of his wife walking in and finding him face-down against the linoleum.

She took a breath. Sometimes, the best she could offer was simple honesty.

“I know it’s hard, and it will be hard on her, but it’s out of your control now. Your memories will remain, and as she moves into the next chapters of her life, you’ll always be a part of her. Then, one day in heaven, you’ll meet again.”

She reached out and summoned her scythe. Mr. Morrison went rigid, eyes locked on the dark, gleaming blade with the faint blue aura around it. Morrigan had to admit—drawing the scythe right after a dramatic speech always seemed to add a little extra impact.

Should I be thinking like that? Man, I really am a sociopath.

“Are you ready?” she asked softly, gripping the scythe with both hands.

“N-no... not really.”

“I understand,” Morrigan said. “But I promise it won’t hurt.”

“I just...” He lowered his head and shut his eyes as his words trailed off. It didn’t seem he had anything to say.

That was probably as close to calm as she’d get him, so she raised her scythe and brought it down in a smooth arc. Within moments, his spirit shimmered, then disappeared.

Wellp, that’s another one down.

She stepped over his dead body, tossed her scythe away, and then exited through the front door with her perception blocking up.

By the time she reached the sidewalk she spotted a car coming down the road. It slowed, and a pang of guilt twisted in Morrigan’s gut. She hoped—really hoped—it wouldn’t pull into the driveway of the house she’d just left.

Unfortunately, it did. Morrigan averted her eyes, knowing the driver was about to face the worst kind of surprise imaginable.

Whatever. It’s not my problem. I did my job… That’s what’s important, right?

She still felt bad she hadn’t been able to turn Mr. Morrison’s passing into an easier one.

“Hey! How did it go?” Emma asked, springing up from the curb at the next corner.

“It went fine,” Morrigan answered. “Hey, Noir. Where’s the next one?”

“Your next client is named John Larson. His death will occur at 3542 Silent Drive in aproximately one hour.” Noir’s ears folded back, a rare sign of discomfort. “It seems his cause of death is murder by knife attack.”

“Oh... crap,” Emma muttered.

“Damn. I hate murders.” Morrigan sighed, prompting Emma to raise an eyebrow at her.

Morrigan pulled out her phone, realizing the address sounded familiar. She was pretty sure that street was downtown in the city. She had been to that area for several other reapings throughout the summer.

However, once she finished typing in the address, the location popped up, and she turned her head. "Huh..."

"What is it?" Emma asked.

"Well, this is going to be an interesting one. Looks like my next client is going to die at a psych ward."

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Chapter 131 - Delusion