Reaper Read Free

typical of any
woman having interacted with Vlad.
    “He’s an ass,” Oz said by way of apology for
both what she’d probably endured on the other side of the door, and
for himself because that was all he was able to summon as an
ice-breaker.
    “Nothing I can’t handle. I’m Cora,” she said
and offered her hand. “I hear you’re going to be joining us.”
    Her grip was firm, her hand soft.
    “Guess so.”
    “Do you know anything about reaping?”
    “Not a damn thing,” he said.
    “Good. Bard likes it better when he doesn’t
have to deprogram new recruits.”
    Her eyes sparkled. Oz never thought that eyes
could actually sparkle, but Cora’s did. He was so mesmerized that
he’d almost missed the part where Cora insinuated that she wasn’t
his trainer.
    “Bard?”
    “Yeah. He’s a good guy once you get to know
him a little. Bit rough around the edges maybe.”
    It took every muscle in Oz’s face working to
their full potential to not look crestfallen.
    “Speak of the devil,” Cora said.
    The second reaper looked like the business
end of a burning cigar. His lips were pursed like he’d eaten
something unpleasant. Faint, but visible scars—burns, maybe—covered
most of his neck, jaw, and forearms. Oz didn’t want to think about
how much of the reaper’s body was scarred, but his mind went there
anyway. The reaper was old, but solid. Harmless at first glance,
but with something more sinister hiding; the kind of person who
probably had someone locked in the basement. As he approached, Oz
smelled cigarette smoke and vinegar.
    The reaper raised an eyebrow at Cora.
    “Oz, this is Bard. He’ll be training
you.”
    Oz offered his hand.
    Bard ignored it and reached for the pack of
Marlboros poking out from his jacket pocket. “At ease, soldier.
It’s a wasted effort. This dame don’t like dick.”
    Cora punched Bard in the shoulder, knocking
him back a step.
    Oz’s face burned.
    “I wasn’t, I mean—”
    “Got the lady fighting your battles for you
already, eh, Princess?”
    “Bard, knock it off,” Cora said, though her
voice lacked sincerity.
    Bard put his hands up. “Fine, fine. All in
fun.”
    Nothing about his face said fun. Cruel
and unusual torture, maybe, but not fun.
    If Oz had a gun, he’d turn it on himself if
only for the distraction. There must have been some kind of
semantic mistake. This Bard guy obviously belonged in Hell. Which
circle was it for perpetual humiliation? The third?
    “Be nice,” Cora said.
    Bard shrugged. “Ok, Princess. Let’s get to
it. The dead aren’t getting any deader. Cora.”
    Bard tipped an imaginary hat to her before
marching away, not bothering to check if Oz was following.
    He jogged to keep up with the old man and,
taking only a second to look over his shoulder to see Cora smiling
apologetically, followed Bard out of The Department.
     

 
    Chapter
Three
     
    Oz couldn’t see his hand in front of his
face, let alone to where Bard had led him. If not for the echo of
his movements, Oz would’ve guessed they’d landed in a
slaughterhouse. The air was thick with muggy heat and the distinct
stench of shit. Lights appeared overhead and, after his eyes
adjusted to the sharpness of it, Oz looked around. They stood in a
public bathroom the size of a large prison cell, walled with
yellowing tiles that harbored mold along the grout lines.
    “A bathroom?” Oz asked.
    “Gotta be someplace a person isn’t likely to
wander in to. The living don’t like surprises.”
    Bard’s voice came from one of the stalls.
    A flush. Then the stall door opened.
    “And I wanted to piss.”
    Oz couldn’t remember the last time he pissed.
Few things could compare to the ecstasy of relieving a full
bladder.
    Bard backed into the door to open it while
plugging a cigarette between his lips.
    “Think you can learn without asking too many
questions?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Apparently, no. Look, questions are a waste
of time. There is no such thing as a satisfying