Be the Death of Me Read Free Page B

get to be in charge of a Guardian whose boss feels like she doesn’t quite measure up. So do us both a favor, and for the remainder of our time together, just try not to get in my way. Think you can handle that?”
    I know I shouldn’t mess with her, but the opportunity is too much to resist.
    “You ever think that maybe in all the time you just spent giving me that little ‘I’m sorry’ lecture we could have found some common ground and become friends?”
    And then I smile.
    The look on her face is priceless; shock, disbelief, and much to my surprise, amusement, which I see playing around the corners of her lips. A smile flickers into view, briefly, but I see it nonetheless. She stares as if examining me; I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. I know then that she’s debating whether or not I’ll be worth the hassle. I find I’ve lost myself in her gaze until once again, I’m watching the back of her head travel the final few feet to the shiny elevator doors at the end of the hall.
    “So I have a question,” she says as I catch up.
    I grin and slide past, slipping through the double doors. They shut effortlessly, enclosing us. I grin. “Ask away, friend.”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “Right.”
    “Don’t take this as genuine interest, but I’m just curious. Is it true that everyone in sacrifice has . . . you know . . .  an ability?”
    “Ability?” I laugh. “What, you mean like a superpower?”
    She shrugs, and the elevator jolts slightly. “I wasn’t thinking of anything quite so X–Men, but yeah, some kind of power.”
    “X–Men?” I try and contain an emerging smirk. “I like it. Would you say I’m ruggedly handsome like Wolverine, or a charming bad boy a la Gambit?”
    She just shakes her head and presses her lips into a thin line, squeezing by as the reflective doors slide open.
    “I was only kidding,” I say, reaching her side.
    “Were you?”
“Not really, but I’m hoping we can look past that.”
    She halts unexpectedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “So?”
    “So, what?” I can tell it bothers her, working with someone who doesn’t cower at the sight of her scowl.
    “So what’s your ability? That is if you’ve really got one.”
    Abilities: consolation prizes for those who die valiantly. Every worker in sacrifice is given one upon their arrival. Gifts meant to brighten the darkness we’ve subjected ourselves to. I jam my hands in my pockets and lope past, a goofy grin pasted on my face. “Oh, I’ve got one.”
    “And?” she calls after me.
    “And it’s really good.”
    Now she’s the one trying to keep up. “That’s it? It’s really good?”
    I have the sneaking suspicion that keeping Billie in the dark will result in one of two possibilities. She’ll either physically assault me, or grow tired of begging for an answer and have no choice but to wait it out. It’s nice to see her curiosity if not her stubbornness get the better of her.
    “Fine,” she says when I don’t answer. “Don’t tell me. Doesn’t mean I won’t stop guessing.”
    “Well, lucky for me, my ability just happens to be the power to ignore overly inquisitive girls.”
    “That’s pretty funny for a dead guy.” She raises an eyebrow and stares up at me expectantly. “So who’s the lucky schmuck we’re assigned to?”
    I unfold the tiny, white slip of paper the Captain handed to me while Billie was busy storming out of his office. “Benedict Ford. Benedict Bartholomew Ford,” I read again. “Poor guy.”
    “Oh, come on!” she practically shouts. “That doesn’t even sound like a real name! Let me see.” She lunges for the paper in my hand. I’m fast in raising my arm over my head playfully, as she leans into my body trying her best to reach it.
    I’m not an idiot and certainly not naive enough to think anything has changed. It’s been so long, how could it? I knew from the moment I walked into the Captain’s office. It hit me like a brick, not