“Will it happen naturally?”

  “I don’t know,” says Wil. “But if it doesn’t…” He takes a deep breath, and then he butts his head up against Grim’s hand. “Change it.”

  The Omen vanishes the same way Tiana did, by letting the shadows consume him. It’s a sort of magic I’ve never quite been able to figure out; something that I’m certain has been kept secret from me, not on purpose, per se, but because it’s simply natural to keep it that way.

  Even Grim’s magic took some convincing to get an explanation about, and I know for a fact there is so much about Reaper magic I have yet to understand.

  But I also know this: it’s a pretty big deal to have this little prince now not only accepting me, but actively trying to help me. I assume it’s a good sign.

  And it’s a bit of a relief, too, when it’s just Grim and me left in the apartment. Without the crushing force of the other Reaper around, I’m able to let the steady warmth of Grim’s presence seep into me, soothing my rankled emotions, washing away the wrinkles of my soul.

  I pull him close, not just into a hug but so I can lean against him. Grim is quick to hold me just as tightly.

  “I won’t forget you,” I promise him. “And even if I forget part of what’s happened, our conversations, the dates, tonight? I won’t ever forget the love I have for you.”

  “I worry.”

  “Don’t. You trust me, don’t you?”

  "Always," Grim confidently declares without a hint of uncertainty. "Always, my love."

  “Then trust me now when I tell you that I will always remember our love, no matter what else happens, no matter what else changes.” I rise up onto the tips of my toes so I can press a kiss to the smooth curve of his cheekbone.

  He tilts his head and presses the flats of his teeth to me. There’s a shimmer of magic, his human guise taking shape so that he can kiss me more in earnest. It’s pure passion, the slide of lips against lips, of tongue to tongue.

  Pure love.

  When we part, there’s a dusky blush of blue on the curve of his cheekbones. My own face feels so hot I’m certain my cheeks are a bright red. He brushes his thumbs over the soft part of them, which just reinforces that realization.

  His guise is gone, existing only when we kiss. Grim knows it's not his human form that I’ve fallen in love with, but this; his real self, bones and blue magic and all.

  “We should get this started,” I tell him. “Before we lose our edge and someone else shows up.”

  Grim agrees with me.

  It’s a little strange, planning my own death. But not strange enough to change my mind.

  Not even close.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grim

  Fate is a fickle beast.

  I might be able to change Angelica’s fate to make her a Reaper, but that doesn’t change how she must die. Her original omens are still there, set in our reality, stone carved and unyielding. I take a deep breath, watching as she leaves the apartment. I follow her, though I cloak myself so that even Angelica can’t see me.

  I want to conceal the depth of my nervousness from her keen perception. How terrified I’ve become that this won’t work the way I had hoped. What if I’m not powerful enough to sway Fate so that she doesn’t just become another soul to Collect?

  What if I mess this up?

  A deep-seated worry resides within the core of my being, burdening me like an immovable boulder. I can do nothing but follow Angelica as she leaves the house and makes her way through town, back to the site of the original accident. Traffic is back to normal. Though there is still a strict curfew set in place for the city, people are already trying to get back to their daily lives.

  To me, that is truly one of the most awe-inspiring aspects of the human condition. They are resilient in ways that so many other species are not. They come back, time and time again. And Angelica—she possesses identical attributes.

  She pauses at the start of the sidewalk and looks around. For me, I’m certain. I raise my hand and send a gust of wind toward her, letting her know that I’m here. It gives her the confidence to start forward.

  I raise my hand, and the cord snaps on the electrical line. Just as it did before. The black cord shoots toward the ground with a spray of bright, vibrantly white sparks. The electricity curls through the air, snapping and popping.

  Angelica staggers backward into the road. A car rushes toward her. Before, it had snapped. I could picture it—the memory. I could see it almost superimposed on the image before me: the way she had stumbled free, Destiny allowing her to extend her circle.

  But this time, Destiny lets the car hit her.

  It slams into Angelica hard and fast, sending her flying through the air. She hits the ground…hard. Her body slams against the tarmac with a thump. Her neck is already starting to bruise. Blood spills from around her head like a halo, red on the dark of the road.

  My heart tightens, lifeless as it may be, at the distressing sight. The air fills with cries of panic. The driver instinctively swerves left, colliding with the power line. Instantly, electric currents surge, casting bolts of energy in every direction, and the line twists and writhes like a furious demon.

  People scream, running from it. They’re already pulling out their phones.

  “Get out of your car,” someone screams.

  The disoriented driver exits the car, staggering backward to narrowly evade the power line's deadly lash. With an idle gaze, I silently observe the unfolding scene. Today, there is no other individual destined for demise, and so, what humans would perceive as a stroke of extraordinary luck materializes.

  The driver is able to get away from the car, before the power line hits it. The street clears off before the electricity hits the car itself. The gas tank ignites and explodes in a burst of fiery heat, but no one is within the blast range. Even Angela was thrown just beyond the reach of the car.

  It terrifies people enough that they run, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the burning hunk of metal as they possibly can. One compassionate bystander rushes forward to help Angela, only to recoil in horror and veer away as they comprehend her lifeless body.

  The scene continues, while the power line sizzles with electric energy. The car fire rages, releasing the intense heat and smoke akin to a visit to the depths of Hell itself.

  As the street clears, I cautiously approach Angelica's prone figure. All around us, there are no mediums to witness my re-materialization. She lies sprawled on the ground, her gaze fixed upon the ethereal sky, her eyes glazed with emptiness.

  Upon impact, the blood vessels in the whites of her eyes ruptured. Her mouth remains agape, a slender crimson trail escaping from the corner, tainting her otherwise pallid complexion.

  The mere sight of it causes a violent twist in the depths of my chest. Whatever remnant of a heart Angelica has returned to me, it now shatters, even though I am fully aware that her presence persists.

  I hope, at least.

  Death power, that’s what she needs. Something to not only summon her soul but to guide it and reshape it. I hold both hands out above her, letting darkness swirl around them. Her passing extinguished all color from existence, leaving behind a monochrome world. In this desaturated realm, only the crimson hue of her blood remains as a striking contrast, a poignant reminder of her absence.

  A surge of energy flows between my palms and her body, infused with the essence of death. It takes the form of a delicate yet profound presence, resonating with both her world and mine. As I extend my hands, dainty black rose petals cascade, gracefully coming to rest upon her chest. Enveloped in the richness of their essence, her soul delicately separates itself from the curvature of her chest.

  It twists into the air, a faint stream of almost-color. The ebony petals gravitate toward it, gracefully drifting through the air before merging with the stripes of her soul. As they converge, an ethereal orb begins taking shape, cradled between my open palms, seeping with energy and mystique. The sensation and sight are unparalleled in my experience.

  My magic sputters. It’s not yet enough to keep her cemented into reality though, or to transfer her into this united force. I gather my own magic, channeling it outward. The air is filled with an abundance of black rose petals. Suddenly, there is a burst, a resounding clap of energy, and the wind intensifies.

  It surrounds us in a whirlwind, untamed by either me or nature. The ebony petals are drawn into its vortex, swirling so swiftly that little remains but smudges of darkness in our surroundings. The scent of roses swells into the air around us. A strange aura builds up around Angelica’s body.

  Is it happening? Is this it?

  I can't fathom the idea of it failing. The realization that I could be responsible for taking her life fills me with unease at the core. Regardless of the outcome, that fact will remain.

  I Reaped her, just as Satania wanted. I will hold this moment with me, for better or for worse, for the rest of my life. It will never go away. It can never be undone.

  All I can do is hope that my efforts will suffice.

  All of a sudden, the wind stops. The black petals fall to the ground, and then vanish. Angelica’s soul settles into my palms. I can feel the energy in it, the warmth, the sweetness that made her so special. The black rose petals it had absorbed did little to change its color, neither brightening or darkening it.

  “Angelica?” I whisper.

  Silence echoes in her absence of a response. Her body remains motionless upon the pavement, devoid of any whispers of life within my grasp.

  “Angelica!”

  Carefully, I roll her soul between my hands, urging it to take the shape of the spheres that I normally deliver. To my eternal horror…it does.

  I let out a laced exhale, filled with anguish. If my heart was once ever beating, it’s now shattered.The split that runs through it has my entire body shaking, bones rattling loudly. I can feel the magic that holds them together going haywire as grief takes hold.

  It didn’t work.

  It didn’t work.

  It didn’t work.

  A low, mournful sound splits through the silence of the street. It happens twice before I realize I’m the one making it; even then, I can’t seem to make myself stop. Her soul sits cupped in my hands, a feather-light wisp. There is a gentle and comforting sensation as it caresses my bones, as if it seeks to provide solace and ease.

  But I don’t deserve to be soothed. I killed her.

  I’ve killed the woman I love. I urged Fate into action. I tried to change what she was at the core of her being. And now—

  “Grim?”

  The voice comes from behind me.

  I spin around, non-existent heart hammering in my chest so hard it’s making my sternum ache, and I stare at another Reaper. Her robes are shimmering with colors, the same way Satania’s had been, and her bones are white and gleaming.

  Bright purple eye lights stare out at me from the darkness of her eye sockets, and her skeletal mouth has twisted up into a nervous smile.

  Color.

  She exudes an array of so much vibrant color!

  Even though she has no hair nor flesh, it’s impossible to mistake this Reaper for anyone else.

  “Angelica.” The word leaves me in a rushed exhale. I take a step toward her, still holding her fluttering soul between my palms. “You’re beautiful.”

  Reapers don’t have souls.

  In my grief, I had forgotten that. We’re not just new beings. We truly are dead beings. Of course, I realize, I would have still had to gather her soul. It has to go somewhere. My own soul has no doubt been ferried down the river, long, long ago.

  “It worked.” She holds her hands out to the side to show her new form off to me. “It really worked!”

  More careful than I have ever been when handling a soul before, I tuck the little orb into the sleeves of my robes. Then it clicks with me, “You remembered my name!”

  She rushes to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “I told you I could never forget you! I told you!”

  I embrace her tightly, twirling her in sheer delight. Overwhelmed with joy, my thoughts become a blur. Despite the long list of tasks ahead, at this very instant, all I desire is to taste her. And I do, again and again, our teeth clacking loudly together. It’s comical but I love it.

  There’s so much warmth spilling from her. So much color. Angelica has remained her even through this.

  It makes sense as I think about it now. She has known about this world for several months now; her death is tied to her life, and it was an active decision and not just a role of fate. She wanted to be here and I’m so glad that she is.

  And I continue to twirl her, laugh with her, and feel the magic of our connection.

  She brings out a side of me that was once buried under years of hardship; one that I thought would never resurface again. Finally, life has been breathed back into me.

  And now she’s here, she’s a Reaper, and she remembers me.

  Our reunion can only last so long though. As though summoned here, Wil arrives—he no doubt could sense the energy shift.

  “It worked then.” Wil sounds pleased. He jumps over Angelica’s prone body and keeps going. “Follow me, then. We have to get her to the Reaper Chapel.”

  “I get to see it?” Angelica asks excitedly. “I don’t know why, I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “You don’t just get to see it,” says Wil. “You’ll be given an Omen there, by Satania.” He heads toward a nearby alley. “Hurry up. We’re walking a thin line here anyway, so we’re going to need to keep our heads up, our steps swift, and at least pretend that we care about what Satania has to say.”

  “I think we’re long past that,” I tell him, offering Angelica my hand.

  She takes it. Our bony phalanges press together, and she lets me lead the way across the street, after Wil.

  He takes us to the back alley.

  Angelica asks, “What now?”

  I explain, “To ensure that Reapers and Omens stay on the side of Destiny, of good, we are only able to do their jobs if we work together. The Omen finds the crack, and the Reaper opens it. That means that one of the only ways for us to enter into the other side, the Between, is by keeping our Omen close at hand.”

  “What if something happens to them?” Angelica looks at me.

  Wil’s tail flicks. “Another Omen will show up. Either the Head Reaper sends out a new one, or the Omen of a nearby Reaper will come and provide aid. But honestly, we don’t usually get in that sort of trouble.”

  “You saw the way his magic served as a shield,” I point out.

  Angelica nods. “I didn’t have the time to thank you for that earlier.”

  Wil snorts. “Don’t thank me for it now, either.”

  “He doesn’t like it when people acknowledge that he isn’t always a massive prick,” I say. The alley is wedged between two shops, both that sell different styles of clothing. There’s no end to it; it just leads out to the street behind it. A large black trash bin has been set beside one of the doors, the lid already off.

  It looks like someone might have been rooting through the tossed-out clothing before the explosion with the car had gone off.

  My magic fizzles as I offer it out to Wil. I’ve used a lot of it already, transferring my own death power into Angelica; and then the grief—that had affected it, too. I could feel the way that my joints were starting to loosen, and couldn’t wait to get into the Garden so that I could absorb the life energy of the plants there.

  The magic curls around him. His own eyes flash; and with Angelica at my side, I can see the way that the world surges with color. I have always wondered if the magic remains my own bright blue, or takes on the gold that so often seems to cling to Wil.

  Now, I see that it is a mixture of both. Our magic marbles together as he turns a portal, a doorway, an entrance to the Between. The force is blinding. It shapes around him, until both the cat and the dumpster are gone, and a large, wooden door is all that remains. Reaching out, I push open the door with one hand, letting it swing inward. There is nothing but a black void within, the other side, ready and waiting for me.

  For us.

  I hold onto Angelica as I lead her through the portal and out to the other side.

  The door lets us out onto the Bridge of the Dead, over the Sea of Spirits. Angelica, awe in her voice, asks, “Where are we?”

  “The Bridge of the Dead,” Wil informs her, solid and cat-like once more.

  I lead Angelica to the side of the bridge, gesturing toward the ocean below. Her eyes go wide. The Sea of Spirits is a writhing mass of pale gray and white. Her energy cannot reach down that far to add color to the world; something I find myself grateful for. The spirits are all malformed masses; corrupted eons ago, before the Council of Reapers formed.

  I can’t imagine what they would look like with their colors added back into being.

  “The Collectors sail upon them,” I said. “See?”

  The Collectors employed petite ebony vessels adorned with intricately carved dragon heads, bearing the spirits of the recently deceased. There are several boats on there right now. The Collectors are no more pleasant to look at than the souls that serve as their passageway between realms. They are pieced together like old rag dolls, a patchwork of colors and shapes, of human and animal and bone; of magic that is neither theirs to take nor theirs to give. Strange masks cover their faces.

  “Where are they taking the souls?” Angelica looks around us.

  I gently place my arm around her shoulder and guide her toward the immense wall encircling the Reaper Chapel, whispering, "To the sacred grounds where their eternal slumber awaits."

  Wil further elaborates, "It doesn’t matter—not to us. The Collectors, they exist in a realm apart from us, distinctly dissimilar."

  “Meaning…what exactly?” Angelica questions.

  Wil says, “They were never human.”

  Her gaze flicks toward the side of the bridge, to the sea below. “Never?”

  “They had no heart and no soul, no old life to influence them,” Wil continues. “They’re just… There. It’s best not to get too close to them.”