“Satania,” she growls. “That’s enough.”

  The black panther is a very old Omen, one with gray flecks around the curves of her eyes and on the sides of her muzzle. Tiana is older than almost any other Omen I’ve ever met; her gaze steady and her voice firm.

  Satania turns to her, mouth twisted up with displeasure. “Tiana. What are you doing here? I told you to stay and guard the Chapel!”

  “The Chapel needs no guard,” says Tiana with a flick of one ear. “But clearly, I am needed here.”

  “Tiana,” says Wil, relief in his voice. He manages to squirm out of Angelica’s grasp and onto the floor, though his legs are so unsteady that they don’t hold him and he promptly tumbles downward. The little Omen topples over, side heaving.

  Keeping Angelica safe had taken up almost all of his energy, as it turned out.

  Tiana glances at Wil, but only for a moment. Then the black panther steps forward to sit down in a neat perch at Satania’s side. She looks up at her partner without tilting her head, just flicking her eyes toward Satania instead.

  “This is wrong, and you know it,” says Tiana, bluntly. “You could have killed that Omen.”

  Satania snorts. “The Omen should have listened to me.”

  “Satania,” says Tiana. “This is wrong. The order of Destiny is to leave those who have been decreed spared. We cannot go against that. You cannot go against that.”

  Satania’s expression crumples into one of thinly veiled fury. The Head Reaper is clearly unhappy, and her teeth gnash and clack together. She turns away from the Omen, as though to cross the room toward where Angelica is kneeling on the ground—but Tiana grabs hold of the back of those black robes she’s wearing and pulls her back.

  Except that they aren’t black.

  This close to Angelica, the whole room is lit up with color, and that means that Tiana and Satania are as well. There are streaks of light that flash in Satania’s robes, these fleeting flashes of something that shouldn’t be there. The colors shimmer out of existence with each flow and furl of the fabric.

  Tiana tugs, hard, and Satania spins back around. She grabs hold of the hem of the robes and snatches them away from the black panther—who does not let go. Those too-sharp teeth split the fabric, causing it to rip. A piece of it flutters to the ground.

  Satania makes a sound in the back of her throat, frustrated. “What are you doing? You’re meant to be on my side, to partner with me!”

  “I’m on the side of Destiny,” says Tiana bluntly. “And the side that listens when the world speaks. My only job is to ensure that you not only hear the omens of the world, but that you follow through on them. And you are not.”

  I dare not add my two cents worth to the conversation. I can tell this is a delicate balance; that if we’re going to make any progress in the conversation, it must come from Tiana. The Omen has known Satania longer than anyone else in all of the worlds – and even beyond that, the Omen has been around longer than practically anyone.

  No one has ever claimed to be older than Tiana, and while she’s never said as much—clearly, we don’t talk more than we need to, the council meeting is proof enough of that—many people think that she might even have been the first Omen made.

  At least, the first of the Omens that are still left around and serving humanity.

  “The rules of the world—” Satania starts.

  Tiana flicks her long tail. “Are to listen to the bidding of Fate and Destiny both. They fight at times, and the outcome must always be respected, even when it’s not agreed with. We are not here to take sides, Satania. The fact that you believe this mortal should have been Collected, that changes nothing.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it, then?” Satania demands. “I can’t let this one go! Souls have piled up!”

  Angelica, bravely, stupidly, says, “He’s done his job since then.”

  All eyes turn toward her. She quails backward, just a bit, and snatches Wil back up. The black cat is too exhausted to fight, and instead just lets himself be pressed and plastered against Angelica’s chest. He rests his head upon the curve of her arms, eyes only half open.

  To protect against a Reaping, that takes a lot of energy. Shields are hard to form. But to protect against something like this—the head reaper’s magic, so close to the actual source of it? It's a true wonder that Wil hasn’t simply passed out, and that Angelica hasn’t either.

  But it does leave a question that must be answered; and it leaves an answer that I’m terrified to get.

  What happens now?

  That seems to be the one question that Tiana is the only one with an answer for. I find that the only thing I can hope is that Satania will listen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angelica

  The moment Satania stops actively trying to kill me, Reap me, Collect me, or any variation of those things, I can feel it. Like en electric guitar that has finally been unplugged from the amp, the frantic background ‘sound’ of energy fades away.

  I let out a heavy breath. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s unnerving to have two Reapers and two Omens in my house, nor does it change the fact that the energy levels in the room are still enough to make me feel dizzy.

  Silently, Grim steps past Tiana and Satania, who appear to be having a totally silent conversation with each other. He holds out his hand, which I’m quick to take. I let the Reaper pull me up onto my feet, and then pass Wil over to him.

  Grim curls both arms around the little black cat. Softly, he says, “Thank you, my friend.”

  Wil’s ears twitch. He presses himself more fully into the folds of Grim’s robes. “Put me somewhere I won’t embarrass myself.”

  “Nothing you’ve done has been embarrassing,” I mutter to him, but I sit Wil down on the end of the couch all the same.

  The Omen gratefully drags himself closer to one of the big plush pillows and collapses against it, whiskers pressed forward and gaze locked on the sleek form of the black panther.

  I’ve never seen her before, but it’s easy to tell that not only is she an Omen—Satania’s, I’m betting—but that she’s also an important part of Reaper existence.

  I lean against the wall, waiting.

  The black panther steps toward me. “You are the mortal there is so much fuss over.”

  “I guess I am,” I tell her with a crooked upwards twitch of the lips. “I didn’t mean to cause any issues but—” I pause, take a deep breath. Tilt my chin up just a little bit. “I’m not going to apologize for it, either. Not for living, and not for the time that I’ve spent with Grim.”

  “Insolent little shit,” spits Satania. “Tiana—”

  The Omen’s ear twitches. “Hush.”

  Satania looks as though she’s one step away from blowing up an object in the room, just to let some of the irritation and upset out. “Don’t you hush me.”

  Tiana ignores her. The Omen might not be above Satania in terms of other Reapers—I doubt that Grim could ever get away with something like this—but she’s clearly at least on the same level, in regards to the structure and hierarchy of an Omen.

  “You,” says Tiana, stepping over to me. It’s intimidating to have a black panther in my apartment. I don’t know if the fact that she’s a sentient supernatural creature makes it better or worse. A bit of both. Definitely a bit of both.

  “Me,” I repeat, with a nervous laugh. “What about me?”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” says Tiana. “You apologize for the mess, but you don’t truly apologize for it. You have a sorrow for the issue that was caused, but no desire to change enough that it won’t happen again.”

  I tilt my chin just a little bit, trying to make myself seem less nervous than I truly am. “I don’t want to leave Grim. There’s not much you can do that would make me change my mind on that. I don’t think you could say anything that would.”

  “They went to see Mnemosyne,” says Wil from the couch.

  Tiana’s head snaps toward him. “What?”

  Wil pauses, and then says, more pointedly, “I took them to see her.”

  Satania demands, “Why would you let that goddess become involved in the affairs of a Reaper?”

  “You wouldn’t answer my questions,” Grim tells her, finally turning to face Satania. “So I found someone that would. I looked to my own memories for the answer; and I found that my death was unjust, and that this was meant to balance it.” He holds his hands out to either side as he says that. “And to try and fix the scale.”

  Satania’s eyes flash with brilliant white light. There’s a flare of color behind, when the flashing fades. She curls her hands into fists at her sides. “The scale has been unbalanced for months. You weren’t concerned with it when you stopped Collecting!”

  “He was,” says Wil. “He was just concerned with Angelica’s scale.” The tip of his tail twitches. “It would be much easier to deal with this without so much opposition. You should both be able to see that they’re dead set on this happening.”

  Tiana asks, “On what happening?”

  I’m the one who answers. I figure, hey, this is about me anyway, right? I need to be the one who says it, so they don’t think Grim or Wil might have put the idea out there instead. “I want to become a Reaper.”

  Silence falls through the room. Even Satania turns to look at me, sockets gone wide and brows raised.

  I wait, but no one else speaks. It’s up to me to break the silence. I do that, though not exactly eagerly. “I’m going to become a Reaper,” I say, “And then there will be no fallouts on Grim’s end for wanting to be with me.”

  “You know,” says Tiana, after a few long moments. “I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a mortal who wanted to become a Reaper.”

  “Never?” I ask, though I can’t say I’m surprised. Most people have no idea the Reaper society even exists. And the majority of the ones who do either started off like Margie, or they were changed to believe everything the elder woman said.

  Reapers are bad…evil. They’re ghouls.

  To me, the idea is laughable. But I’m sure that to a lot of people—to most people—the image of a Reaper is a terrifying one. I mean, just think about all of the different horror movies that are just about Death coming to collect its dues!

  Final Expansion comes to mind; Black Dog and I C U come to mind, as well. Horror movies where someone managed to avoid death, but they haven’t truly avoided it. Where something is sent to collect them and pull them straight down into the depths of Hell.

  That shows how most humans see this other world; the world of the Reapers.

  “Never,” says Tiana. She doesn’t sound angry. She mostly just sounds thoughtful. Her gaze sweeps over me, taking me in from head to foot. “Becoming a Reaper… That’s… That’s something that cannot be undone. When you make this decision, you must stick with it. You understand that you’ll never be able to undo it?”

  “I would never want to undo it.” I pull myself away from the walls, and my legs wobble a bit but they hold strong. It helps that Grim meets me partway through the room, reaching out and curling both of his hands around my own, tangling them together, so that I can lean up against him. “I want this to last. I want us to last.”

  A softness creeps into my voice and into my eyes. I let go of Grim with one hand, reaching up and brushing my fingers over the side of the Reaper’s skull. The touch is just as electric as it’s always been. There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is the right decision to make. That going with Grim—that becoming the same thing as Grim—it will never once make me regret leaving behind my mortality.

  I turn to face Tiana then and say, as firmly and confidently as I can, “I want to be with him. And there’s nothing either of you can say that would change that.”

  Tiana looks at me for an uncomfortably long time, and then she flicks her ears, just once, in understanding. “I believe you.”

  Satania looks none too happy about that statement but doesn’t argue against it. Her arms fold over her chest, and her gaze goes heavy and dark. The lights in it take on a new color—something I’ve never seen happen with a Reaper before.

  They burn red in the dark of her eye sockets. In that moment, Satania looks just as horrifying as any depiction of Death Incarnate a movie has ever come up with. She steps toward me, and doesn’t stop until there are only inches of space between us.

  Grim’s arms wrap around me protectively, pulling me up against his front. The energy that comes off of Satania is so strong and sour, it makes my stomach curdle anew. My mouth is watering and I have to swallow rapidly to prevent myself from growing too queasy.

  “If you wish to go through with this,” Satania says firmly. “Then I expect your soul to be Collected by Grim himself.”

  “What?” This surprises me. It seems like a terrible punishment for our want to be with each other. Maybe I should have expected it, but…

  It’s the tone she uses when she says it. As though it’s her linchpin piece to prevent us from actually being together.

  It’s Tiana who says, “That is how it must be done. Only Destiny or another Reaper can lay out the groundwork for a specific type of Collection. You must understand, this is not to be cruel. This is being done because—it simply must be done.”

  “It’s all cruel,” Wil says from the couch.

  Tiana turns to him, gaze bright. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is.” Wil has finally regained enough of his strength that he can jump off of the couch, though his fur is still dull and the shine has left it. “It’s all cruel. Stuck in one spot, like us. Stuck with nothing but bones, like them. Can’t even have something if they aren’t the same. How isn’t it cruel?”

  “Fate is often unkind.” Tiana doesn’t sound like she’s preaching. Instead, it feels like an act of agreement. As though she understands what it is Wil is trying to get across.

  “This is hardly unkind,” says Satania with a snort. “Unkind would have been a stark refusal.”

  One of Tiana’s ears twitch. “I believe that means Satania both agree and approve of this decision, so long as you follow the rules, and you do it on your own.”

  And then she turns and steps to the shadows of the room. Tiana vanishes from sight. I can practically see the way Wil goes a bit crestfallen; it’s easy to tell that the little prince is smitten with the oldest of the Omens.

  Satania looks at us, still standing so close. She reaches out and jabs a finger against my chest. “He will Reap you, and this time will be final. Or I will come back, and there will be no time to convince me to give you a second chance.”

  “I don’t need a second chance,” I insist. “This was my idea, not his.”

  Those bright red eye lights flare bright again. A pulse shakes through the room, and then she’s gone, and it’s just the three of us there once more. My confidence gives out for a moment. I sag against Grim, and let out a heavy, trembling exhale.

  My fingers tangle in the front of his robes, holding to it tight as I can. The flat of my forehead presses to his shoulders. “This is a lot more than I thought it would be. Satania is terrifying.”

  “She might be, but she’s gone.” Grim pauses. “If we do this, you’re going to have to report to her, and you’ll have to do it often. I don’t remember much of my early days of being a Reaper, but I know that she pays much closer attention to the newcomers than she does to anyone else.”

  "And she will specifically observe you," Wil explains. "Simply because she has taken a disliking to you. Brace yourself for challenging tasks. Moreover, the Omen you receive is likely to be a novice, lacking the skill to genuinely assist you."

  "You sound like you're trying to talk me out of this," I say, feeling a flicker of irritation. I take a quick step backward. "I literally just told them that nothing could change my mind, and I really meant it! Grim, I love you."

  “And if you forget me?”

  "I'll learn to love you all over again," I tell him, being completely honest. "You've gotta know that about me. It doesn't matter what we face or what we gotta do in the days ahead. I love you. I'll always love you. Even if I lose myself, it won't change that."

  Grim's gaze tenderly softens as he places his palm against my cheek. "I admit I’m being selfish. The very idea of being the one responsible for Reaping you troubles me deeply."

  "I know, it's gonna be hard," I say, with a hint of understanding in my tone. "But you know what? It'll totally be worth it in the end. Just imagine, we'll finally get to be together forever, no more crazy obstacles trying to keep us apart!"

  "Very well," Grim murmurs, his voice barely audible.

  "Now is the time," I assert. "Before their return or Satania's sudden change of heart."

  Grim glances away, then back at me. His tone is serious. “I think you’re right. We shouldn’t put it off.”

  He doesn't want to hesitate on Collecting me. I don't want anyone else meddling or attempting to dissuade us from what we have. Not Margie, not Satania, nor anyone else in this wretched city who may stumble upon our secret.

  “I’ll stay,” says Wil. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

  Grim turns to the little black cat, and at first, I think he’s irritated. But then something like relief settles on his bony features. He takes a knee beside Wil and reaches out to stroke his stark-white phalanges over the cat’s head. His missing bone stands out, unnervingly so.

  “You should go,” says Grim. “You’ve already used up a lot of your energy, my friend. I don’t want you to get hurt. Not again.”

  “You’re my partner,” Wil points out. An ear twitches towards me. “And the mortal’s grown on me.” He lets out a single tired-sounding rumbling purr. “Besides, my omen already came to pass. She did kill you. I was right about that.”

  “Yes you were,” says Grim, with a low, rolling chuckle in his voice. “I never should have doubted you.”

  “Don’t doubt me now, either,” says Wil. “Her omens haven’t changed. When Death takes her, it must happen the same way it always should have.”