Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(62)

“Well, hell,” I said quietly.

“You stay here,” Jean said. “My brain works fine when I’m around him. I’ll give him something else to do. Check in with Bertie to see if she needs extra help with the rally, maybe.”

I rested my elbows on the desk and lowered my face into my palms. “God,” I said through the muffle of my hands. I was such an idiot.

I didn’t know how long I sat there listening to the screech and bang of the song in my head. Long enough that eventually I heard Jean and Ryder’s footsteps as they walked through the office, Jean keeping up a conversation that I pretended not to hear.

Long enough for them both to leave and shut the door behind them.

“Reed Daughter,” a soft voice said from right next to me.

I jerked, looked up.

Death stood next to my desk. He wore a novelty T-shirt that said ORDINARY TOWN, EXTRAORDINARY FUN, over which he had thrown a Hawaiian shirt featuring palm tree fronds and tiki heads. He was also wearing a slick pair of dark gray slacks and shiny black shoes.

His dark hair was cropped short, making his deep eyes seem even wider, his heavy lids languid. Even though he wasn’t smiling, I got the distinct impression he was laughing at me.

“Hey,” I said, straightening. I glanced around the station. No one else was here.

“How is your health?” he asked.

“My what?” I didn’t like the idea of Death asking me if I was sick.

“Ah, I may not have stated that clearly. How are you?” His eyes glinted with something I was pretty sure was humor.

“Very funny. I’m good. What can I do for you?”

“I am here to inquire on the methods for acquiring a license to do business.”

“All right. You want to see Bertie over at City Hall for that. She’ll have the forms you need to fill out. I’m glad you’ve chosen a job so soon.”

“Is it not in the contract that I must do so?”

“Sure, but sometimes it takes time for a deity to decide on an occupation.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I am not a creature of doubt or indecision, Reed Daughter.”

“Delaney,” I corrected absently.

“Of course.” He paused. For a creature who didn’t doubt, it looked like he was weighing a decision.

“He wasn’t frightened,” he finally said.

“Who?” I belatedly realized he must be talking about Heim.

“Your father.”

His words hit me like a falling building. He must have taken my silence as a tacit invitation to continue.

“I waited for him, gathered his soul. He had questions. Several.”

I swallowed and nodded, a hundred questions of my own crowding out my words.

“What did he ask?”

“That I look after you.”

Okay, forget the shock over him talking about my dad’s death. This was a bigger shock.

“Why? Why would he ask you to do that? Is that why you’re here? Did you agree to do it? Why me? He has two other daughters, you know. Wasn’t he worried about them? Was he worried about us?”

He waited a moment longer, probably to see if I had anything else to say. I did, but I needed a few answers before I tore off into a pile of new questions.

“I assumed it was out of love.”

I waited. He didn’t say anything more. “Which question were you answering?”

“The first.”

“Okay.” I sighed. I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. I was tired. “Is that why you came to Ordinary?”

“I came for a vacation, Reed Daughter.” He pointed one finger at his T-shirt, as if that made it obvious.

“Which is why you’re telling me about my father’s death?”

He frowned, looking confused. “Is that not what you wished to ask me?”

I opened my mouth to tell him no, but that was a lie. “I did. But I didn’t expect you to talk about it. Not really.”

“Ah, then.” He gave me a stiff nod. “I must be away to secure my business license.”

I had a hundred other questions besides the half a dozen I’d already asked that he hadn’t answered. But he was already walking back to the door, gliding silently in his shiny shoes. “Is he a ghost?” I asked.

Death paused, his hand on the door latch. “Perhaps you should ask him if you see him again.”

And then he pushed out into the daylight, a colorful, unexpected shadow.





Chapter 19


“DON’T BE such a baby.” Myra shoved my shoulder as we walked to the building, rain spattering us with tiny, halfhearted drops. “It won’t kill you.”

“I hate rhubarb.”

“Which should make judging even easier. If you can stand it, it’s a good recipe.”

“Or it’s a terrible recipe because it tastes the least like rhubarb in a rhubarb recipe contest.”

“Just give your honest opinion.”

“I honestly don’t want to do this.”

“A little less honest than that.”

She opened the door to the great hall, which was in truth the only hall on our festival ground, great or not. Built of brick and shingled with cedar, it was plenty big enough for the exhibits that couldn’t stand the mercurial moods of coastal weather.