Reapers, Inc. - Rogue Reaper

- Reapers, Inc. - Rogue Reaper

- Midpoint

Reapers, Inc., -Rogue Reaper

By

B.L. Newport

Smashwords Edition

© 2010, B.L. Newport

This book is available in print at www.Amazon.com

ISBN: 1451592493

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This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents are purely a product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to actual persons - living or dead - places or events are entirely coincidental.

Also by B.L. Newport on Smashwords.com:

Reapers, Inc. – Brigit’s Cross

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone who has supported me on this continuing journey. To my mother, Thank you for your encouragement and support. To Jennifer Shimp Atkinson, Thank you for your listening, your suggestions and for the laughter. To Kristy Trippy, Thank you for being an inspiration, a friend and a fan. To the new fans, Thank you for giving it a try.

Finally, I must give the biggest Thank you to my loving partner, Rochelle, for the overwhelming love and support on this journey. I couldn’t have done this without you.

“Do you believe in True Love?”- Brigit Malone

1: Elizabeth Meyer

The sight of the green peeking through the soft layer of snow caught her eye as she walked slowly across the field. It was the sign she had unconsciously been waiting for since the onset of winter. The business of the firm had kept her too busy to notice anything more than when the heavens seemed to open and let loose its frozen crystalline tears. Yet, she had not felt the cold during those bleak months. She had not felt any kind of cold since that day the Bailey had changed everything in her life. All she could do since that time was take in the visual signs of change and draw from her memories to imagine what the air kissing her cheeks truly felt like. The only true sensation she had been able to feel since the incident had been the warmth radiating from Maggie’s body as they passed through the night wrapped around each other.

The thought of Maggie made Brigit sigh heavily. Maggie had stayed awake most of the night poring through the internet for real estate in the country. Brigit had studied the plans Maggie had drawn out on paper while her partner studied various listings. The plans were obvious. Sell the apartment and move out of the city. Maggie was planning to leave the reminders of the life she no longer lived. The idea of it all saddened Brigit, but she knew that Maggie would do what was best for her self. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life wrapped up so heavily in her grief.

“I will always follow you,” she had said out loud as Maggie finally shut off the computer and made her way to bed.

Even though she knew the whole process would take some time for Maggie to figure out, Brigit had left the apartment that morning in a grey mood. It didn’t help matters that she had no time to stop at the café for a cup of Giuseppe’s wonderful coffee either. The business at the office was just too busy.

As she knelt in the snow to admire the contrast of the green against the white, Brigit let her thoughts wander to the scene she was now in. She wondered if perhaps she really could feel the cold – even after all this time -- but had simply given it no thought. She had been so terribly busy since John Blackwick had embarked on his quest to re-open the foreign offices. Not only were there the day to day duties of a Head Reaper to oversee, there were new recruits to train and – for some reason as of late – an escalating amount of files to be processed.

Brigit frowned at the last thought. She had not seen the Bailey in days. When questioned, no one in the firm had seen the Bailey either. Belinda Yaris was back logged in records. Mama Dee was in and out of the office so much that she had no time to notice the absence of the entity that she still harbored ill feelings toward. Brigit had intended to question Seamus Flannery, but the Irishman had managed to keep himself out of her audience for extended periods of time during the past nine months. It seemed that Brigit only saw the flame-haired man when John happened to be back on site. Even then, those sightings were brief and full of tension.

Another deep sigh rose up from inside her and escaped with gale force. The pace of her everyday existence had been seemingly non-stop since she had died. She wondered if it would ever slow down…Silently, Brigit stood from where she had knelt to admire the first green of spring. Things might eventually slow down, John often assured her of it; but Brigit knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. There were things to do and she was presently on a mission to complete one of those things.

Elizabeth Meyer had passed in the field Brigit now traversed on January 12, 1888. It was the day the worst blizzard in recorded history had enveloped the area. It had blown in with no warning, dropping the unusually balmy air temperature nearly forty degrees in the span of a day. The high winds and snow that blew in fast from Canada created such blinding conditions that people had become lost in a matter of a few yards from where they had began. Those who had managed to survive after venturing out had been extremely lucky.

Brigit had read Elizabeth’s portfolio carefully. A young woman with an overly good heart, Elizabeth had been foolish to think she could find her way back to the small farm house where she had lived with her aunt and uncle. The distance, however, had been too far. Elizabeth Meyer had never stood a chance. Brigit found herself shaking her head with the tragedy of it. Elizabeth had made a silly mistake and, consequently, paid the price for her error in judgment.

She was standing at the crest of a small rise in the landscape. Her light blue shawl covered her head as if the blizzard still blew fiercely around her. Brigit could see as she approached that Elizabeth was still lost, unable to get her bearings in the white blanket that blinded her to any landmarks that would lead her home. Although the sky was a clear blue that Brigit walked under, she had the sense that Elizabeth was still caught under the swirling and blinding white sky of that fateful day in 1888.

“Elizabeth Meyer,” Brigit called as she continued her approach.

The young woman turned quickly at the sound of her name being called on the cutting wind around her. There was a hopeful look on her face as she searched for the source. That look of hope changed to an expression of wariness as Brigit suddenly became visible through the swirling wall of snow around her.

“Do I know you?” Elizabeth asked, unable to disguise the alarm in her voice at the sight of the dark woman dressed oddly in black. Women didn’t wear pants and they only dressed in black if they were in mourning…

“My name is Brigit Malone. I’m here to cross you over,” Brigit explained as she took a step closer. It was an action that caused Elizabeth Meyer to take a step back, almost tripping over the soaked hem of her long skirt.

“I don’t know you, I’m sorry,” Elizabeth apologized politely despite her fear. “I seem to be lost,” she explained.

“I know. I’m here to help you cross over,” Brigit reiterated.

“I don’t think you understand. I’m lost,” Elizabeth replied.

Brigit pursed her lips, trying to maintain a hold on the irritation that was starting to squirm in her gut. Elizabeth Meyer wasn’t listening. Brigit could see the young woman was caught in a time loop, unable to break herself free from the cell where she had frozen to death over a hundred years before. Yet, Brigit could also see that Elizabeth possessed enough intelligence to recognize a new element to her surroundings.

Brigit wondered briefly how she would handle this. She had encountered this scenario so many times during her short time as a Reaper. Some souls were caught up in the moment they had expired. Some souls had no clue that they had actually died. Others possessed the intelligence to notice the appearance of a Reaper. It was these particular souls that Brigit often had to show her patience for. As she had first done with Matthew “Matilda” Swenson, she would often take the time to allow the Reapee to tell their story so that they could come to the conclusion of their demise and end the continuous loop they had been trapped in until the moment Brigit had finally arrived. Today, however, Brigit was not sure that she had the time or the patience to follow her usual protocol for one trapped in a time loop. She was busy and she was cranky. Both elements played heavily against her patience.

“Aren’t you cold?” Elizabeth asked as she shivered and rubber her hands together briskly in the effort to warm them.

“No,” Brigit replied.

“I am. I feel like I could freeze to death out here,” Elizabeth admitted as she pulled the light blue shawl tight under her chin again. “If I could just figure out which direction is north, I could get home and warm up; but I swear, I don’t think this cold will ever leave my bones. I’ll be cold ‘til the day I die.”

“Elizabeth, you are dead,” Brigit finally said.

She hoped the squirm of irritation in her gut had not made its way into her voice. She was in no mood for niceties, but she also knew that there was no reason to rude. Her words were heard, however. Elizabeth Meyer suddenly looked at her in shock.

“No,”

“Yes,” Brigit confirmed. “You died in the blizzard. Your uncle found your body a week after you went to sleep. You misjudged your bearings. You became lost,” Brigit explained gently.

“No, no, no…” Elizabeth began to back away from Brigit in her continued disbelief. Brigit, however, remained where she stood.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry.”

“I should have stayed with the Matchetts. I should have listened to them. I was so sure I could make it home. Oh god, what have I done?”

Brigit could feel the anguish rising up in the young woman before her. Her empathy for it erased the irritation she had begun to feel toward the young woman she had come to reap.

“If you’re ready to leave this place, I’ll help you,” Brigit offered.

“How can you help me?” Elizabeth spat between the sobs that had arisen from the comprehension of what had become of her.

“I can open the door for you. You can leave this cold place and be home forever.”

As she explained the option, Brigit took the steps needed to bring her within arm’s reach of the bewildered Elizabeth Meyer. Brigit could see the snow begin to swirl madly between them. She suddenly understood how easy it would have been for Elizabeth to become lost in her confusion. Its thickness was completely blinding. As if on cue, the door to Elizabeth’s fate appeared. It was to Brigit’s left.

“What is this? Are you some demon sent to lure me to the devil’s lair?” Elizabeth demanded.

Brigit suddenly felt her irritation return. She had overlooked Elizabeth Meyer’s now apparent faith while reading her file. The appearance of the door brought to mind for the girl the notion of sorcery. Only demons and dark souls could do sorcery.

“No, I’m here to send you home to face your fate,” Brigit replied through clenched teeth. “Now, you can step through the door and be freed from this place or you can continue to be a silly girl lost in the snow forever. It makes no difference to me, Elizabeth Meyer,” Brigit growled as she locked her dark gaze on the shocked young woman. It took every ounce of strength to refrain from opening the door and shoving the young woman through it. “The choice is yours. I have been patient long enough.”

A silence settled between them as Elizabeth Meyer thought about the dark woman’s words. She swallowed hard under the stern gaze that was leveled on her. Finally, she nodded in concession to the other woman’s objective. Elizabeth Meyer watched nervously as the dark woman extended her left hand and opened the door that had appeared beside them. A warm breeze blew through the opened door, pulling Elizabeth’s attention to the landscape waiting on the other side. She could see blue skies and green rolling fields. A slight smile began to emerge on her lips as she took her first step toward the heaven waiting on the other side of the opened door. As she passed through, Elizabeth Meyer heard the dark woman’s voice once more: May you find eternal peace…

2: The State of Reapers, Inc., Main Office

John Blackwick sighed heavily as he looked at the mess Brigit had left on the desk. Usually, she was so neat and organized. The state of the desk, however, suggested that his assistant was becoming increasingly inundated with the duties of Head Reaper. John wondered briefly if he should put his plans on hold long enough to assist Brigit in catching up.

Reapers, Incorporated had been growing quickly since John had been freed up to begin re-opening the foreign offices. The office in Rome had been running efficiently for almost a year now and just recently, he had left the Istanbul office fully staffed and operating just as efficiently. The offices in Madrid, Spain and St. Petersburg, Russia had been dividing his attention equally on top of his plans for establishing a new office in Japan. Gratefully, John had already found the candidate to head the Japanese office.

With that last thought, John glanced toward the door of the office. Yoshiro Takamoto stood quietly in the hall, his dark eyes fixed on the gargoyles that lined the ceiling of the main hall. John was unable to determine whether it was fascination or repulsion that played across the sword master’s face. Either way, it kept him entranced long enough to give John Blackwick the time to assess the state of the head office for Reapers, Inc.

John had returned to the main office specifically to introduce Yoshiro Takamoto to Brigit. There were similarities, the Grim Reaper had noticed, between the two and he had the thought that they would have a great many things to talk about once they had met. There were things John had hoped that they could learn from each other in the effort to set the standards high as Assistant Reapers. Of course, that thought had come before he had realized that Yoshiro Takamoto was a man of few words. At any rate, John had considered it worth a try.

Apparently, John determined as he scanned the piles of black portfolios spread on the large mahogany desk, Brigit was still delving into the oldest files that had been waiting for attention. They were relatively easy assignments, John knew. They could be completed quickly by a Reaper of Brigit’s experience and allow that Reaper to still have time to keep up with other priorities. It was one of the last boxes they had compiled during the re-organization of assignments when Brigit had first come on. John was glad to see that she was making the attempt to remain involved in the assignments as well as maintaining her other duties as Head Reaper.

A sudden bustling in the hallway drew John’s attention back toward the door. Belinda Yaris had emerged from her office with a completed ledger in her arms. From the look of the exchange between the Goth girl and Yoshiro Takamoto, Belinda had literally run into the newest member of the firm. He watched as the two politely exchanged apologies and awkward bows of respect before Belinda turned to continue her path to the office. John could only smile as the pale girl’s bright blue eyes finally focused on him.

“Mr. Blackwick! I didn’t hear you come in,” Belinda explained as she stopped in the doorway, the completed ledger held firmly in her arms against her breast. Despite her ‘dark’ attire, Belinda’s cheerful disposition always seemed to brighten the room. John felt the urge to smile at the sight of her.

“Hello, Belinda,” John greeted coolly. “How are you?”

“Up to my eyeballs in records,” Belinda gushed. “I’m so glad Brigit hired Mr. Nelson to help me. Everyone has been so busy with their assignments. The completed files were starting to pile up on me,” the Goth girl offered as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and readjusted her hold on the thick black book she carried.

“Indeed,” John said as he motioned for her to file the book before she dropped it. “How is Mr. Nelson catching on?”

“Oh, he’s doing okay. He was an accountant, you know?” Belinda answered as she crossed the office and fit the tome on the shelf with the other completed ledgers that spanned all the way back to the beginnings of the firm in 34 A.D. “I explained that these records weren’t much different than keeping books. Names, numbers, it’s all pretty much the same, you know? He’s catching on,” she explained as she turned to face the head Grim Reaper.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” John replied, finally allowing a slight smile to come to his face. “Have you seen Brigit today?”

“This morning, for a minute,” Belinda sighed. “She said she would be on assignments for most of the day. I think she should be back soon, though. She mentioned hoping to catch the Bailey to ask him to slow down so we might catch up again. Of course, with everything going on in the mortal world, I have the feeling Brigit may be wasting her time in trying to catch him. There was an earthquake in Turkey last week and another tsunami in the south Pacific two days ago. It looks like the Bailey is on some kind of rampage.”

“I was aware of the earthquake in Turkey. Sadly, it provided a good training exercise for the new office there. You seem quite knowledgeable of current events, Belinda,” John pointed out despite his disappointment at not being alerted to the Bailey’s shenanigans. He made a mental note to definitely discuss that particular situation with Brigit once she returned to the office.

“I hear the gossip, you know,” Belinda offered with a nonchalant shrug. “Will you be around the office for awhile?”

“I think I might. It sounds as if you may need an extra set of hands for awhile,” John answered as he confirmed the earlier thought that he should pause in his own dealings to assist Brigit at the main office.

“That will be good. I think Brigit will be happy about that.”

Something in the young woman’s comment caught John’s attention. He wondered if Brigit might be exhibiting the stress she was under with her position. If so, John decided, he definitely needed to stick around to help out – if only to give her a break from bearing the full weight of the responsibility. She had given him such a break by taking the helm during his absence. He could spare the time to return the favor if it was needed.

“Well, I need to get back to work. Seamus and I are meeting for coffee later and I hate taking a break if I really shouldn’t,” Belinda explained.

John’s attention snapped back to her in time to watch her hurry back down the main hall, pausing briefly to bow to Mr. Takamoto once more before disappearing back into her office. With a deep sigh, John leaned back in his chair. Things in the main office had truly progressed in more ways than one. Obviously, John Blackwick had some catching up to do.

3: Maggie’s Thoughts

“Are you sure you want to sell both apartments? I mean, what will you do?”

Maggie set her coffee cup on the table that separated her and Tom Bennett. She had called him earlier that morning to discuss her thoughts out loud. She had been giving the idea of leaving the city more and more thought lately. It was time, she had decided, to remove herself from the hot bed of memories of a life she would never again share with the lover that had been dead for almost two years. Despite the quiet knowledge that Brigit’s ghost was possibly still with her, Maggie found it to be as much of a heartbreak as a comfort. Memories were one thing. Dreaming that she felt Brigit’s invisible arms around her every night refused to let Maggie find a moment of peace in the home they had built together. She had come to the conclusion that leaving the space was the only option.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I can’t imagine playing landlord to anyone I might find to rent Mama Dee’s place and my place, well…” Maggie faltered with the utterance of the words necessary to complete the thought.

“There are too many memories,” Tom finished for her. Maggie could only nod in agreement. “Where would you go?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ve been looking at some real estate in the country. I figure that if I can get the right price for both apartments, then I could pay cash for a new home and just take my time figuring out the rest of my life,” Maggie revealed with a shrug. She hadn’t thought much further ahead than that; but it was start.

“What about your teaching career?” Tom asked gently. Maggie loved teaching. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything else as a profession.

“It can wait. Right now, it’s a welcomed distraction; but I am not looking forward to another summer like I had last year. I think I left the apartment only to go to the market or to see you. It wasn’t like before, you know? Brigit would always make sure we got out of the house to go play in the sun. I just didn’t have it in me last summer and I don’t want to take that chance again this summer.”

“Darling,” Tom cut in, “you were still grieving last summer. Brigit had only been gone eight months by the time your summer break came around,” he offered.

“Yes, but I don’t want to grieve forever, Tom,” Maggie sighed heavily.

She blinked her eyes and turned her attention quickly to the flow of foot traffic outside the window of the cafe the two friends had agreed to meet in. Despite her effort to hide it, Tom Bennett could see that his friend was close to tears.

“Brigit was your soul mate, Maggie. A part of you will grieve for her forever. I don’t think you’ll ever be able to get around that,” the rugged man said gently.

“I wish I could,” Maggie mumbled before lifting her coffee cup and taking a drink. “How’s William treating you?”

The change of subject suddenly brought a smile came to Tom’s face at the mention of his new flame. Tom Bennett, a man who many would call ‘rugged’, had met a man ten years his junior and had instantly became what Brigit would have called ‘Nelly’. Seeing Tom smile gave Maggie cause to smile as well.

“Have I told you the news?” Tom gushed. “William is moving in with me.”

“Seriously? Tom, that’s wonderful,” Maggie praised. Tom nodded excitedly in agreement.

“I know it’s only been three months, but I think it’s real this time. We just fit, you know? Besides, Shazam! just adores him. You know what they say. If your animal likes them, they’re good people,” Tom chuckled.

“Does William know the cheese and crackers trick? Shazam! is easy to bribe, you know,” Maggie pointed out with a laugh. It was an item of humor that Brigit had spoiled Tom’s little Welsh Corgi with cheese and crackers during the week that they had dog sat while Tom vacationed in Paris.

“Not yet, thank goodness,” Tom guffawed. “Good lord, don’t tell him either. Shazam! is too old to be pooping orange again! Anyway, I’m planning a welcome party for him. I want you to come. It’ll be small,” he said as he could see the protest begin to rise in his friend’s eyes.

Maggie sighed heavily. She had been avoiding and declining parties with friends since Brigit’s funeral. She knew the invitation had harbored good intentions; but, so many familiar faces only seemed to add to the already constant reminder that she was now flying solo.

“I don’t know, Tom,” she offered.

“I promise I won’t introduce you to any new single lesbians,” he offered. “In fact, the only other single lesbian I plan to invite will be Sola and you already know her. Besides, you’re not her type, so there’d be absolutely no threat of potential interest.”

“Oh, well, since you put it that way,” Maggie spat, affecting offense that Tom’s best friend wouldn’t be attracted to her.

Ever since the day Maggie had parted ways with Lorena Rubens, she had made no further effort to seek comfort in another’s arms. The games she had to reacquaint herself with coupled with the possibility of Brigit’s ghost made the thought of it all the more uncomfortable. Sometimes, it led to the morbid thought that she would spend the rest of her life alone.

“You know what I mean,” Tom chided. “You and Sola are too much alike. You’d be fighting over shoes and makeup more often than not. Please say that you’ll come?” he pleaded gently.

“When is it?” Maggie finally asked. She was hesitant to make the decision.

“A week from Saturday,” Tom announced cheerfully. Maggie made a mental note that Saturday was only two days away. There was time to prepare herself to be in the mood to socialize with people who weren’t six years old or members of the faculty.

“What should I bring? It is a potluck, I presume?” Maggie inquired. Tom smiled and waved his hand at the question as if he were waving away a pesky fly.

“Just bring yourself, darling. I’ll take care of everything else.”

4: Point A to Point B

Slowly, he exhaled the smoke through his nose as he stood outside the café window looking in. His emerald green eyes studied her every movement. She was delicate in a way, a lot more feminine than Brigit Malone, he thought as he watched her raise a hand to brush back a wayward sandy brown curl that had decided to sit low on her forehead. Maggie Devon was definitely a beauty. He could understand Brigit’s attraction…

Seamus flicked the cigarette he had been steadily smoking to the sidewalk and crushed it inanely under the toe of his boot. His attention never left Maggie’s face. It rarely did when he watched her.

It had taken some time to develop his plan. Day after day for over a year, he had thought about each step. He was working so hard to plot the perfect course he would take to repay Brigit for her cowardice. There were still a few roadblocks he had to see past, but the end was always clear to him. No matter what, he would make Brigit pay for her lack of action on that day they were assigned to reap the Chupacabras. He was intent that she would forfeit her own existence. Nothing less would do. If he had to destroy the beautiful Maggie in the process – so be it.

T’would be a shame, Seamus thought as he watched a minute longer. I could have her if I wanted…

Seamus shook that last thought from his head. He had no time for such trivial, emotional things. It was bad enough he constantly had to pretend at his affection toward Belinda Yaris, the strange young woman Brigit had brought into the firm during his illness. The ‘Goth’ girl was putty in his hands if he showed her even the slightest gesture of interest. Seamus knew he had her trust. He had picked up right away on the desperation the young woman possessed to have romantic attention from him. He knew how to play the game while keeping her at arm’s length. He also knew that Belinda idolized Brigit Malone. It was knowledge he fully intended to use to his advantage. Neither of the female Reapers would see the betrayals coming. That was how he preferred it.

As Seamus turned away from the window, he thought about the biggest obstacle he faced: how to get from point A to point B.

Point A was securing the bait to lure Brigit to the point of confrontation. Point B was luring her to the place where he would take the utmost joy in destroying her forever. It was the road between these two points that had Seamus the most thoughtful, though. Once the game was set into motion, he was sure Brigit would have an army to fight her battle. The other Reapers would rally around her and Seamus knew without a doubt that John Blackwick would most definitely become involved. Brigit Malone, Seamus was sure, would never face him alone.

Seamus always found himself frowning at that thought. He admired John Blackwick. He had no wish to harm his mentor because of Brigit. It was a shame the Grim Reaper favored her. If he knew what a coward Brigit Malone really was, Seamus was sure Mr. Blackwick could be compelled to cross her and rid the firm of her for good. Yet, somehow, Brigit had managed to tell a good enough tale about the day she had allowed Seamus to be so seriously injured that she had remained in John Blackwick’s eye without an ounce of doubt to sully her. Besides, allowing John Blackwick to cross her would be like throwing the proverbial bucket of water on the open flam of Seamus’ revenge. Where would the fun be in that?

“That’ll change, to be sure,” Seamus grumbled as he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a portfolio from the inside breast pocket. “Now, who am I to see today?” he asked as he perused the contents of the file John had passed to him during the morning’s passing out of assignments.

Seamus had often joked that another day of fighting was another day of joy for him. In truth, it was merely an activity to pass the time until he could find the solution to his problem of getting from point A to point B.

5: A Rash Decision

“Has anyone seen the Bailey?”

Brigit paused as she entered the door to 666 ½ Bleecker Street. She had worked straight through the night and was just now returning to the office with the hope of catching the Bailey either coming or going.

It was John Blackwick’s voice she heard bellowing with frustration from their shared office at the other end of the hall. Slowly, Brigit closed the door behind her as Belinda Yaris’ head popped around the edge of the doorway to her own office. Upon spying Brigit at the door, Belinda emerged full bodied from the small room she now shared with Pierce Nelson, the accountant Brigit had recruited some weeks before.

“Hello, there,” Belinda greeted happily.

“How long has John been back?” Brigit asked, ignoring Belinda’s cheerful greeting for the moment.

“He came in after you left yesterday morning. Do you have more ‘completeds'?” Belinda asked. Dutifully, Brigit withdrew the portfolios from her coat pocket and extended them to the other woman. “He’s irritated. It seems the Bailey has definitely gone missing again,” Belinda related as she took the stack of files Brigit held out.

“Great,” Brigit groaned. She knew John would want to know why she had not alerted him to this fact sooner. She had to think of a good reason before she made it to their office. “Have you seen Mama Dee?” She hoped her dear friend was available. She wanted to discuss the prospect of Maggie’s moving away. John was back, however. That discussion would have to wait.

“She’s out for the day. She said she’d meet you for coffee when she gets back,” Belinda said. “You smell fresh. Have you been in the snow?”

“I have,” Brigit said as she raised her arm to sniff at the sleeve of her coat. She did smell fresh. She eyed Belinda curiously.

“I’ve always had a sensitive nose,” the young woman explained with a smile. “I’ve got to get back to work. Seamus just dropped off a big pile as well and Mr. Nelson is still a little slow to catch on.”

“How hard is it to record names and dates?” Brigit asked quietly.

“That’s what I keep asking,” Belinda sighed heavily before returning to her office.

Brigit shook her head and began the long walk down the main hall to the office she shared with John Blackwick. More of the smaller offices had been opened with the addition of new recruits to the firm. As Brigit passed each opened door, she glanced in to see who would be in at the moment.

Cornelius Hager was adjusting his tie as if it simply refused to sit straight against his starched collar. He nodded a silent, frowning greeting at the sight of Brigit in the doorway. Brigit returned the silent greeting as she pushed past the visual image in her mind of the tall, gaunt man as a Victorian Undertaker. He rarely said anything. When he did, it was usually drawn out in tone, but, to the point in his meaning. Brigit had suspected that this had been Cornelius’ mortal occupation. The way he looked at a soul before crossing it to its fate had given Brigit an eerie feeling during Cornelius’ training period. It was intense, yet gentle. Brigit hadn’t had the time to quite figure it all out, much less ask the solemn man about his mortal life. John had been the one to recruit Cornelius Hager and the business of the firm had not allowed time for idle conversation.

In the next office, Shelly Longmont was sorting through the assignments she had been given for the day. Methodically, she filed them into the white patent leather purse she carried on her arm. The tilt of the white pillbox hat on her blonde head suggested she was running behind in her duties. Brigit fought the urge to chuckle at the sight of the latest addition to the team. Shelly had only recently completed her training and was still trying to find the perfect rhythm to her new duties. Brigit knew that the woman would eventually figure it out. She possessed a spunkiness about her that thinly disguised the determined stubborn streak of her cowgirl roots. The starched white blouse tucked neatly into the band of the charcoal grey pencil skirt gave air to the wealth Shelly Longmont had possessed during her mortal days. Illegal money could buy anyone a new façade, but money would never change the true Shelly Longmont. A cowgirl with a pencil skirt, red high heels and a string of pearls around her neck was still a cowgirl underneath it all.

As Brigit continued walking, she noticed a new office had been opened. She paused outside the door and peered in.

A strong smell of incense wafted from the shadows cast by the candles that had been lit within. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the man kneeling on the floor. His back was as straight as a board and the stillness of the energy that surrounded him suggested that he was deep in meditation. It was a peaceful thought, Brigit mused, as she watched him. It had been so very long since she had seized a moment to still her thoughts and listen to the silence. She envied the new Reaper she now watched.

Slowly, Brigit pulled her attention away from the meditating man in the white robe and let it fall on the man sitting behind the large mahogany desk in the main office. John Blackwick looked as he always did, although, his thin black tie had been loosened at the neck. His ice blue eyes were focused on the wall and his face appeared serene, yet, Brigit could feel the irritation that was swarming like angry bees inside him. During the last two years, Brigit had learned to look past the seemingly expressionless façade of John Blackwick’s ice blue eyes to see the energy that flowed so freely behind it. She could read him easily after learning this trick about her mentor. Even from across the room, Brigit could immediately decipher John’s thoughts with just one look into his eyes.

“Hello, John,” Brigit greeted calmly as she finally stepped into the office. “Missing something?”

“How can you tell?” John asked, his ice blue eyes softly landing on his assistant. He appraised her silently for a few seconds, aware that she had been extremely busy with her responsibilities during his absence. He was searching for the slightest sign of the stress that might show on her face. Nothing showed on her face, but John was aware that Brigit had learned to control her emotions almost as well as he could.

“I heard you when I came in and now you’re brooding,” Brigit answered honestly as she sank into the empty chair across from him.

“The Bailey is missing again,” John grumbled as he looked away. “I’ve just about reached my limit with him. Why wasn’t I alerted sooner that he might be missing?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your plans with the satellite offices. I was hoping to catch him by coming in early. In fact, I didn’t even go home because of him,” Brigit offered quietly. It was the truth, at least. She knew how focused John was on easing their workload at the main office. She didn’t want to disrupt that focus for a second. “Do you have any ideas where he could have gone? I mean, the Bailey seems to have a limited amount of intelligence as far as I can see,” Brigit pointed out.

John shook his head despite the truth of Brigit’s opinion. The Bailey, as a mortal, had been a village idiot. Araxius Herodotus had displayed a small measure of compassion in giving the mentally challenged man a job with the firm. Araxius had faced the immediate need to replace the previous Bailey who had suddenly decided he didn’t care for the Grim Reaper, or his vision for streamlining the cycles of life and death. The old Bailey had possessed a maniacal streak at times. The new Bailey just went about his business in a sort of innocent ‘willy-nilly’ fashion by John’s standards. He put no thought to his job and John had often thought it to be more of a burden than was necessary in the business of death. The Bailey did what the voices in his head told him to do and that was all. He lacked the ability to organize and prioritize and that small issue was what kept John on his toes the most when it came to the Bailey.

“What do you plan to do about him once you find him?” Brigit asked.

“Give him his options, of course,” John growled. “I can’t have him just disappearing whenever he feels like it anymore. Especially since he never tells anyone he’s going to do it.”

“And in the meantime?” Brigit pressed.

“I need to find a temporary replacement.”

“Who are ye replacin’?”

Brigit straightened in her seat quickly and turned to see Seamus Flannery standing in the doorway behind her. She saw that he was ignoring her presence by keeping his sight trained on John Blackwick. It was par for the course. They played their parts politely in the presence of the Grim Reaper. During his absence, though, they avoided each other like the plague, remaining silent toward each other behind their strict walls of contention. She had nothing to say to him. He had nothing to say to her. The tension between them could be cut with a knife and there was nothing anyone could do or say about it. It had been that way ever since the day he had warned her that, one day, she would be sorry. Sorry for what, though, Brigit still wasn’t sure…

“The Bailey has gone missing again,” John revealed.

“And yer lookin’ for a replacement?” Seamus inquired as he stepped further into the office. Brigit noted that he kept a wide berth between them as he did so. She watched his profile intently, watching the ideas swirl through his mind as they appeared across his rugged features by way of the various small movements that marked their presence. He was up to something, but that much was all that Brigit could decipher.

“Temporarily, yes,” John answered.

“I’ll do it,” Seamus volunteered.

The offer came too quickly, Brigit thought. She immediately felt a spark of concern at the overly-eager note she heard in the Irishman’s voice. A worm of discomfort was beginning to wiggle to life in her gut. She didn’t like it. Quickly, she looked to John. She could see by the intent stare of his ice blue eyes that he was assessing the flame-haired Reaper’s statement. The Grim Reaper was watching Seamus Flannery’s face, observing the same small tell-tale movements that signaled the Irishman’s thoughts despite the lack of truth in his emerald green eyes. For half a second, Brigit saw the slightest instinct to deny the hot-headed man’s offer. She hoped John would listen to that instinct.

“Very well, then,” John finally said.

Brigit opened her mouth to protest, but John raised his right hand to silence her as he whipped open a drawer in the desk with his left hand. Brigit was stunned by the movement. She watched as John withdrew a small brown book from the depths of the drawer he had opened. The small volume landed on the desk with a thud as John shoved the drawer shut again. The worm of discomfort was wiggling in him as well. Brigit could tell by the frustrated energy behind his movements.

“This is the Bailey’s Manual. Read it carefully. Adhere to it to the letter. Any deviation from it will not be tolerated. Am I understood?” John asked, his expression – for once – matching the tone of his voice. John Blackwick was dead serious.

“Absolutely,” Seamus chirped as he stepped forward and swiped the brown book from the desk. “Anything else?” With that question, he leveled his emerald eyes on Brigit for the first time since entering the room. The look she read in them dared her to voice her objection. “Right then,” Seamus grinned when she maintained her silence. “I’ve got some studying to do.”

With that, he turned and strode from the office with an air of triumph waving boldly from his shoulder. Brigit looked at John; the sirens were beginning a low keen in the back of her head.

“Have you lost your mind?” she hissed at him quietly.

“It solves a temporary problem, Brigit,” John answered.

“And potentially creates a bigger one, John. Do you not remember reading his file? It is not beyond Seamus Flannery to take a life without thought or care. Who’s going to supervise him?” she demanded. “I’m certainly not. I have enough on my plate as it is.” John eyed his assistant coolly for a moment. Was his decision the final blow to the dam that held her stress at bay?

“I will,” John answered calmly. “I’ve decided to suspend my plans for a bit until we can get everything straightened out here. Once I’ve made sure Mr. Flannery can do his new job by the rules, I’ll go to find our missing Bailey. After that is done, I’ll consider opening more offices to further relieve this office of the foreign workload. In the meantime,” John pushed a short pile of portfolios toward his worried assistant. “I’d like for you to continue as you have been out in the field. I’ve brought in a new recruit from Japan. I’d like you to oversee his training as he will head the Japanese office when we find the time to establish it.”

“What’s his name?” Brigit inquired, realizing that she would get no further in her argument regarding Seamus Flannery. Frustrated, she slid the assigned portfolios from the desk top and began to flip through them.

“Yoshiro Takamoto. He’s quite an interesting fellow. I think you’ll like him a great deal,” John predicted as he watched Brigit shuffle through the files.

She was concerned, he knew, with his rash decision to allow Seamus Flannery to temporarily oversee the Bailey’s responsibilities. At the present moment, John could see no other option. It would only be for a short while. He was searching for the right words to reassure her that all would be well when he saw her brow furrow deeply and all movement stop. “What’s wrong?”

Brigit withdrew the long black file from the stack. Her hands shook violently as she laid it carefully on the desk top. Her reaction to the name embossed across the cover had caused the low keen of the sirens in her head to become the raucous wail of a banshee.

“I can’t take this one,” Brigit said quietly.

Her voice was barely above a shaky whisper.

John’s ice blue eyes flickered to the file she had returned to the desk top and then back to her face. He had never seen her react to an assignment in such a manner. Brigit Malone had never shown fear. It intrigued him that she would do so now.

“May I ask why?”

“It’s a ghost from my past – a nightmare,” Brigit answered. She closed her eyes to push hard against the door that hid those particular memories in the darkness of her mind. “This man was evil in mortal form,” she added.

Her voice had become stronger. Her fear was beginning to turn to anger at the thought of the nightmares she had fought so hard to elude for so many years. Her grey mood was beginning a slow descent to black… John could see the transformation in the emotions that ran wildly across her face. The hand that did not hold the stack of portfolios he had given her was clenched into a tight fist. Her knuckles had gone stark white with the pressure.

“Would it be in violation of any rules?” he asked.

“Technically, no, the rules ceased to apply when my mother divorced him,” Brigit replied evenly. “He was a demon,” she said slowly.

“All the better that you handle it then,” John declared just as evenly. “Brigit, we must all face our ghosts and demons at some point,” the Grim Reaper decreed as he reached across the desk and picked up the file. Again, he handed it to her, his ice blue eyes firmly locked with the dark orbs that stared back at him. “Put it to rest forever.”

6: The Connection

Seamus couldn’t help but smile to himself. John Blackwick had just provided him the much sought after connection between point A and point B of his plan. That particular point and its hidden potential was not lost on the Irishman as he flipped open the brown book John had given him. Once Brigit realized John’s part in the grand scheme, Seamus was sure it would sever their relationship. He could foresee the doors that would open up to him once Brigit Malone was no longer the favorite. Eventually, Seamus mulled over, he could lead the firm with a much steadier hand than Brigit Malone. In his opinion, how the firm was currently run and how it could be run were vastly different trains of thought.

“Can’t think ‘bout that yet,” he grumbled as he flicked the first page. He couldn’t. Presently, there was still a large obstacle in his way to greatness. His first action was to remove it forever. Then, he could think about further down the road.

John had been laughable in his attempt to be firm regarding the rules to being a Bailey. Seamus had said he understood John. He had not said he would follow those rules. Quickly, Seamus scanned the pages. Surely there were tricks to the trade that would ease his plan further toward fruition. The sooner he could master them, the sooner he could complete his revenge.

“What are you reading?”

Seamus looked up from where he sat on his sofa and found Belinda standing in the doorway. Her bright blue eyes were trained on him. A smile danced through them as she watched. It made his stomach churn.

“I’ve been promoted,” Seamus announced, snapping the brown book shut. He forced a charming smile to his face, sure that he could convince her that he genuinely was happy to see her.

“Really? To what?” Belinda gushed.

“Bailey,” Seamus beamed. “It seems our bald idiot has gone missing and, well, John agreed to let me take over for a wee bit,” the red-headed man bragged.

“Seamus, I’m so happy for you!” Belinda offered as she entered the room and joined him on the sofa, “But who will take your position?”

“Dunno,” Seamus replied with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll do both. I think I could handle it, ye know? I’m quite able to – what is it ye call it?”

“Multi-task?” Belinda offered.

“Aye, that’s it. I think John will give me another promotion once he sees what I can do. Maybe he’ll let me run my own office some day,” Seamus suggested grandly.

“That would be interesting. Where would you like to go?” Belinda asked.

“I dunno. I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he replied. “Maybe home to Ireland. I do miss me home sometimes,” he lied.

He had to keep the game rolling. He had to keep her interested. In truth, though, he hadn’t thought of Ireland since his demise. Thomas, his younger brother, had always gone on about it, but Seamus had not given it a single thought since leaving.

“Sounds lovely,” Belinda sighed. “Maybe I could go with you? You'll need someone to keep the records.”

“Oh, aye, lass,” Seamus forced a smile to his face again. “I’d have no other by me side.”

“Really?”

“Aye,” he lied.

It was all a part of the game. He had to keep her playing the game. Belinda was looking deep into his eyes. He could read the wish that swam like a goldfish through their bright blue depths. She wanted him to kiss her. Quickly, Seamus looked away.

“There’s things to do in the meantime,” he sighed. “I’ve got to study – learn the Bailey’s way, aye?”

“I suppose you do,” Belinda agreed. “I guess our coffee date is off the agenda for today, then?”

It was a question that really required no answer. Belinda couldn’t help but to acknowledge the disappointment underlying the pride she was feeling on Seamus’ behalf. An uncomfortable silence settled around them. Finally, Seamus looked at her again.

“I have an idea,” he announced.

“I’m listening.”

“Why don’t we go out this weekend? Say, Sunday? Just you and me. I’ll show ye what I’ve learned, if there’s anything interesting and then we’ll have tea at the café. What do ye say, lass?” he offered, watching Belinda’s face brighten at the prospect.

“Sounds divine,” she agreed excitedly.

“Aye, now give us a kiss and be off so I can study,” Seamus instructed, offering his cheek to the dark haired girl. He tapped it with his forefinger to indicate the spot upon which he received a quick peck from her before she rose to leave the office. When she was out of sight, Seamus rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand and shook his head. Soon, all the pretending would be over and he’d move on to bigger and better things.

Belinda returned to her office for only a few minutes. She had hoped to spend more time with Seamus, to give herself a break from the overwhelming monotony sitting on her desk. Pierce Nelson had barely made a noise in acknowledgement when she jumped up from her desk again and announced that she was going out for a bit. Belinda swung her black coffin purse over her shoulder and promptly left 666 ½ Bleecker Street.

The Bleecker Street Café was only a few blocks away. Belinda knew the walk and a bottomless cup of cocoa would give her the break she sought. As she strolled along the sidewalk, Belinda looked around at the scenery, taking in the signs that spring had truly arrived. Tiny green buds had begun to form on the tips of the tree limbs that had been planted along the sidewalk. Songs from hidden birds wafted to her ears through the air over the noise of the daily mortal life of the city. Once, she would have been nonchalant in her delights over these small signs of life. After being stuck on an ever-running subway train for so long with the ever-pressing realization that she was dead, the little things suddenly meant something.

Belinda stopped at the corner of Bleecker Street where it trisected with Carmine Street and Sixth Avenue to form Father Demo Square. On the triangle median in the middle of the three streets, she saw a young man waiting. In his hand, he carried a large, bright yellow sunflower. It was identical to the one Seamus had first given her almost a year ago.

Belinda watched him for a second, wondering who he might be waiting for. Her curiosity was soon satisfied by the sight of another young man on the opposite side of the street. He waved and yelled, catching the first young man’s attention. Dodging an onslaught of speeding yellow taxis, the second young man ran to the first and was caught up in an embrace that notified the world that they were more than friends. Belinda watched a moment longer as the two young men shared a deep and lingering kiss. The sight of their connection plucked at her heart’s strings as their energies combined and became a large bubble of energy that threatened to ignite and swallow the surrounding blocks and their buildings. A deep sigh escaped her as she waded through the traffic and past the lovers. They had made their connection. All was right in their world for the moment.

As she entered the café, Belinda waved half-heartedly at Giuseppe as she went to occupy the booth behind the old man with the sad blue eyes. The big Italian returned her greeting and turned to begin preparing her drink. Belinda slid into the booth and commenced to staring out the window, the image of the lovers sharing a kiss replaying itself in her mind.

It had been so long since she had felt the touch of another’s lips. She could remember sharing a kiss with Kitty Trellington the weekend before her demise; but they had been drunk and daring one another throughout the evening to be audacious. While the kiss, as Belinda remembered it, had been nice – it had been all wrong. There had been no sparks, no earth-shattering revelations within its depths. There had been no connection…

Belinda smiled at the memory. She had not particularly been looking for a connection prior to her demise. She had preferred, instead, to focus on her dreams and the scenarios that her imagination presented rather than the reality of life around her. She had planned to write and write and write. Love and connections could come later.

“Well, at least I accomplished part of it,” she sighed out loud as she lifted the steaming cup of cocoa Giuseppe had deposited on the table before her.

As she sipped from the creamy concoction, Belinda thought about that last part – about the love and connections. She had found a connection with Brigit; but she found it to be more the sisterly type than an actual attraction. Besides, Brigit was claimed. She belonged to Maggie and had eyes for no one else. Brigit was admirable in her loyalty to Maggie and their love. The idea that their love could survive even through death was the epitome of what Love should be to Belinda. A love to last through the ages… Belinda couldn’t image Brigit’s attention or heart anywhere else.

“That would just be weird,” Belinda decided out loud as she briefly imagined what it would be like to simply kiss Brigit. She couldn’t let her imagination wander further because of the awkwardness of it all.

Her bright blue eyes watched the mortals passing outside the invisible café window. A flash of flaming-red hair caught her attention and she followed it until it disappeared. Immediately, her thoughts turned to Seamus.

There was a connection between them. She had felt it the first day he had finally spoken to her. His emerald green eyes had been shining as they looked her up and down. That gaze had ignited a sensation within her that she had only felt in the moments before bedding someone, yet, this sensation was not a momentary sensation. It had yet to dissipate over the months since their first official meeting. Despite the fact that Seamus had yet to take advantage of the moments where the sensation could have been satisfied, Belinda would hang onto that connection. Her options in this new existence were limited. Seamus had ignited her desire. She’d wait until he was ready…

“But is it love?” she asked herself out loud.

The silence that filled the café despite its constant occupants was her only answer. Finally, the girl shrugged and sipped at her cocoa again. For her, it was a connection she wanted to explore. She’d be patient. She’d wait for Seamus Flannery to be ready to explore it with her.

7: Jean-Pierre

“You wanted to see me, John?”

The Grim Reaper looked toward the source of the voice and smiled faintly.

“Mama,” the address flowed easily from his mouth these days. At first, it was awkward calling someone ‘mama’ who was very clearly not his mother. After the small black woman had finally convinced him it was best not to call her by her given name, John had worked hard to become more comfortable with it. “Yes, please, come in. I have a special assignment for you.”

Mama Dee entered the office and sank into the vacant chair before the large mahogany desk. A heavy sigh escaped her bosom. She was glad for the break. It felt as though she had been crossing children for a lifetime instead of the mere nine months she had been on the job. Some days really got to her. Today, however, was not one of those days. Today, she was just plain tired.

“What’s on your mind?” Mama Dee finally inquired.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” John began quietly, “the Bailey has gone missing again.” Mama Dee nodded in confirmation of the statement. Belinda Yaris had mentioned it in passing after John’s return to the main office. “In the interim,” John continued, “we’ve made Seamus Flannery the temporary replacement.”

John watched as Mama Dee’s eyes opened wide in surprise. He was sure that if a black woman could actually pale with shock, he had just witnessed it.

“Have you lost your mind?” Mama Dee asked harshly. It was John’s turn to pale. Brigit had asked him the exact same thing. However, the question coming from the elderly black woman sitting across from him sounded more of a true scolding rather than an inquiry to his mental state.

“I take it you have objections?” John asked, finally finding a voice with which to speak.

“Hell, yes, I have objections,” Mama Dee spat. “That boy is trouble and you know it. What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to find a temporary solution to a continuing problem,” John argued.

The answer he provided drew a look that told him Mama Dee knew better. John Blackwick had made a rash decision and then spent the time afterward trying to find a proper justification for it. While the justification he had finally settled on bore some truth to it, John was beginning to have the sense that there would never be any viable justification to allowing Seamus Flannery any kind of power within the firm.

“What is your primary objection?” John asked, forcing himself to return to his normally calm composure.

“I don’t trust him. I never have since I met him. I know trouble when I smell it and that boy reeks of it. It’s written all over his face. If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on him,” Mama Dee strongly cautioned. “Isn’t there anyone else who could do the job? I mean, why him? Does Brigit know about this?”

“Brigit is aware,” John replied. “And as to your previous question, yes, I believe there is someone other than Mr. Flannery who could do the job.” John watched as Mama Dee’s eyes widened in surprise again. He could see that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Oh no, not me, no way…” she sputtered as she began shaking her head in adamant visual refusal. The sight of it nearly brought John Blackwick to laughter.

“No, Mama, not you,” he smiled. “You misunderstood me,” he said calmly. “There’s another I have in mind. His name is Jean-Pierre Marchande – a Frenchman recently departed from the mortal world.”

“How recently?” Mama Dee asked cautiously.

“A week dead now, by the date in his file. He was one of the Bailey’s last casualties – if you will. At any rate, I have read his file and I think he possesses the necessary skill and aptitude that our missing Bailey lacks. Apparently, he also possesses the compassion and mercy our Mr. Flannery lacks. Yes, Mama, I am well aware of Mr. Flannery’s true character,” John revealed as he received a knowing look from the elderly woman. “I believe it would be wise to set the standard somewhat higher for the position of the Bailey than it has been in the past.”

“Okay,” Mama Dee slowly conceded. “So, what does this have to do with me? What do you want me to do?”

“I’m glad you asked,” John smiled broadly. “I’d appreciate your assistance in recruiting Mr. Marchande.”

“Me? Why not Brigit?” Mama Dee asked quickly. Brigit was John’s assistant. It was her job to help with new recruits.

“Brigit is training a new assistant in the field and I don’t wish to pull her from that task. Mr. Takamoto will be Brigit’s counterpart once we open the office in Japan. It is my wish that he learn as much from her regarding the firm as possible. To follow that thought, I believe there’s a thing or two regarding stress management that Brigit might learn from Mr. Takamoto.”

“Brigit has been somewhat testy lately," the little old lady agreed. "Why not do it yourself?” Mama Dee asked. “After all, aren’t you the man? The Grim Reaper?”

“I am that,” John finally laughed. “Mama, please, take care of this for me,” he pleaded when he finally ceased the first decent laugh he had-had in so many years. “I have to find our missing Bailey and oversee Mr. Flannery until I’m sure he will behave himself.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath for that part,” Mama Dee warned as she gave the Grim Reaper one last scolding glare. It seemed to have no affect this time and the little old woman finally sighed. “All right, I’ll do it. What do you want me to tell him?”

Mama Dee entered the salon and stopped just inside the doorway. The opulence of the grand sitting room awed her. Never before had she seen such a beautiful and luxurious space. The old woman had been worried that she might end up at the wrong address. Her pronunciation of the chateau’s formal name had seemed somewhat of a tongue-twister for her. At the moment, as she slowly let her eyes roam from floor to ceiling, that worry no longer crossed her mind.

He was sitting by the fireplace, the wings of the high-backed reading chair hiding his face. By the sprawl of his legs outstretched before him and the gentle drumming of long and graceful fingers on the padded arm, Mama Dee guessed that her assignment was either bored or losing patience with the waiting for something to happen. Quietly, Mama Dee continued her approach, wondering how the young man would react to the sight of an elderly black woman suddenly appearing in his grand sitting room.

“Jean-Pierre Marchande?” Mama Dee asked when she was closer. She still could not see his face, but she noted that the drumming fingers had suddenly ceased their rhythm.

“Oui, qui est-ce?” a melodic voice answered. There was no note of surprise in the reply. Mama Dee wondered if he had been expecting someone after all.

“My name is Mama Dee. May we talk?”

Mama Dee stepped around the small round coffee table that sat between the occupied and empty reading chairs beside the fireplace. Her heart skipped a beat as she finally saw his face. Deep azure eyes under a perfectly combed crown of golden blond hair met hers. His face was like beautifully chiseled alabaster – surely the personification of Michelangelo’s David. The peacock blue of the silk shirt he wore opened at the neck seemed to further bring out the creaminess of his skin and deepen the blue seas that were his eyes. Mama Dee couldn’t help but to think of him as pretty – even for a man.

“Hello,” the melodic voice greeted cautiously in prefect English. The warm fluidity of it added to the young man’s beauty. Mama Dee was suddenly sure he could see her blushing under his gaze. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mama Dee,” she repeated, hoping she didn’t sound like a schoolgirl suddenly face to face with the boy she had a crush on. “I’ve been sent by Mr. John Blackwick,” Mama Dee produced the business card John had given her and passed it slowly to the angelic young man that suddenly looked amused. “What’s so funny?”

“Do you always carry your calling cards between your breasts?” he asked. Mama Dee felt herself flush as she realized that she had actually pulled the card from her cleavage. She had secured it there promptly after John had given it to her.

“I don’t have a purse,” Mama Dee offered, her embarrassment was slowly beginning to fade as she read the humor in his deep blue eyes. Nervously, she ran her hands over her thighs in an effort to smooth the skirt of the coral pink dress she wore.

“As I can see,” Jean-Pierre sighed. He glanced briefly at the printing on the card his guest had handed him. Still smiling, he returned his gaze to her face. “What can I do you for, Madame Mama?”

The pronunciation of ‘Mama’ from the Frenchman’s rosy pink lips caused Mama Dee’s heart to flutter. She hoped he would accept John’s proposal just so she could hear her name uttered by this beautiful boy on a regular basis.

“I’ve been sent with a proposal for you from Mr. Blackwick,” Mama Dee stated finally.

“And who is this Mr. Blackwick, Mama?”

“The Grim Reaper, honey,” Mama Dee answered. A perfect blond eyebrow arched in honest curiosity. The print he had read on the business card was slowly beginning to make some sense.

“Please, Mama, sit down and tell me all about this,” Jean-Pierre requested as he motioned to the empty chair across from him. Mama Dee obligingly sank into the empty reading chair and ran her hands nervously over her lap again – as if she were smoothing out the wrinkles the motion had created in the skirt of her dress. “What can I do for the Grim Reaper himself?”

“Well, it’s like this…” Mama Dee began.

She launched into the truth of it all – how the Bailey had gone missing and how important his role was in the continuation of cycles on the mortal plane. She explained the need to have someone vastly more intelligent and brave enough to do the job, yet, how important it was for that someone to also have the capacity for compassion, mercy and the lack thereof in perfect balance. She explained, as much as she could, the role of Reapers, Inc. and its current staff as the follow up to the Bailey’s actions. When she finished explaining all this, she could only look at Jean-Pierre Marchande as he slowly began to digest everything that she had just told him.

“May I ask why your Mr. Blackwick would think I could do this job?” the beautiful young man finally asked. Mama Dee only shrugged. It was the one question she didn’t have a full answer for.

“You would have to ask Mr. Blackwick, baby,” she replied. “I was just sent to ask if you would do it, that’s all.”

“I would like to think about it, Mama,” Jean-Pierre finally sighed after a few more seconds of thought. “How long will you give me?”

It was Mama Dee’s turn to sigh. She looked to the fireplace at the fire that burned there, but gave off no heat. She had a decision to make on behalf of the firm. The weight of it burdened her. What would John or Brigit do? Finally, she shook her head. They weren’t here. She was. She would have to make the decision on her own.

“I’ll give you a week, Jean-Pierre. Mr. Blackwick would greatly appreciate your agreement to the offer, but, it’s your choice and not an easy one to make. I understand that. So, one week is all I can give you.” Jean-Pierre nodded in agreement of her decision.

“One week, then. I will tell you my decision then, Mama,” he promised.

Mama Dee nodded and rose from the large chair she had been sitting in. As she walked out of the grand salon, all she could think was: Lord, that boy is pretty…

8: Welcome, William

Maggie stood outside Tom Bennett’s building looking at the front door as if were a gateway to torture rather than the portal to a party. She could hear the music coming from the garden at the other end of the breeze way, a sure sign that Tom’s soiree was already in progress. It had not been intentional that she should arrive late. She had promised Tom that she would definitely show to his welcome party for his new lover. However, as she had dressed for the occasion, Maggie had tried to begin to talk herself out of it. She was terrified. Yet, any excuse she came up with in her mind to explain her broken promise would have been an outright lie and Tom would know it.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie slowly climbed the steps, clutching the bottle of wine she had brought close to her chest. She could feel her heartbeat ricocheting against the glass. Tom had told her not to worry about bringing anything. He had told her it would be a small affair. From the sound of the laughter and gentle hum of conversation that mingled with the music from the garden, Maggie could tell that Tom’s idea of a ‘small affair’ meant more than just a few familiar faces.

Somehow, her feet carried her through the breezeway, past Tom’s apartment door and out to the communal garden area. Slowly, Maggie let her brown eyes roam around the scene as her grip on the bottle tightened even more. Paper lanterns were strung between the limbs of the young cherry trees that lined the green area. A row of tables had been set up to the side with an array of finger-foods – some of which Maggie could only begin to guess as to what they were. Heads turned, she noticed, causing her heart to beat at the rate of a frightened rabbit’s. There were faces she recognized. Many of them had been at Brigit’s funeral. They had once offered their support of her during the dark time. She was still in the dark time. At the moment, fear was causing her to forget their names.

“There you are,”

Maggie turned quickly to find Tom standing in the breezeway behind her. She noted the relieved look on his handsome face. It had only been a week since they had last seen one another, but Maggie noticed there was some thing different about her friend. Quickly, her eyes began to search for it.

“I was getting worried about you,” Tom said gently as he hugged his friend warmly. “I just left a message on your voice mail,” he said as he released her and gently stroked the patch of hair just below his bottom lip. That was it, Maggie thought. He’s growing a goatee…

“Oh, I must have left my cell phone at home,” Maggie apologized quickly as she opened her clutch to look for her cell phone. She frowned to see that she had indeed left it behind.

“No matter. You’re here now. What is this?” Tom pointed at the wine bottle Maggie was gripping with white knuckle force.

“Oh, just a little gift for William. You did say he likes red wine, didn’t you?” Maggie asked nervously.

She felt so out of place, so lost. Once upon a time, she would have given such a gathering no thought. She would have been on Brigit’s arm. Nothing else in the world would have mattered. Now, she felt naked and unbearably alone.

“I did, indeed,” Tom confirmed with a knowing smile. He could see the uneasiness on his friend’s face. Maggie was out of practice at hiding her emotions. “Come on, you can give it to him yourself,” he said calmly before gently turning her and ushering her across the garden with his arm protectively around her shoulders.

William was sitting with a small group beside the fountain. Maggie recognized him at once even though she had met him only once for a few minutes at Tom’s bookstore. His normally curly brown hair had been slicked back, giving him a more mature appearance. The smile in his eyes, however, still betrayed his boyish charms. He was a good-looking young man, Maggie thought as she forced a shy smile to her face when everyone at the table turned and looked up at her.

“Look who I found,” Tom announced. “William, you remember my friend, Maggie Devon?”

“Yes, of course. It’s nice to see you again,” William said as he stood and gave Maggie a hearty hug as if they, too, were old friends.

“And you. Here, I brought this for you. Tom said you liked red wine. This is one of our favorites,” Maggie gushed as she extended the bottle out for William to see.

“Our?” William inquired cautiously. Maggie froze. She had not meant to bring up any aspect of Brigit. She had not thought about the possibility of it until now.

“Mine,” she quickly corrected.

“It looks lovely. I can’t wait to try it,” William replied with a smile as he scanned the label. “Thank you.”

“You remember Sola DuLach, right?” Tom cut in, giving Maggie’s arm a gentle squeeze. Maggie looked to her right to see Sola looking up at her. Her auburn-red hair had been pulled back into a tight French braid and she was wearing a bright colored sun-dress for the occasion. A gentle smile beamed under concerned, brown eyes.

“Hello, Maggie,” Sola greeted. “Have a seat. I was beginning to think I would be the only anatomically real girl here.”

“Now, now,” Tom chided his best friend. The exchange drew a few sniggers from the rest of the table.

“I think I’ll get some food and a drink first. Save me a spot?”

“Sure,” Sola agreed with another gentle smile.

“I have to make my rounds,” Tom sang out as he turned away from the table. “Help yourself to anything you want. I’ll be right back, I promise,” he assured Maggie.

She nodded silently. As she stepped to approach the buffet table, the sound of a dog’s barking began to punctuate the music that filled the garden. Shazam! was alarmed, Maggie thought, and not in a happy way.

Sola turned at the sound of Shazam!’s sudden alarm, as did everyone else. Tom was hurrying toward the front door of his apartment, intent to discover what had caused his little Welsh Corgi such distress. Slowly, she let her eyes fall on Maggie Devon. The woman had no clue she had not come to the party alone despite the look of discomfort that played in her eyes. Sola knew it was because Maggie had fallen out of the practice of socializing – especially by herself. Sola had smiled politely when they had been re-introduced. She had hoped Maggie would see the concern in her eyes.

A phantom had followed Maggie into the garden. The image of the gaunt red-haired ghost bothered her; but she noted that he remained a few paces back. Something in his emerald green eyes foretold danger – especially when they were trained on Maggie. Sola had also noticed that this ghost had not noticed her own awareness of him. She only hoped she would be able to find a moment to warn Maggie without causing too much alarm…

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Sola’s attention was torn away from the menacing phantom that seemed to be scanning the crowd. She looked up to find Maggie looking down at her.

“It is,” Sola agreed, forcing her thoughts to rejoin the current moment. “I was just telling the boys here that this summer might be one of the best we’ve had. It’s supposed to stay like this for quite some time.”

“That would be nice,” Maggie commented as she slid into the empty chair next to Sola.

“Sola says she has secret sources in regard to the weather,” William piped up from across the table.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Maggie smiled politely. “Most females have some secret talent, you know,” she joked before taking a bite from a deviled egg overburdened with paprika and pickled relish.

“Do they? What’s your secret talent, Maggie?” William asked with a laugh. Maggie finished chewing the bite of deviled egg before she smiled and said:

“It’s a secret.”

Before she could be pressed further, Sola quickly raised her wine glass.

“I’d like to welcome William with open heart to our little odd-ball family,” she announced. William flashed her a smile as everyone at the small table joined in the welcoming salute. “May you know all our secrets in time.”

Seamus looked around at the faces that filled the garden he had followed Maggie to. His stomach churned as he fixed his gaze on each man’s face. They were abominations, all of them. He could smell their wickedness and his hand ached to reach out and touch them one by one. It would have given him a thrill to watch them fall to their knees, unaware of how death had suddenly come upon them. Yet, he kept his hand ironclad to his side. There would be time enough to carry out this particular quest, time when he was not under the watchful eye of John Blackwick. For now, Seamus decided, he would merely watch. He would make his own list of assignments to complete later, when the voice wasn’t speaking to him. The abominable could live a little while longer.

Slowly, his attention settled on Maggie again. He was alone to watch her for the evening. Brigit was still on task with that Japanese man, Takamoto. Until his training was complete, Seamus knew he had more time to watch his prey while Brigit was away. John Blackwick was gone for the evening to begin his search for the Bailey. He had expressed his confidence that Seamus would not use his new skills as Bailey without supervision. For the time being, Seamus would oblige the Grim Reaper. He was learning quickly, though, and he was enjoying the new skills. Sooner or later, he would be free to do as he pleased with them. In all honesty, he hoped it would be sooner than later. Now, if he could only find the dog that was barking so incessantly…

“I don’t know what’s got him so upset,” Tom announced when he finally rejoined the small group beside the fountain.

Sola pursed her lips together, determined to remain silent. She knew very well why Shazam! was going crazy. She too had her shields up against the phantom roaming the garden.

“Maybe he wants to be a part of the party,” William suggested as he reached out to pull Tom closer to him.

“Absolutely not,” Tom declared. “Tonight it’s all about you, my darling. Tomorrow we can return to all about Shazam!. I’ve put him in his kennel. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go to sleep,” Tom said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth was it that Shazam! suddenly fell quiet. Sola shivered with the fear that the sudden silence was not a fluke. Quickly she stole a glance over her left shoulder and noted that the phantom was absent from the garden. The thought that followed that knowledge bothered her all the more. Still, she kept her silence with a prayer that Shazam! was all right.

“There, you see? The kennel means bedtime. We won’t hear another peep out of him the rest of the evening,” Tom sighed with relief.

9: Sola’s Concern

As the evening wore on, Maggie found herself beginning to relax. It still felt odd, to be surrounded by so many faces that had known Brigit for so many years; but her heart had been spared the pain of discussing her new life as a widow. As daylight faded to dusk, Maggie noticed the only time she felt a pang of memory was when her eyes came to rest on the bottle of wine she had presented to William. It had been an unconscious purchase and every time Maggie looked at it, she wished she had not been so focused on her fear. She wished she had paid a little more attention…

Finally, there came a point when Maggie decided she had socialized enough. The stars had made a faint appearance in the city’s night sky and she found herself growing tired. The coolness of the spring evening breeze that had begun to blow made her wish for the darkness of her bedroom and the warmth of her bed. With that last thought, she announced that it was time she should go.

“So early? But I’ve only just begun to figure out your secret talent,” William lamented as he rose in unison with Tom to exchange departing embraces.

“There’s time aplenty to truly figure it out,” Maggie laughed as they hugged.

“I’m going to go too,” Sola announced suddenly.

“Really?” Tom sounded surprised. “Why?”

“This evening air is making me drowsy,” Sola offered as an excuse.

“The air or the wine?” Tom joked.

“Maybe a little of both,” Sola laughed.

“Oh, all right, then. Give me a hug, both of you,” Tom finally said, opening his muscled arms to embrace both women at the same time. When he finally released them, Sola and Maggie exchanged knowing and agreeing glances. Tom Bennett was drunk.

“Would you care to share a cab?” Sola asked as she walked with Maggie through the breezeway toward the street.

“I thought you lived uptown?” Maggie said as they descended the stairs to the sidewalk. Sola shook her head.

“I moved down to the village this last fall. I needed to be closer to the temple. Besides, the village is more my style than Harlem, don’t you think? Come on, your apartment is on the way,” Sola pointed out as she raised her arm to hail one of the few cabs that appeared to be available for hire. Maggie finally nodded as a taxi quickly came to a stop at the curb.

“What did you think of this evening?” Sola asked after Maggie had given the driver her address and they were in motion.

“I thought it was nice. I really like William. He seems to make Tom happy,” Maggie pointed out.

“That he does,” Sola agreed. “Listen, Maggie, I wanted to ask you. Has everything been normal for you lately?”

Maggie looked at Sola in surprise.

“Define ‘normal’,” she laughed uncomfortably. Sola’s expression was serious, however, and Maggie’s laugh quickly faded. “I suppose so, considering everything that’s happened over the past two years,” Maggie finally shrugged with a heavy sigh. “Why do you ask?”

Sola searched her companion’s face. She couldn’t lie to her, yet, she was unsure as to how much of the truth she should reveal.

“I can sense things,” Sola said quietly. It wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t at all a lie. “And I sense that you’re being followed by something you can’t see. I don’t have a good feeling about it, Maggie,” Sola warned.

“What are you trying to say?” Maggie inquired as her confusion over Sola’s suddenly being mysterious began to grow.

“I’m just saying to keep an eye out for anything strange. There is a darkness stalking you and I’m worried, that’s all,” Sola said. A thought crossed Maggie’s mind that suddenly made her smile. Gently, Sola patted her companion’s knee. She had read Maggie’s thought clearly. “Strange does not include me,” she said.

The taxi pulled to the curb outside Maggie’s building a few minutes later. Maggie opened her clutch to retrieve some cash, but Sola waved the action away.

“I’ve got it,” the woman said. Through the darkness between them, Maggie could see the gentle smile under the still concerned eyes. “You get it next time.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked. “Maybe we could meet for lunch later this week. I’ll treat,” she offered.

“I’ll give you a call,” Sola promised. Maggie squeezed her companion’s hand and exited the taxi. “Wait a few minutes,” Sola instructed the driver quietly as Maggie climbed the stairs to the front door. Sola watched intently until she saw the light come on in Maggie’s apartment. Quickly, she opened the door and went to get out, surprising the driver.

“Hey, where are you going?” he cried.

“Just wait. I’ll be right back,” Sola insisted.

Before he could protest further, Sola raced up the steps and pushed open the front door. In a few more seconds, she stood before Maggie’s apartment. Quickly, she raised her right hand and made the motions of a protection signal while whispering the necessary words of the spell to back up that protection. She wasn’t sure how much Maggie would appreciate such actions, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The spell complete, Sola turned and rushed back to the cab, giving the driver her address as she returned to the backseat.

If asked, she would not deny it. What she had seen at the party in the garden had shaken her. She had never thought she would see the face of the death angel itself. She had certainly never thought it would have red hair.

10: The Sword Master’s Advice

“You are uneasy,”

Brigit looked up at her companion. She had been lost in thought when she should have been discussing her observations of his technique in passing a soul.

They had been reaping for two days. After the first few demonstrations, Brigit had felt confident enough in her counterpart’s understanding of the process to let him take over. Yoshiro Takamoto had been a quiet student. He had grasped the concept with a near flawless effort. That fact had given Brigit time to wrestle with the emotions that gripped her regarding the assignment she had slipped into the pocket of her long black coat that didn’t contain the other assignments.

“Is it that obvious?” Brigit asked with a light chuckle. When the Japanese man remained silent, Brigit sighed heavily. She had always struggled with hiding her stress – especially when there was difficult task at hand. It was a flaw she had been trying to keep under control during the last few months.

“Sometimes, it is best to use negative energy as a fuel to carry one through a dark time,” Yoshiro suggested as he clasped his hands behind his back. “When a warrior is ready to enter battle, he is pure in spirit and empty of thought. Before that moment, the warrior must use his time to focus his fear and rage, transforming it into the energy that will carry him across the battlefield with honor and valor. It is when a warrior is distracted by his thoughts that he fails. When he is blinded by uncertainty and raw emotion, the warrior finds that he is as much to blame for his fall as is his enemy’s sword.”

Brigit listened carefully. It was the most she had heard Yoshiro Takamoto speak during the time they had spent together. His voice was soothing despite the harsh reality of his words.

“How does the warrior find a pure spirit?” she asked quietly. The idea of channeling her fear and rage, the two emotions she disdained facing the most, made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure which one she hated the most – the fear or the rage.

“He waits. He examines the element that causes him so much stress. He takes the energy of that stress and transforms it with a patient spirit until all that is left is the quiet of peace behind it,” Yoshiro explained.

“What if the stress is too much?”

“Nothing is insurmountable once the warrior has found peace, Brigit Malone. Find the peace behind your stress and you will succeed in conquering your task. Use the fear and anger to carry you through it. There will be an everlasting peace when all is said and done.”

Yoshiro leveled his dark almond eyes on Brigit as his words began to settle on her mind. Brigit now had something to think about other than the demon taunting her brain. She had to find the time to examine her emotions. After she did that, then, Brigit could face the task that rode so heavily in her coat’s pocket.

11: The Reaping of Earl Hennessy

Brigit found herself staring at the rundown farm house calmly. She did not question the stillness of the fear that she had been struggling with since that day John had handed her the assignment. She did not wonder where the ghost that had plagued her mind with the thought of it all had gone. She was peaceful for the first time in over a week and she did not question it. The time had come to face her ghost – to fully remember everything about the man who had caused her so many nightmares.

In life, she had learned to eventually let it go, trusting that he would find just reward for his terrible actions against her innocence as a child. When she had let it go, the nightmares had ceased their frequent visits – choosing only to return when triggered by an unexpected scene from other people’s lives. Eventually, Brigit had learned to ignore her childhood memories all together. The good memories were simply too interwoven with the bad.

Now, she was here, the usher chosen for the man that had been such a monster throughout his life. She could never have imagined being the one that would bring him to the moment of his passage to judgment. She could never have imagined having to face him ever again.

She could see movement beyond the windows. He was in there waiting, most likely unaware that he had died. She wondered briefly if he had changed at all, or if in his passing, he had been allowed to revert to the man he had been as Brigit remembered him – the man she had feared so much as a child. She was not afraid now, though. The moment had finally come. She had a job to do and despite her initial irritation over John’s insistence that she do it, Brigit realized that this really was the opportunity to be done with it forever.

Yoshiro Takamoto had told her that before entering battle, one had to possess the purity of spirit and thought. Otherwise, he had said, the warrior would fail in their quest. Distraction of thought was as much of an enemy as one’s foe actually was. Brigit had listened to his lesson carefully, digesting it slowly, examining it until she understood. Her fear of this childhood ghost was as much of her enemy as the assigned spirit actually was. Once she controlled her fear, she now understood, she would be able to face the ghost and complete the assignment. Once she had found the peace behind her fear, she knew she was ready to finally be done with all of it.

Unconsciously, her grip tightened on the handle of the black umbrella she carried. It was her weapon, her only comfort at the moment. She expected a confrontation from this spirit. In life, he had been a violent man. As Brigit knew well, some things did carry over with death… Her dark eyes remained fixed on the small dilapidated building as her free hand slipped inside the long, black coat she wore to that place on her hip where she had fixed the dagger. She was not sure whether she would have need of it, but, she knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

The gravel under the soles of her boots echoed across the silent prairie like thunder. This was where he had found solace, out here in the middle of nowhere. Or perhaps, she thought as she continued her slow approach, it was the only place he could hide from his own ghosts and demons. Maybe they’ve consumed him…

Her dark eyes took in the state of the abode and she quieted her thoughts again. The peeling paint and broken windows screamed the house’s abandonment. She could not feel sorry for him. The pain he had caused so many warranted no pity. She knew too much about him. So much, in fact, that she did not feel it necessary to read anymore of his file than the address of his last breath. Her soul suddenly felt cold. Brigit wondered momentarily if this was how the original Reapers were – ushers without any sense of feeling one way or the other toward the souls going through the door to their ultimate fates.

He was sitting at the kitchen table staring into the shallow depths of a whiskey filled glass in front of him. Brigit remained where she stood in the shadows, her silent presence unnoticed as she took in his appearance. His hair had finally turned white and his hands, hands that she remembered in the form of fists and the instruments of unwanted touching, were grotesquely gnarled with arthritis. His once square jaw line was now nothing more than a cascade of sagging jowls. The hunch of his back and shoulders told her that he no longer walked so proudly amongst the rest of humanity. He had lacked humanity during his life and the lack of it in his death was worn about him like a scarlet robe. Now, he looked every bit the ogre that had traumatized Brigit as a child. As she stared at him, however, Brigit could sense the power still hidden deep within his core.

Finally, his dark eyes rose from the whiskey glass and looked to the area of the room where she stood in silent observance.

“Who’s there?” he demanded as he tried to peer through the shadows to make out the presence he felt lingering there. Brigit forced herself not to flinch at the sound of his voice. That much about him had not changed. “Answer me, damn it!” he bellowed, bringing a gnarled fist down forcefully against the tabletop.

Brigit remained silent as she stepped from the shadows into the ray of sunlight that poured through a hole in the roof like a spotlight from heaven. She felt his dark eyes looking over her as he searched his memory. She knew it wouldn’t take long. After all, she was her mother’s daughter… Suddenly, the recognition sank in on him. His eyes widened in surprised fear and then narrowed in defiant suspicion.

“You,” he snarled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve been sent to cross you over,” Brigit replied calmly. She was surprised at how steady her nerves were. “It’s time to reap what you’ve sown, Earl Hennessy.”

“Go to hell,” he growled as he reached for the glass of whiskey.

As he raised it to his lips, Brigit flipped the black umbrella from crook to tip and caught the leg of the empty chair across from the ugly old man. With lightning speed, she whipped it across the space to her free hand and turned it to face him. Silent, Brigit sat in the chair and crossed her legs at the knee. This was not an easy assignment to begin with. It had the potential to be dragged out longer than she thought necessary. With that in mind, Brigit felt she should at least make herself comfortable in some way. As she fixed her dark gaze on him once more, she became aware that he had frozen at the sight of the speed with which she had moved.

“Get thee behind me, Satan!” he barked, pointing a gnarled finger at the Reaper with his empty fist as he returned the unsipped-from whiskey glass to its place on the table. Brigit fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was the second time in over a week she had been called a denizen of Hell…

He was beginning to tell himself that this was all a bad dream, a result of the whiskey again. He often hallucinated when he drank. He was doing it now, he was sure of it. Brigit sighed and watched him as fear began to course through him when the rebuke had no effect on her. She had heard him say it so often during her childhood when he was in one of his Christian phases. He had believed evil swarmed all around him, ready to drag him back within its clutches. He had always been a silly superstitious man. The utterance of the rebuke now was almost comical to her. Brigit maintained her silence.

“I don’t understand,” he whimpered under the dark woman’s intent gaze. “I was a good man, a Christian man. I loved your mother. I loved you,” he cried. Brigit felt a flame burst to life inside her at the mention of ‘love’ being used in the same sentence with mention to herself and her mother. She clenched her teeth as the flame rose higher and higher, urging her fury to be unleashed. “Now, you come as a demon to torture me,” he sobbed.

“You were anything but good, you hedonistic bastard,” Brigit growled as she leaned forward in the chair and rested her elbow across her knee. “You beat my mother every other day that we were under your roof. How does that translate to love, you sick asshole? Answer me, you worthless piece of shit,” she snarled.

She had not raised her voice. She was letting the fury grow. She needed it. Earl Hennessy looked at her with dark and dangerous eyes. She had accused him of lying. No one accused him of being a liar.

“You were a devil touched bitch,” he replied. “I told your mother time and again to get rid of you; but she wouldn’t listen to me. She always whined that your father had disappeared and couldn’t take you. She lied to me every time she opened her mouth and every time she defied me, I acted with my God-given right as her husband. She was my property. She was supposed to obey me. She was supposed to put no other above me. She needed to learn her place.”

“You beat her until she was a broken woman and couldn’t take it anymore. The best thing she ever did was leave your sorry ass,” Brigit said. “Now, what’s your excuse for what you did to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were a whore in the making. I knew you spoke to demons. They told you lies. They told you my secrets. I was trying to save you.”

Brigit flew from the chair with a speed that surprised even herself. Somewhere in mid-flight, she had dropped the black umbrella and drawn the dagger from beneath her coat. Earl Hennessy gulped nervously when he felt the razor edge of it against his throat. Brigit was unsure of how much damage she could actually do with it, but it felt good to feel his fear vibrating through the blade and up the hilt to her hand. The door to his fate appeared to her right. She refrained from reaching out to open it.

“You stole my innocence, mother fucker,” she growled close to his ear. “Because of you, I no longer had a normal childhood. I no longer had anything to believe in. Because of you, I was sick for a very long time. Because of you, I lost my mother as I knew her. Tell me, why? Tell me the truth, Earl Hennessy. Tell me why you couldn’t control yourself. Tell me why you did those things to me when I was only nine years old. I was a child! Tell me why you caused me to live in fear for most of what was left of my life. Tell me, you twisted son-of-a-bitch, how you can call of any of that ‘love’,” she snarled.

Brigit could hear her own voice, but she knew it was her fury speaking. The fury was burning wildly, but it was calm at the same time, keeping her in its firm grasp. She did not struggle against it. She saw him swallow nervously as her rant sank in on him.

“It was the whiskey that did that,” he replied meekly.

Brigit laughed; but it was not an amused laugh. It was evil, dark and mocking. In another time and another place, Brigit would have found the sound emanating from within her unsettling.

“The whiskey made me do it. The devil made me do it. Take some fucking responsibility already!”

“God has saved my soul. I was a backsliding sinner, but God forgave me and saved me.”

Brigit’s eyes fell to the whiskey glass before him. She had heard this song before.

“Oh yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

She extended the dagger and tipped the whiskey glass, its amber contents spread across the tabletop like a river breaking through the levee that had kept it contained. As his dark eyes watched the liquid spread, Brigit leaned in close again. The hand holding the dagger flew out to strike the door that had appeared to her right.

“Hell is too good for you, you son-of-a-bitch,” she hissed close to his ear.

“I had to control you,” he said evenly. He had regained control of his nerves once more. Defiance was rising up through his spine. “I knew one day you would tell on me, tell everyone my secrets. I couldn’t risk that. I’m a good man,” he said again.

“You shouldn’t have worried about me, you stupid fuck,” Brigit said evenly, pulling away from him. “Your actions were being recorded by the Divine’s honest pen since the day you were born. Everything you’ve ever done is recorded here,” Brigit revealed as she withdrew the long black file she had been carrying in her coat pocket for the past week. She dropped it on the table next to the overturned whiskey glass. Earl Hennessy’s eyes stared long and hard at it. “Go on, read it. See every deed you’ve ever done and tell me again how good of a man you were. Read about the girl in high school you and your buddies brutalized under the bleachers because you decided she was a tease and needed to be taught one of your lessons. Read every word about what kind of man you really were in the war. Pay extra attention to the details about what you did to my mother and to me. When you’re done, convince me that you were a good man. When you’re done, pray to your God for final forgiveness, because you won't find any coming from me.”

“It’s all lies. You’re a liar. You’re a demon’s whore,” Earl Hennessy spat. “I’ll teach you to tell secrets and lies!” he bellowed angrily as he jumped to his feet and swung a gnarled fist at Brigit’s head.

She had seen it coming, though, and dodged the blow easily. For one second, she turned to face him. Her anger was feeding her speed. She smiled at the fear she saw dancing in his eyes despite the determined scowl on his weathered face. The look in his eyes gave away his every thought. Brigit remained firm in her gaze into them. She was not afraid. The adult had replaced the child she had been once upon a time. Her anger had taken full control. Her instinct to fight sat firmly on her shoulder. The dagger in her hand felt natural as she held it. She remained calm as she saw him hunker down to prepare for his charge.

“You’re going back to hell where you came from,” he growled dangerously. Brigit raised one dark eyebrow in amusement.

“Take your best shot,” she provoked.

Earl Hennessy howled as he lunged across the space between them. Brigit had seen his plan in his eye. Time seemed to slow down as she kept her eyes trained on his. Effortlessly, she side-stepped his body, bringing her hand with the dagger up and across his throat as he flew past her. She whirled in time to watch him fall flat on the broken floorboards and roll to face the hole in the ceiling. Time immediately snapped back to normal speed as Brigit took in the scene at her feet. From the gash across his throat, dark black ooze began to flow out. She had never seen the life force flow from a soul. Earl Hennessy was her first kill.

Brigit stood over his body watching the blackness pool around his head as his body began to slowly fade with a wind that had suddenly arisen from the walls around them. Within a few minutes, the spirit of Earl Hennessy was gone off into Limbo. Only a dark stain marked the spot where he had been judged and reaped – passing not to his fate for the life he had lived, but rather, into that place of eternal nothingness.

His repeated words echoed in her mind as she turned to retrieve the portfolio from the table. Easily, she returned the dagger to its scabbard on her hip before turning and stooping to pick up the umbrella. There might be hell to pay for what she had done, but in this instance, she would be happy to pay that price. The ghost was gone forever. Her memory of a lifelong nightmare was gone. Despite the fact that she was in an extremely foul mood, she noted that she did find an ounce of relief in that small fact – that it was over. Angrily, Brigit strode out of the small farm house and into the sunlight.

“Good man, my ass…”

12: Sunday Morning

Her eyes opened suddenly. Something had awakened her; but, what? Quickly, she looked to the steadily ticking clock on the bedside table. It was only nine A.M. Had she been dreaming? As she turned her head away from the clock, she searched her memory for a vignette of any scene that may have played while she had slept. When nothing revealed itself, Maggie looked at the clock again. She decided it was best to get out of bed and get the day rolling…

As she dressed, Maggie thought about her conversation with Sola DuLach during the cab ride home. Last night, Sola had warned her to keep an eye out for strange happenings. Whatever that might mean, Maggie mused as she pulled her favorite t-shirt down over her head. It was a dark blue t-shirt advertising a rock band Brigit had been a fan of. I have more important things to think about today, she told herself as she sat on the bed and pulled her sneakers on.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair, Maggie retrieved the clutch still containing her wallet and left the apartment. The manager at the paint store had called yesterday morning. The custom colors she intended for Mama Dee’s apartment were ready. Maggie had decided it was best to get the painting project out of the way before she even considered calling in a real estate agent to list the place for sale.

Belinda looked up from her notebook and out the window of the café. She had finished her workload earlier that morning and decided to use the time of waiting for Seamus to write a few lines of creative thought. During her down time, Belinda found that her creativity was always waiting to be expressed. It was a welcome change to simply recording names and dates…

Despite the wait, Belinda was giddy with anticipation. Seamus had yet again postponed their coffee date the weekend before in order to continue studying for his new position as the Bailey. While she had felt a slight tinge of disappointment, Belinda had reminded herself how important the new title was to Seamus and that she should be completely supportive of the effort and time he was putting into it.

“It’s not like we’ll run out of time,” she had told herself after that mental reminder.

Yet, she had to admit that she had been elated when Seamus had popped into her office and announced that they would for sure meet for coffee today. Now, she was just waiting…A shadow fell across the table and Belinda turned to see the source. She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the flame-haired Irishman. He too was grinning from ear to ear. Is he really so happy to see me? Belinda wondered quickly.

“You’re here!”

“Aye, that I am, lass,” Seamus confirmed. He quickly stooped and kissed her full on the mouth. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was enough to surprise her. It was just long enough to feel the spark… to feel the connection… “Did ye miss me?” he asked as he slid into the empty bench across from her.

She noticed the sword slung over his shoulder. She wondered briefly why he would by carrying it now that he was the Bailey. Sure he didn’t really expect any kind of situation where he would need to defend himself. Besides, Belinda knew, a sword was only supposed to be used in extreme instances as its use would condemn a soul to Eternal Limbo. Finally, Belinda told herself that Seamus would surely have a good reason to carry the sword. After all, he was the Bailey now.

“Of course I did,” Belinda sputtered; sure that a rosy blush was now blooming on her pale cheeks. “You look happy,” she pointed out.

“I am. John Blackwick has released me from his oversight. He says that he’s got to find the old Bailey to give him options, whatever that means,” Seamus revealed.

“It means that he’ll cross him if he doesn’t agree to stop all the monkey business of overloading us with work and then disappearing,” Belinda replied. Seamus shrugged.

“It’s no matter. I think John’s had enough of him and will just cross him. Besides, he’s got me now. There’s no need for that droolin’ idiot anymore, aye?” Seamus pointed out.

“I suppose,” Belinda agreed.

“Well, are ye ready then?” Seamus asked.

“For what?”

“We’re goin’ out. I want to show ye what I can do now,” Seamus informed her proudly. “The Bailey’s got some interesting tricks.”

“All right, but on one condition,” Belinda said as she closed her notebook and shoved it hastily into the coffin purse. “No old people or little kids.”

“Ye’ve got me word on that, lass,” Seamus promised with a charming smile before sliding out of the booth. He readjusted the sword on his shoulder and extended a hand to her. Like the gentleman she had always believed him to be, he pulled her out to stand beside him. Belinda felt her heart turn a somersault at the feel of his cool hand around hers. This was going to be a good day, she could feel it.

13: Hunting the Bailey

John Blackwick raised his eyes from the long black portfolio in his hand and looked at the landscape around him. Eight hundred years ago, a small village had existed in this place. It had been a stop over place on the road from the southern region of France to the northern part. Now, it was rolling fields of green. In the distance, his ice blue eyes could see the forest Araxius Herodotus had found the Bailey in. The trees that had grown there had long been gone and reclaimed by the earth from which they had sprung. Now, their descendents stood tall and firm in their place. Knowing that it was within the forest that the Bailey had first been discovered, John set off across the green field toward it, his ebony walking stick resting lazily on his shoulder as he walked.

He had felt mildly uncomfortable releasing Seamus Flannery from his tutelage. He was sure Brigit would be completely uncomfortable with that knowledge as well when she finally returned to the office and found out. Yet, Seamus Flannery had taken to the job well, mastering the tricks of the Bailey with unheard of skill. Besides, the Irishman had given his word that he would follow the rules. After that, John had been unable to find a good reason to keep him on such a short leash when there were more pressing priorities at hand.

His only hope was that Seamus would continue to behave himself. It would only be for a short while, the Grim Reaper reminded himself. John hoped whole heartedly that Mama Dee would deliver a positive reply from Jean-Pierre Marchande today. She had made the decision to give him a week to mull over the offer. Today was the deadline. No pun intended, John thought as he continued toward the forest.

John walked slowly through the trees, scanning the area immediately around him. It had to be here. Surely time had not completely eaten away the small monument of sorrow that had been erected to mark the spot of Michel Dupree’s death. It had merely been a small granite stele placed by the village priest under the tree from which he had been found hung by the neck, but it was a memorial to Michel all the same.

The priest had done as much as he could to protect the man with the mind of a child. He had been unable to convince Michel’s parents that it might be a better life for him in a monastery. His parents had been non-believers with no use for the church in any matter of every day life, and as such, Michel had been left vulnerable to the daily harassment and hatred of their fellow villagers. His lack of intelligence caused him to trust easily if someone were to show him the slightest gesture of nicety. His lack of the knowledge between right and wrong caused him to lash out when angry and to take what he wanted as soon as he saw it. It was his overwhelming innocence that had been his undoing in the end.

It had been a warm spring day when it had all come to an end for Michel Dupree. He had left his father’s watchful eye to wander the woods, the place where he felt the happiest. Through the trees, a stream flowed easily toward the south from a deep bubbling pool at the heart of the wood. Beside it, Michel would sit and watch as deer came to drink from it and fish would spontaneously erupt from its depths to somersault in mid-air before diving back in. Those moments would delight him the most, causing him to dance and applaud the acrobatic show. It was his intention this day to find his place, to sit and not work as his father had instructed him to do.

She hadn’t heard him coming through the woods. Her voice sang clearly across the air as she let the water run from her long blond hair. She had the privacy she couldn’t find in her father’s lodge. Here, she was free from the harsh hands of the servants her father had pressed into service in exchange for living on his fertile lands. Michel had heard her, though. He stood behind the towering oak and watched in fear and irritation. No one was supposed to know about this place. It was his place. Yet, here was the master’s daughter, naked in his pool where the fish played and the deer drank. As Michel continued to watch her, he became more agitated – wondering what he could do to make her go away.

Finally, it occurred to him. He would scare her, cause her to run away from this place and never return. The thought of water monsters were frightening to him. Surely, they would be frightening to the master’s daughter…

Peeling off the coarse brown robe his friend the priest had given him, Michel crept to the edge of the pool and slipped in. She had not heard him. She was still singing. He took a deep breath and sank into the murky water, gliding like a magnificent and fearsome water dragon beneath the surface until he could make out the glowing white skin of her legs.

Michel could feel the water’s surface explode around him as he erupted from beneath it with a mighty roar. The master’s daughter’s singing turned to blood-curdling screams as she turned to face the fierce demon that had come from the water’s depths. Michel laughed hysterically as the maiden scrambled from his pool and ran naked through the trees. Her screaming echoed all around him as he continued to laugh and wade back to the bank. Now, it was all his again. He was alone with the deer and the fish.

The air had felt good against his wet skin as he spread his robe over the leaves. Smiling, Michel sat and began his wait for his friends to make their appearances. Now that she was gone, surely they would come to visit him. In the meantime, Michel thought, it would be nice to sleep for a little while. With one last glance around the clearing, he stretched out on his robe and closed his eyes.

The men had come an hour or so later, sneaking up on the naked and sleeping young man. Just as Michel had sensed their presence, their hands were upon him, heaving him to his feet with angry and frightening shouts. Quickly, Michel looked around him, wondering why they should attack so. Then, he saw her: the master’s daughter. She was clothed now, an accusing finger pointed straight at him, her lips proclaiming him to be the demon that had accosted her. Before Michel could open his mouth to deny her hysterical accusations, he felt the rope pulled harshly over his bald head and cinched tight around his neck. His feet were being pulled away from the ground. He cried out loud for his mother as he struggled, unaware that his thrashing about only caused the noose to cinch all the tighter.

When the last breath finally came, Michel realized he could no longer see any of them. Gone were the accusing master’s daughter and the angry men that had hung him. He saw his friends the deer and fish finally come to visit him. He saw the tall thin man in the flowing black robe steadily, silently, watching him and the retreating figure of another thin man through the trees. Who is this? Why does he watch me so? Michel had wondered as his last breath evaporated into the blue sky above the green forest.

It had been Araxius Herodotus to pull him down from the high branch of the tall oak tree. Araxius Herodotus, the tall thin man in the flowing black robes had smiled and said calming words to the frightened Michel. Araxius Herodotus had promised protection for a bargain. Michel had listened. He had understood. He had agreed…

John ran his hand over the stele. He had found it beneath a tree beside the small pool of water. Deer drank lazily from the bank as fish spontaneously erupted from its depths. Time had not eaten the stone that marked the site of a sad occasion. Time had merely made it smooth.

A breeze whispered through the trees and John inhaled deep. He could smell the moisture of rain upon it. Yet, there was something else he could smell as well. Salt. The wind was blowing from the south, picking up and carrying on it the unmistakable scent of the sea. With a shrug, John turned and set off in the direction from which the breeze had come. Something told him it was the right direction despite the fact that he had never known the Bailey to visit the seashore for a holiday…

14: Yoshiro Takamoto

Brigit was not surprised to find the main office at 666 ½ Bleecker Street relatively empty. She was sure that by the time she had returned, John Blackwick would have already passed out the day’s assignments and then seen himself off to do whatever was on his slate for the day. She was surprised, however, to find Belinda Yaris gone and Pierce Nelson working steadily by himself.

“She’s out for the day,” the accountant had said before Brigit had even formed the question as to the Goth girl’s whereabouts.

Brigit nodded in silence and placed the lone portfolio she had come to turn in on Belinda’s desk before turning and exiting the small office. Unlike the other files Brigit turned over to Belinda, this one was not blank. She knew she would have to explain to the firm’s record keeper as to why. She was suddenly grateful she didn’t have to provide that explanation just yet.

The door to the arsenal room stood ajar. Brigit reached inside her coat and removed the dagger from where she had carried it on her hip. It had served its purpose. It was time to return it. Without paying any real attention, Brigit pushed the door completely open and then stopped short at the sight she saw. Yoshiro Takamoto was kneeling in meditation, or so she thought, before the table that held the various swords available to Reapers, Inc. staff. Stepping around him, Brigit glanced down and saw that his dark almond-shaped eyes were trained on one particular sword – the black samurai katana that could not be held by anyone but its maker or a Reaper on a divine mission.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked quietly as she carefully returned the dagger to the table she had originally taken it from. Yoshiro Takamoto gave no reply, yet, she could feel a confused sadness emanating from him. “They say it’s cursed,” she said softly. “No one can hold it except its maker or a soul on a divine mission,” she explained as she let her own eyes travel the length of the sword as it sat on its stand.

“I had thought it lost forever,”

The statement was barely a whisper from the kneeling man. Brigit looked to Yoshiro Takamoto in surprise. A deep frown had settled on his normally serene features. It was an expression that deeply troubled Brigit.

“I am its maker,” Yoshiro Takamoto revealed. “It was my finest work, my masterpiece. The news of its loss broke my heart. I was so angry when the samurai returned and requested its replacement. He had been careless to lose it. I berated him. A true samurai would never have lost his sword. The sword was a part of his soul, an extension of himself,” Yoshiro Takamoto spat.

“He didn’t lose it, Mr. Takamoto,” Brigit corrected. “It was cursed by his fallen opponent. The samurai threw it down beside his enemy, afraid that the curse was real. He lied to you, Mr. Takamoto,” Brigit explained.

“I believed him when I should have turned him away. I agreed to make its replacement. I secluded myself beneath the frozen waterfall so that I could purify my spirit. I had to be clean of the anger and sadness that had consumed me. I wanted to hear the Divine’s voice. I would have poured every spark of instruction into every movement during its creation.”

“What happened?” Brigit inquired softly.

“I was not meant to make another sword. During my meditation, I froze to death bearing the sadness of the original sword’s loss,” he said. That sadness now poured through his words like blood spreading over silk. That image in Brigit’s mind caused her to feel heavy. Brigit glanced at the sword once more before stepping to Yoshiro Takamoto’s side. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Take it if you wish, Mr. Takamoto. Only you will be able to carry it now,” she said before leaving the room. As she made her way back to the main entrance of the office, Brigit steeled herself against the thought that had now come to mind. There was someone else Brigit suddenly needed to see.

15: The Message

Brigit looked around the main room feeling a spark of irritation returning. She had hoped to find her mother’s abode in a better state than it was. Yet, all around the living room were piles upon piles of clutter. It appeared as though Liana Evans hadn’t bothered to clean in years. The sight of the negligence only added to the air of depression that hang heavily from the rafters.

Brigit walked through the small house her mother owned. She remembered spending the last few years of her pre-college life here. She remembered the fights, the irritations, the many nights of dreaming of escape. She remembered having the nightmares here as well, but there was no lingering of them now. Their source was finally gone, cast into Limbo by her own angry hand.

A deep sob rumbled through the silence of the house. Brigit turned and faced the direction from where it had come. Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen.

Liana Evans was sitting at the kitchen table, audibly crying. A bottle of wine sat opened to her left and the half-empty glass she drank from sat beside it. Directly before her, Brigit saw, was a framed picture of Brigit and Maggie smiling cheerfully out at the weeping woman. It was the picture Brigit had sent to her mother shortly after meeting Maggie, to provide proof that she had found happiness. A box had been set beside the framed picture. Brigit took a step closer and peered inside.

The contents of the box made her grimace. Inside were all the letters and postcards Brigit had sent to her mother after leaving home. It was all the correspondence that had received no reply after Brigit had fallen in love and moved in with Maggie. Brigit had never given up, but over the course of the years, the correspondence had eventually dwindled to holiday greetings and birthday tidings. Brigit couldn’t help but wonder why her mother would be going through all of it now…

She watched in silence as Liana downed the remaining contents of the wineglass and then refilled it to the brim. Slowly, Brigit’s eyes focused on the calendar hanging on the wall behind Liana’s head. The first half of the month had been crossed off with a thick, black marker. The current day had yet to meet the same fate. Her eyes bored heavily on the unmarked box. What was it about this day? Aha, she thought as she searched through her memory. Today is my birthday…

Brigit looked down at the shaking form of her mother. Liana was grieving, yet, Brigit couldn't help but to wonder what she was grieving the most for. Brigit shrugged the thought aside. The reason didn't matter now. Just the mere thought that it has happening touched her heart.

Softly, she laid a hand on the weeping woman’s shoulder, hoping to somehow comfort the woman that had initially brought her into Life. Brigit hoped her mother could feel the love she still held for her despite their distance. She had come here intentionally. It would possibly be the last time…

“The demon is gone, Mama. I took care of it for us both. Find some peace, Mama, it’s time,” Brigit said quietly as she gave her mother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's time to be happy."

Liana stopped slowly sobbing and looked at the framed photograph of her smiling daughter and the girl she had chosen to fall in love with. They both looked so happy. Before that picture, Liana had been unable to remember the last time her daughter had smiled so unabashedly. She reached out and gently traced the image of Brigit’s face with her fingertip. She had heard a quiet whisper in the depths of her mind and the gentle pressure on her shoulder just before it had suddenly disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, Liana kissed the picture and carefully placed it back into the box with Brigit’s letters.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered. “Find some peace for yourself.”

16: Michel Dupree

John sighed deeply after the first drop struck him forcefully on the forehead. Of course it would start raining now, he thought as he turned his ice blue eyes skyward. He had actually begun to look forward to some time at the seashore during his search for the Bailey. A loud crash of thunder resounded all around him, but John was unable to determine whether it was actual thunder or the crash of angry waves against the shore.

He had spied his quarry from the rise of the small hill that separated the field John had come through and the beginnings of the beach. A sand castle had been built somewhat crudely and left to dry in the afternoon sun that had been quickly swallowed by the roiling storm clouds. The change in the day’s light seemed to not affect the Bailey in the least. From the sprawl of his naked arms and legs, John could tell the Bailey was fast asleep on the beach.

The heavens opened up and let loose the downpour as John Blackwick strolled along the beach. He was relieved to finally have found the Bailey at last. He was sorry he had to deliver options. He had always possessed a soft spot for weaker things: bunnies, kittens and drooling village idiots… In John’s opinion, they all deserved a gesture of extra kindness.

He suddenly stopped in his approach of the sleeping Bailey and stifled the urge to laugh. The Bailey had fallen asleep in the sun – completely naked.

“Michel Dupree,” John addressed gently, “wake up, mon ami,” he called, still resisting the urge to laugh. The sleeping man continued to sleep, deaf to the Grim Reaper’s gentle instruction. “C’mon ye wee devil, wake up,” he said more forcefully, prodding the nude man with the end of his walking stick.

The Bailey scrambled to his feet in a flash, stumbling backward from the intruder to his peaceful slumber. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked all around him before focusing on John Blackwick. John arched an eyebrow at the sight now before him. The sight of the hairless man with his manhood flopping around between his thighs in the rain still seemed humorous; but there was a sense of sadness about it as well. A centuries old memory had been sparked with the prodding of the walking stick and John was suddenly sorry he had done it.

“Michel Dupree,” John addressed again, hoping the tone of his voice would calm the man. “Calm yourself, lad. I meant you no harm.”

“Blackwick,” the Bailey greeted cautiously. “Why here?”

John bit his lip to keep from sounding overly stern. If he were too harsh, the Bailey would run away to avoid his punishment. John was well aware of the tricks of travel and disappearing the Bailey was capable of. He had been witness to Seamus Flannery’s use of it for the past week. All he would have to do, John knew, was find the seam of the present landscape and peel it back like some thick film hiding the unseen world just behind it. Through that tear, the Bailey had only to slip inside and close the door behind him and he would be someplace entirely new. John knew it would literally take forever to find him again if that were to happen.

“I’ve come to speak with you,” John finally replied. “May we sit?”

The Bailey nodded and returned to the spot where he had been sleeping. John joined him on the sand, trying to erase the comical image of the naked man ready to defend himself.

“You well?” the Bailey asked as John began to peel off his shoes and then his socks before nestling his pale feet into the sand that still held some of the afternoon’s previous warmth. Setting them aside, he let his blue eyes settle on the dark storm that was rolling in from the sea. The first of the deluge had already begun to fall from the sky. It was merely a prelude to what was coming. They were going to look like drowned rats by the time it reached shore. Or, at least, I will, he thought as he turned and smiled gently at his companion. Despite the fact that the rain would not really affect him in the least, John liked the memory of how it had felt on his skin once upon a time. One of his happiest memories had been formed in the rain…

“I am, thank you,” he replied. “What about you? Are you well? Are you happy, Michel?”

“Bailey tired,” Michel replied with a sigh.

“Are you? Is that why you disappeared again?” John asked. The Bailey nodded. “I see. Well, I suppose it would make sense, old man. I mean, you’ve been Bailey for how long? Almost a thousand years now?”

“Long time,” the Bailey agreed. “Tired,” he repeated.

“So what do you want to do?” John asked gently as thunder began to rumble through the darkening clouds over them. The Bailey looked at him quizzically. The simple man didn’t understand. The look in his eyes betrayed as much. “Do you want to continue on as Bailey? Or would you like to be done with it and rest forever?” The Bailey looked away, letting his dark eyes settle on the darkening horizon where the sea met the sky and became one. “Take your time in deciding, old man,” John said. “It’s your choice.”

The Bailey remained silent beside him. John sighed heavily and let his own thoughts begin to wander. It would take some time for his companion to fully understand the question. He was a simpleton, after all. Patience would be warranted here.

As his ice blue eyes watched the waves roll in, John wondered what he would do after this. Something in his gut said that Michel Dupree would not continue to remain; but it was a choice that only Michel Dupree could make – not matter how low the level of his intelligence. He reminded himself that Mama Dee had left that morning to retrieve Jean-Pierre Marchande’s answer to their proposal. John had forgotten to give her the man’s file before she had left. It was no matter, John mused. He would pay the young man a visit himself to cross him over if he refused to take on the job.

“Bailey tired,”

The statement yanked John from his thoughts. He looked at Michel Dupree and saw that his attention was still fixed on the horizon.

“You’ve said that,” John pointed out.

“Bailey wants to rest – forever.”

The answer was as John had felt it would be, but he felt the need to make sure Michel truly understood the meaning of what he was saying.

“You realize that you will no longer be here, right? Your work will be done forever. You will go on to your fate. Do you understand?” John asked. Slowly, the Bailey turned and faced him.

“Bailey wants to be done,” he said slowly.

John stared hard into the other man’s eyes. He could see the weariness in the other man’s dark eyes – and the truth of the decision. Michel Dupree was tired. He had worked for so many centuries without a full understanding of his purpose. John wondered momentarily if the simpleton had understood what he was actually doing – would it have caused him to quit sooner than this moment? Finally, John nodded and pushed himself to his feet. The time for wonderment was over.

When he was standing, John extended his hand to the Bailey. Gently, he pulled him to stand before him. Michel Dupree, standing naked in the pounding rain, watched silently as John stooped to pick up the black robe Araxius Herodotus had wrapped him in eight hundred years before. Gently, John Blackwick shook the sand from it and draped it over the bald man’s shoulders, as if to protect him from the rain that was now beginning to fall more steadily. Silent, John came around to stand in front of him again. A slight sadness touched the Grim Reaper’s heart as he looked at the Bailey. The man truly was ready to move on.

Maintaining his silence, John withdrew the long black portfolio from the hip pocket of his coat – causing the door to Michel Dupree’s fate to appear. John felt a slight relief settle on him as he realized it was to his left. Gently, he pulled it open and smiled.

Michel turned to look at the scene on the other side. It was the pool in the clearing. His friends, the deer and fish, were there. They had been waiting all this time…

“Michel Dupree,” John said gently as the man who had served as the Bailey for eight centuries -- the messenger of the living to the dead -- took his first step toward his final judgment. “May you find eternal peace.”

17: Seamus the Bailey

Belinda stood watching intently behind the tall pine tree. Seamus had told her to stay back, suggesting that what he was about to do might be unpleasant. Belinda had obliged despite the urge to remain as close to his side as she could. She had been waiting so long to spend quality time with him. To be told to stand back irritated her.

Her bright blue eyes darted from Seamus where he stood at the base of the mountain to the small form of the climber scaling the near-sheer face of the cliff. The climber appeared to be well skilled, picking his toe holds carefully before boosting himself to the next available niche where he dug his fingers to hold on before finding another toe-hold. Belinda had always been terrible at judging distances, but she could tell that the climber was high enough up the face of the cliff that if he were to fall, he would definitely not survive.

Seamus was watching the climber as well. His emerald green eyes were intent on the sturdy climbing rope the unaware climber had secured to his safety harness. Seamus had heard the voice of the Divine and acknowledged the direction. Despite the fact that he had entirely meant this day for something else, Seamus Flannery realized he would not be able to completely ignore the voice that whispered to him. Not yet, anyway…

Belinda watched as Seamus cupped his right hand and raised it toward the climber. He flicked his wrist as if he were throwing a paper wad over his shoulder. Belinda looked up in time to see the rocks tumble over the edge of the cliff and rain down on the man so determined to reach the top. He lost his holding and skidded a few feet down the face of the wall, cursing loudly as his climbing partner peered over the edge. A heated exchange between them could be heard as the climber regained his wits and began to make his way up again. Belinda saw Seamus raise his hand again, this time it was rigid as if he were aiming to deliver a karate chop. Before she could figure out exactly what Seamus was doing, she heard the screaming begin. Quickly, she looked up to see the climber plummeting with rocket speed toward the boulders below. A loud crunch could be heard as the climber impacted against the rocks, and then, everything fell silent…

Belinda felt unable to tear her eyes away from the sprawled and broken body of the man Seamus the Bailey had just killed. Smiling, Seamus reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a long black portfolio and a pen. Quickly, he scribbled the climber’s name on it and then opened the cover to scrawl the location of the incident. That done, he returned the portfolio to his pocket and looked at Belinda. She was still staring in the direction of the fallen climber, but now she saw not only his broken body, she could also see his spirit standing over it and reacting to the sight of it as well.

“Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost, lass,” Seamus laughed teasingly. “That was pretty cool, aye?” he called as he walked back toward her. There was a slight spring in his step. Belinda only nodded. During her life, she had always thought that it would be cool to witness such an event as she had just seen. Now, she realized how utterly stupid she had been to even consider it. She could hear the spirit wailing in distress. The sound of it in her ears made her want to cry.

“Will you cross him now?” she asked as Seamus draped an arm lazily about her shoulders and watched the despairing soul of the climber.

“No. John Blackwick has bound me,” Seamus sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t be Bailey and Reaper, John says. Only one or the other. Our master has some magic about him, ye see. He cast a spell the first day of me training. I can not reap after I’ve completed the job of the Bailey. ‘Conflict of interest’ I think he called it,” Seamus explained. Belinda finally looked away from the spirit to her companion. John Blackwick had magical powers? How had she missed that?

“So, he has to wait until one of the normal Reapers can come to cross him?” Belinda asked quietly.

“Aye, he does,” Seamus confirmed. “Did ye want to walk a bit or would ye care to see the next trick I learned?”

“Let’s walk,” Belinda suggested. Seamus had brought her to a canyon filled with trees and flowers. The colors of the landscape were so vibrant. The air smelled so clean here. Belinda wanted to remain for a few minutes longer. “So, how did you know to take him?”

“I heard the voice. When I hear the voice, I go to that person and complete the assignment. Did ye hear him screamin’ like a wee girl?” Seamus sounded utterly delighted with his handiwork. Belinda frowned.

“What do you do if you make a mistake? I mean, what if you’re told to take a George Smith, but you accidentally go to the wrong George Smith?”

“It doesn’t happen like that, ye see. I get a picture in me mind and I know where I’m to go.”

“What was that motion you were doing? The one right before he fell?” Belinda lifted her hand and imitated the rigid form she had seen Seamus use.

“That? Oh, I was cutting the rope, lass,” Seamus beamed proudly.

“I see,” Belinda responded thoughtfully as she stepped over a cluster of purple flowers. It was beginning to occur to her that John Blackwick was not the only one with magical powers. “It’s almost like you’re a superhero now,” she commented.

“Nay, I wouldn’t go that far, me darlin’,” Seamus laughed. “More like a powerful wizard at best. Are ye ready to see me next trick?” he asked as he stopped walking. Belinda turned and looked up at him. The echoes of the climber’s screams as he fell were still ringing in her ears. It made it hard to appreciate the beauty of the landscape any longer.

“I suppose so,” she agreed finally. Seamus smiled broadly before stooping to kiss her again. As before, it was not a long kiss; but the spark between them flickered again and Belinda felt herself distracted by the flare.

“All right then,” Seamus said. He quickly pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to his forearms. “As ye can see, I’ve nothing up me sleeves…”

Maggie tossed the roll of masking tape toward the pile of supplies in the center of the room. From the top of the ladder, she eyed her handiwork along the main wall of Mama Dee’s living room. It had taken her two hours to tape around the edges of the ceiling and the window frames. After the third descent and moving of the ladder, Maggie found herself wondering if she should simply finish the taping and save the painting for next weekend.

“No, I’m already in it. I might as well finish it,” she grumbled as she ascended the ladder for the fourth time. “I should have recruited some help,” she added as she ripped the end of the tape from the roll and extended it toward the seam where the wall met the ceiling. She thought about it for a few seconds longer before coming to the conclusion that if she had made the effort to recruit at the party last night, she most likely would have ended up doing it alone anyway. “You know they all have massive hangovers,” she told herself with a grin.

Mama Dee’s apartment had been emptied of its furniture for almost three months now. After the matter of executing Mama Dee’s will and being handed the keys and deed, Maggie had set to the task of donating her dear friend’s belongings to various charities and families in need. Maggie knew Mama Dee would have wanted it that way. Even in her death, Mama Dee would have wanted one more opportunity to help someone and show some love.

Maggie knelt beside the bucket of paint she had purchased. The cab driver had been kind to carry it in for her. She had tipped him extra for the helping hand. Now, it sat in the middle of the empty living room like a tree stump standing alone in the middle of an empty field.

Mama Dee had always preferred the stark white of the walls that had surrounded her. When asked, she had often remarked that her life was colorful enough. She didn’t need to be staring at it on the walls too…Maggie smiled as she thought of her friend. As she tilted the bucket to pour out the butter cream colored paint, she wondered what Mama Dee would have to say about it if she saw it.

“It’s all about color these days, Mama,” Maggie said softly as she picked up the paint roller and ran it through the gooey liquid. “I’m sure you’d understand,” she half-apologized before raising the roller and pressing it into service.

“How did you do that?” Belinda asked in amazement as Seamus pulled her through the opening. She watched as he turned and sealed it shut with the press of his hand.

“It’s easy, lass,” Seamus shrugged. “Ye just have to find the seam. Here, give me yer hand,” he said.

Belinda felt his cool fingers wrap around her wrist and raise her hand into the air. Slowly, he guided her through it. At first, Belinda thought he was merely humoring her – ready to tell her she didn’t have the touch to be a Bailey when she wouldn’t feel it; but then, she felt it. It was like a bump in the air under fingers.

“I felt it!” she exclaimed, her bright blue eyes beaming up at him.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now, just get yer fingertips under it like so,” Belinda dug at the base of the invisible nodule. “And peel it back,” the Irishman instructed. Slowly, Belinda pulled back the film to reveal a small opening. From the other side the sound of cattle mooing and a warm breeze carrying the scent of fresh manure greeted them. Quickly, Seamus pressed it shut.

“That was disgusting!” Belinda gushed as she rubbed her upper lip briskly in the attempt to erase the smell that had so severely invaded her sensitive nose.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. When she looked up at Seamus, Belinda realized he was no longer paying attention to her. Instead, his green eyes were intently trained on the wall behind her. Quickly, Belinda turned and saw what held his attention so firmly.

A slight pang of jealously rose up in Belinda as she watched the woman. She was pretty, Belinda thought, despite the fact that she was dressed in jeans and a fading dark blue t-shirt. Her sandy brown curly hair fell lazily around her shoulders. Belinda noted the butter cream paint flecks that dotted the woman’s forearms as she pushed the paint roller up and down the wall. Suddenly, the woman stopped and sniffed heavily at the air. The grimace on her face told Belinda that she too had smelled something foul.

“Damn pigeons,” the woman grumbled as she walked over to the window she had opened for ventilation. Forcefully, the woman closed it with her free hand. “I’d rather get high than smell that shit,” she muttered as she went back to the roller pan on the floor and re-wet the roller brush. With a heavy sigh, the pretty woman returned to the task of spreading the butter creamed paint over the stark white wall.

“Who is this?” Belinda asked as Seamus took a few steps toward the woman. He stopped at the sound of Belinda’s voice. It was almost as though he had forgotten she was even there. “Do you know her?” Belinda pressed when Seamus glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Aye, lass,” his reply was low; as if he were afraid the woman might hear him. “I’ve had me eye on her for awhile,” he revealed. Belinda frowned. The idea of his watching someone else while flirting with her irked her. Belinda eyed the other woman for a second as she wondered what she would have that Belinda didn’t.

“You do know she’s still living, right?” Belinda pointed out. She hoped her sarcasm hid her hurt feelings.

“Aye,” Seamus replied. His attention was steady on the other woman. Belinda felt her irritation rising as she watched the woman set the roller brush in the pan and cross the space to retrieve the ladder. “It’s a temporary thing,” Seamus said as the woman returned to the space where she had been working with the ladder. They watched as she slid it a few feet to where the butter cream had not yet covered the white of the wall. Once the ladder was in place, she stooped to retrieve the roller brush before climbing up the rungs carefully.

“Is it her time?” Belinda asked as she watched the woman climb to the top rung and begin to paint the upper portion of the blank wall.

“Maybe,” Seamus answered as he slowly crept toward the ladder.

Belinda watched silently. His back was rigid as he slowly stalked the base of the ladder. It reminded her of a jungle cat prowling through the rainforest. A chill began to rise up from the floor beneath their feet. The woman on the ladder seemed not to notice, her attention was firm on the wall to be painted in front of her.

“Seamus,” Belinda’s tone took on a worried note as she watched him look up at the woman. All jealousy aside, Belinda was suddenly very concerned for the unaware woman’s safety. “What are you thinking? Did you hear the voice? Is it her time?”

“What am I thinking?” Seamus said suddenly, as if he had snapped to his senses. He stepped away from the base of the ladder and shook his head as he ran a hand through his flaming red hair. “I’m thinking,” he began with a heavy sigh, “that things are about to change.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a blight on our grand firm,” Seamus continued. “It needs to be done away with if any of us are to grow. It’s my intention to put an end to it.”

“Seamus, what the hell are you talking about?” Belinda asked. His rant was confusing her.

“I’m talking about yer idol, yer lady of the hour,” Seamus snarled, fixing his emerald green eyes directly on Belinda. They were flashing dangerously as she looked deep into them. For the first time since their first meeting, Belinda saw the hatred he was capable of possessing.

“My idol? Who are you talking about? Mama Dee? Good grief, Seamus. I love the old lady, but I don’t idolize her,” Belinda argued. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Mama Dee has never done anything to you,” she pointed out. Her fear was quickly being replaced with a deep sense of protection on Mama Dee’s behalf. Mama Dee treated them all equally, even if she had reservations…

“Not her, not the black witch,” Seamus snapped. “I’m talking about your hero, Brigit Malone.”

“Brigit?”

“Aye. She’s a cancer and needs to be cut out. I intend to be the surgeon,” Seamus boasted. “There’s no place in the firm for her kind. She’s a sin against God. Her kind needs to be annihilated, wiped off the face of the earth and sent to limbo forever. There is no heaven for the sinners of the flesh and hell is too good for them.”

“Her kind? Are you talking about her being a lesbian? Since when did you become a homophobe?” Belinda demanded. She was suddenly very offended by Seamus and his views. Brigit was her friend. It was only by natural instinct that Belinda would step up to her defense in her absence.

“I’ve always had me prejudice, lass,” Seamus purred, “but this goes a wee bit further than me hatred of faggots. Do ye know the one thing I hate more than faggots?” Seamus asked.

“Stop it, Seamus. Stop being such a prick,” Belinda ordered.

“I hate cowards,” Seamus continued, ignoring Belinda’s demand. “I hate coward dykes that act so tough but then tuck tail and hide when all hell breaks loose,” his voice began to rise with his irritation. Belinda shivered; but she was unsure whether it was from the cold that penetrated her skin or the fear sparked by Seamus’ sudden madness.

“Brigit’s not like that,” Belinda defended. “She’s good. She’s brave. She doesn’t run from anything,” the Goth girl argued heatedly.

“Oh no? Then how do ye explain what she allowed to happen to me? Eh? She hid! She showed her true color. She’s as yellow as they ever come. She’s a cancer,” Seamus yelled.

“You have lost your fucking mind,” Belinda spat.

“Nay, love,” Seamus smiled dangerously. “I’m a friggin’ genius and once she’s gone, you’ll all finally see it.” With that, he quickly turned his back on Belinda. His gaze had returned to the pretty woman atop the ladder. The pieces were suddenly beginning to fall into place. The picture it was forming was beginning to make Belinda very nervous.

“Seamus, who is this woman?” Belinda asked, trying to sound calm.

“You’ll see how much of a coward yer Brigit Malone really is. You’ll see how she fears the fight,” Seamus intoned as he raised his arms.

The woman on the top rung of the ladder suddenly wobbled. With a gasp, she reached out and steadied herself against the freshly painted wall. When the ladder ceased moving, she peeled her hand from the wall and looked at it briefly before wiping it across the thigh of her jeans. Quickly, she reapplied the paint roller to the wall to cover the handprint she had left behind.

“Seamus, what the fuck do you think you are doing?”

“Opening the door,” Seamus answered with a purr to his voice. His eyes never left the woman on the top of the ladder. “taking care of a problem.”

“Leave this woman alone. If you have a fight to pick with Brigit, do it like a man. Say this to her face,” Belinda pleaded as he raised his arms yet again. “Seamus, please!”

“This woman, ye stupid bitch, is her beloved Maggie,” Seamus purred with a smile stretched across his gaunt face. He watched eagerly as his prey struggle to maintain her balance. “This is just the beginning to her end.”

With that, Seamus dropped his arms and the ladder stopped its violent shaking. Belinda held her breath as she waited for Seamus to turn around. She opened her mouth to address him again but was immediately silenced as he kicked hard at the ladder’s base. Belinda and Maggie screamed in unison as it fell, dumping Maggie from her perch to the floor eight feet below. The paint roller jumped from her hand as the back of her head hit the rim of the gallon sized paint can she had intended to paint the trim with…

“Seamus, what have you done?”

Maggie rolled her head to the left at the sound of the female’s voice. Her eyes refused to focus on the dark shadow she saw standing there. Who was there? A pain shot through her head, causing her to moan. Slowly, Maggie rolled her head back to face the stark white ceiling. Once that was in focus, she decided, she would look at the dark shadow again. She blinked a couple of times, seeing only the white above her. Then, there was the red framed face looming directly over her.

“Are ye all right, love?” she heard the man’s voice ask. “Ye’ve bumped yer head quite hard. Does it hurt?”

“What do you think?” Maggie groaned. She took a deep breath against the surge of pain that rolled through her head once more. “Who the hell are you?” she asked as she rolled onto her side and pushed herself halfway up. She felt a slight wave of nausea begin to rise from the pit of her stomach. Maggie swallowed hard to force it back down.

“Seamus, leave her alone,” the female voice said again. Desperate fear could be heard clearly in the female’s voice. Maggie looked to the source of it, her eyes finally focusing enough to see a young woman clad head to toe in black with milky white skin, raven black hair and wide, fearful, bright blue eyes.

“Who are you people?” Maggie demanded as she rose up to her knees. “How did you get in?”

“Does it hurt? Yer head? Does it hurt,” the man asked again.

“Are you deaf?” Maggie barked. She was about to stand so she could face the over-inquisitive man when she felt his hand grab her by the hair at the back of her head.

“Seamus!” Belinda screamed.

“Ye go,” Seamus directed, pointing the forefinger of his free hand at Belinda. “Ye go and tell her what I’ve done. Tell her I’m waiting for her,” Seamus howled with maniacal delight.

“Maggie, fight!” Belinda yelled as Seamus reached behind him and felt the air. When his fingers found what he was looking for, he flashed a dangerous smile at Belinda and ripped the opening wide. Maggie had been struggling ever since he had grabbed her. The instruction from the raven-haired girl to fight him seemed a little too late in coming.

Belinda finally moved to rush and reach for Maggie, but it was too late. Seamus had already pulled her through the opening. Belinda quickly reached through but was promptly pushed back by Seamus’ cold hand against her face. As she stumbled backward, she saw the hole seal itself from the inside. Seamus was quick to close the opening. As she regained her balance, the magnitude of the situation sank in on Belinda Yaris. An oleo of emotion began to swirl inside her – the foremost of it was fear.

Quickly, Belinda left the apartment, yanking the door open with all her might. It was lost on her that she had physically opened the door. All she could think about was that she needed to find help and fast. She needed to find Mama Dee…

18: Spilled Milk

Mama Dee smiled as Giuseppe slid the large cup before her.

She had come to the café to wait for John Blackwick. She had good news for him, but Pierce Nelson had informed her that he had not yet returned to the office from his errand. That was fine, Mama Dee had decided. She could use a little time to herself.

Mama Dee looped a finger through the ear of the large cup and pulled it closer to her. She had asked Giuseppe for the treat now steaming before her. As she breathed in, the scent of the warm milk caused her to close her eyes and remember her childhood. A tablespoon of honey sweetened the milk and a dash of ground cloves and cinnamon gave it a slight bite. It was a brew her grandmother used to give her on special occasions such as today.

She was relieved over her day’s task. She had returned to France early that morning as she had promised to do the week before. She had gone to the chateau and its luxurious sitting room to find Jean-Pierre Marchande pacing impatiently in front of the fireplace. At first glance, the little round black woman had thought the beautiful young man to be angry; but then, he had looked at her and she saw that he was not angry, only impatient.

“Mama!” Jean-Pierre greeted as he rushed across the space between them. Mama Dee was caught by surprise when he grabbed her by the shoulders and enthusiastically planted a kiss on each of her plump cheeks. “I thought you had forgotten me,” he explained when he finally let her go.

“It’s been a week, Jean-Pierre,” Mama Dee replied calmly despite her confusion at his antics. “You told me to give you a week. That’s what I did,” she explained.

“Oui,” Jean-Pierre agreed, “but time goes by so quickly. Are you sure it hasn’t been longer?” Mama Dee nodded. “No matter,” the tall blonde man finally said, waving his graceful hand as if to dismiss the topic all together. “You have finally returned. I will give you my answer.”

Jean-Pierre motioned for Mama Dee to join him beside the fire. He apologized for not being able to offer her any refreshment. It seemed, he laughed, that the servants had deserted the chateau after his death.

“No master, no paycheck,” he laughed. Mama Dee refrained from pointing out that even if the servants had remained, they still wouldn’t be serving tea and cookies by the fireside.

“What is your decision, Jean-Pierre?” Mama Dee asked gently. “Mr. Blackwick needs to know.”

“My answer is ‘yes’, sweet Mama. I will take you up on your offer to be your – what is it you call it?”

“The Bailey,” Mama Dee answered, struggling to contain her excitement.

“The Bailey,” Jean-Pierre repeated. He flashed a beautiful smile at Mama Dee. It was a smile that danced deep in his azure blue eyes. “L’ange du mort…”

Mama Dee smiled again and licked her lips as she finally lifted the cup of hot, sweetened milk. This was as special an occasion as any other she could think of. She had accomplished a task she had been unsure of.

“MAMA!”

The warm milk had just touched her lips when she heard the desperate cry of her name. The surprise of it caused Mama Dee to jump. Warm milk splashed with the action and spilled down her chin to the lap of her coral pink dress.

Mama Dee looked to the source of the commotion. Conversations ceased and every head in the café turned to look at Belinda Yaris standing at the door. Her bright blue eyes were wide with fear. As the girl rushed toward Mama Dee’s booth, the little old black woman could tell the young woman was in a terrible state.

“Belinda, what is wrong with you?” Mama Dee asked as Belinda threw herself into the empty space of the booth.

“Mama, you have to help me,” Belinda sobbed breathlessly. She had run all the way from the apartment Seamus had left her in to the café on Bleecker Street. She had not thought to use the portal always waiting on the other side of main doorways.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mama Dee asked. She could feel her own heart beginning to race with concern. Fear, she knew, could be contagious and at the moment, Belinda Yaris was seriously infected with it.

John entered the café and nodded politely to Edmond J. Polly as he passed by. A slight commotion caught his attention, causing his ice blue eyes to settle on the concerned face of Mama Dee sitting in the booth just behind the old man. For a brief second, Mama Dee glanced up and met his eyes, acknowledging his presence on the scene. Just as quickly, she returned her attention to the person sitting across from her. John glanced over his shoulder as he continued his trek to the counter where Giuseppe had already set his tea. Belinda Yaris was the focus of Mama Dee’s attention. She was crying dry tears, fitfully telling Mama Dee a tale John was sure only the little old woman would understand.

“Good day, Mr. Cincotta,” John greeted amicably as he slid onto his usual stool. “How goes it?”

“All is great for me,” Giuseppe replied, “but for you, there might be trouble,” the big Italian warned quietly. John paused in his attempt to sip at his tea to inquire what his friend had meant when he heard:

“John, get your skinny, white ass over here now!”

The urgency with which the command had sounded in his mind alarmed him to the point of almost dropping his tea cup.

“You see?” Giuseppe added. “Trouble for you,”

Quickly, John set the tea cup to the counter and made his way to the two female Reapers still engaged in a very traumatic conversation. Considering the disgusted expression on Mama Dee’s face, John guessed she had used the mental note to call him so that Belinda would be unaware. The younger woman had yet to learn that particular trick.

“Is everything well?” John asked, hoping the alarm in Mama Dee’s command did not resound in his own voice.

“Go on, tell him,” Mama Dee instructed harshly of Belinda.

“I—I – can’t,”

“Girl, you better tell John what happened before Brigit shows up,” Mama Dee warned. John was growing more concerned with the tone Mama Dee was using to talk to the younger woman.

“What is this about?” John inquired, his curiosity now firmly gripping him.

“Seamus, he took her,” Belinda finally managed to squeak out.

“Took who where? Brigit?”

“No, Brigit’s been out on assignment. She should be on her way back by now,” Mama Dee revealed. Worry had suddenly filled her voice. Brigit would be back soon. They had to find a way to handle this before she walked in on the impromptu pow-wow.

“He took Maggie,” Belinda said slowly.

Suddenly, every prediction Brigit had voiced in regard to Seamus Flannery raced through the Grim Reaper’s mind. He had known them to have some potential to come true, but he had hoped with great depth that they would both be wrong in the end. Finally, John managed to find a voice.

“Miss Yaris, Mama, we need to return to the office at once. If Brigit is to return soon, this is a matter that should be handled in private,” he determined coolly.

Obediently, Belinda slid from her seat in the booth. Mama Dee and John exchanged quick glances before the Grim Reaper turned and escorted Belinda Yaris from the café with the little old black woman following close behind them. In that glance they had come to the same conclusion. Brigit was going to lose her mind…

God help us, John prayed as he began to scurry around in his mind to find a possible solution to the new problem at hand. God help us all when Brigit finds out…

19: Checking In

“Are you sure she didn’t turn her phone off?” William asked as he lengthened his stride to keep up with his lover. “I mean, if I had a hangover, I’d turn my phone off,” he mused out loud.

“Sweetheart, you do have a hangover,” Tom replied over his shoulder. “Maggie Devon doesn’t get hangovers,” he said. “Wait until you see her at a margarita party. She’ll still be going strong when we’re all passed out under the table. Besides, she didn’t drink that much last night. I only refilled her glass twice. Believe me, she was definitely not drunk. Buzzed, maybe; but not drunk,” Tom called over his shoulder as he continued to hurry along.

He was concerned. Sola had called earlier that morning and expressed a concern for Maggie’s well-being. While Sola had not mentioned anything specific, he knew Sola well enough to know that she had to have her reasons. Tom Bennett had learned a long time ago to not question Sola DuLach when there were things unseen afoot. When it came to Sola, that was quite often…

The two men had started up the steps to Maggie’s building only to be pushed back by a sudden rush of wind that cut directly between them. As they caught themselves against the railing, they exchanged startled looks. Something unseen was definitely afoot.

“What the hell was that?” William demanded as Tom bounded up the remaining stairs.

Tom took the inside stairs two at a time until he stood in front of Maggie’s apartment door. Quickly he pounded on the door and called Maggie’s name. The pounding and shouting continued when no answer came and no movement could be heard on the other side of the door.

“Tom,”

It was William’s raised voice that caused the burly man to turn around. He looked at his lover and saw that his attention was on the door to the apartment across the hall – Mama Dee’s apartment. The door was ajar, as if someone might be inside. The light scent of fresh paint wafted through the slight opening and slight sense of relief alit on Tom Bennett’s broad shoulders.

“Of course,” he said sighed. “I had forgotten,” he chuckled as he shook his head of the worry that had enveloped him.

“Forgotten what?” William asked, confused by Tom’s sudden change in mood. He was still trying to figure out how the wind that had nearly knocked them over could have come from the front of the building as it had with such force.

“I had forgotten that Maggie had said she was planning to do some work in Mama Dee’s old place. She’s going to sell the apartment and move to the country,” Tom explained.

There was a nervous note still present in his voice. William watched as Tom ran a hand over the flat ends of his crew cut and chuckled again. It was obvious to William that his lover was still worried. The fact that Maggie had not stepped out to inspect the commotion in the hall had not been overlooked by either of the men; but, surely, there would be an explanation for that as well.

“That sounds delightful,” William mused. “Well, we’re here. We might as well say ‘hello’.”

Tom nodded in agreement and crossed the hall. As he outstretched his hand and pushed the door open, he glanced once more over his shoulder at his new partner. He was glad William had such a level head on his shoulders…

“Knock, knock!” he sang out as he walked in.

The sight of Maggie sprawled on the floor made Tom Bennett freeze in his tracks. The sudden stop caused William to run into him from behind. As he peered over Tom’s shoulder, William saw Maggie twitching violently from head to toe where she lay on the floor. The ladder she had been using was lying on its side. Quickly, William pushed Tom out of the way and rushed to Maggie’s side.

“Call an ambulance,” he commanded as he scooped her into his lap and held her in the attempt to keep the unconscious woman still. His dark eyes glanced to the gallon of paint by her head. There was blood on the rim. Maggie had hit her head on it when she fell. Quickly, he looked up at Tom and found him still staring in wide-eyed horror at the scene before him. “Thomas!” William barked. Tom jumped at the sound and quickly fished his cell phone from his pocket.

“Hang on, Maggie,” William urged gently as he returned his attention to the woman in his arms. He could hear Tom giving the address to the 9-1-1 operator. “Hang on, help is coming…”

20: A Bad Mood, Indeed

Brigit inhaled deep as the steam rose languidly from the surface of the coffee. It was such a pleasant smell. Almost instantly, she could feel her bad mood begin to wane. She had gone all week without a cup of Giuseppe’s magnificent brew. No wonder I’m so fucking cranky, she thought as she took her first sip. As if he had heard the thought, Giuseppe glanced at her over his shoulder. I must be cranky. I’m cursing when I think, she mused further as she shrugged apologetically at the big Italian. Giuseppe merely smiled and returned to his task.

It had been a rough day. As she mentally retraced her steps since returning to the office that morning, she felt the waning of her mood cease. She had left Maggie over a week ago. That particular thought caused her to frown all the deeper. The training of Yoshiro Takamoto had kept her away from her lover, yet, the task had been important to the success of the firm. To top it all off, Brigit had faced and exorcised a demon she had never thought to face again. So far, the only good thing about the day was the fact that she would finally be going home to Maggie in a matter of hours. She only had to check in with John Blackwick, if he happened to be available. After that, she’d be gone – to spend the night next to Maggie. Tomorrow would be a new day… She wondered briefly if Maggie had even noticed she had been gone.

Brigit raised the coffee cup to her lips and drank again. She’d be better once she was home. She just had a couple more things to do. No sooner had she swallowed the drink than she heard John’s voice echo clearly through her mind like a voice coming over the PA system in a high school hallway...

“Brigit, please return to the office immediately,”

With a deep sigh of frustration, Brigit set the mug on the counter heavily and bowed her head as she closed her eyes. Giuseppe must have heard the instruction as well. He had already appeared at the counter with a fresh brew in a paper cup. There was a sympathetic look in his brown eyes when she finally looked up. Although he said nothing, Brigit suddenly had the sense something was amiss. If Giuseppe knew about it before she did, something was terribly amiss.

The office was eerily quiet when Brigit entered. She stopped just after closing the door and listened. There was a nervous energy floating through the air. The walls of the main hall seemed to tremble with it. Brigit found it to be an odd sensation but decided to stop in Belinda’s office to quickly go over the file she had dropped off earlier.

Pierce Nelson was still alone. This time, however, he looked up from his work as the dark woman entered. The visible paling Brigit witnessed on his cheeks as he suddenly looked away made her all the more curious. Pierce Nelson was uneasy about something.

“Is Belinda still out?” she asked.

“She’s in, er, uh, Mr. Blackwick’s office. They’re, ahem, waiting for you,” he related nervously.

“They?” Brigit inquired, cocking a dark eyebrow at the increasingly uncomfortable accountant.

Pierce Nelson gave no reply as she sighed deeply and left the small office. She wondered what was going on that the whole building would be pulsating with such nervous vibrations. She wondered, as she walked down the length of the hall, what would deter her from finishing her day and finally going home to Maggie this time.

As she started to enter the office she shared with John Blackwick, Brigit glanced to her right through the opened door of the small office she had first met Yoshiro Takamoto in. Though he appeared to be meditating again, Brigit sensed that he was aware of the energy that was rippling through the walls all around him. His hands were braced against his thighs rather than resting placidly in his lap. He was prepared for immediate action and Brigit wondered why.

John Blackwick was standing before the large mahogany desk, his face void of expression as his eyes briefly met Brigit’s. He was trying to shield something behind them. Brigit let it go. She was currently in no mood to break his defenses. She glanced to her right and found Belinda sitting sadly beside Mama Dee. The concerned expression on Mama Dee’s face held Brigit’s attention.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she turned to stand beside John. She set her coffee cup on the corner of the desk and looked at each of the three faces looking back at her.

“Brigit, there’s been an ‘incident’,” John began coolly. Brigit raised an eyebrow.

“You mean aside from the missing Bailey? What now?” she asked; suddenly fearful that the news John would have to tell her would definitely prevent her from going home to Maggie.

“Perhaps you should sit down, baby,” Mama Dee suggested gently.

Brigit caught the tone her friend used. The look in the old woman’s eyes told her nothing beyond the obvious concern, however. Brigit remained where she stood.

“Why?”

The deepening looks of concern on Mama Dee and John’s faces caused a surge of panic to rise from Brigit’s gut. The shamed look on Belinda’s face only added power to the surge. The sirens were beginning to wail in the back of Brigit’s mind again. Something was terribly wrong here. She had the feeling the floor was about to open up beneath her…

“Mr. Flannery has gone rogue,” John began.

“And? What’s that supposed to mean?” The sirens were steadily growing louder. Brigit could feel her bad mood returning full force.

“He’s taken Maggie, Brigit,” Mama Dee finally said, cutting off a lengthy explanation from John. She knew that if Brigit had to drag the blunt truth out of the man, there would be all the more time to let her rage grow. Mama Dee knew it would be best to just get it over with and let Brigit get the emotion out of her system all at once.

They watched as the color faded from Brigit’s face in the span of a second. Her eyes narrowed to that point just beyond ‘dangerous’. Slowly, her gaze came to rest on Belinda Yaris.

“What part did you play in this?”

The words came out slowly and evenly. John could tell that Brigit was quickly about to lose control of her temper. As soon as the thought finished crossing his mind, Brigit flew across the room with a speed no one would have ever guessed her to possess. In one fluid motion, she snatched Belinda up from her seat by the throat and pinned her against the bookshelf just behind where she had been sitting.

“What has he done?” Brigit snarled.

“I didn’t know,” Belinda gasped. “I didn’t know it was Maggie until the last minute. I swear, Brigit, I didn’t know. He told me to find you – to tell you what he has done,” the young woman struggled to speak despite the death grip Brigit had on her vocal chords.

With that, Brigit released the young woman and shook off the hands of her companions. They had attempted to restrain her to no avail. Even Yoshiro Takamoto had entered the scene; his presence in the doorway blocked the view of anyone who might set foot from their space to watch Brigit’s loss of control.

“It’s a trap, Bree,” Mama Dee said.

Brigit’s glare never left Belinda as Mama Dee’s statement to the obvious bounced around in her mind. Mama Dee had used Brigit’s nickname in the effort to further sink in the necessity to pay attention. It was a trick Maggie had used quite often during their life together.

“Brigit, let’s consider our options,” John suggested as he squeezed himself with some effort into the space between Brigit and Belinda.

He watched as her dark eyes slowly focused on his. It unnerved him to see the rage burning through them. He had never imagined she could possess such a force; but then, Maggie’s existence had never been threatened before. John Blackwick could never have foreseen these events – never in a million years.

“There’s only one option, John,” Brigit growled before finally turning away. John felt himself shudder with relief as Brigit took a few steps away and stopped.

Her mind was racing. Her temper, in all its burning glory, had been let loose again. The heat of it consumed her. Seamus Flannery had dared the audacious. It was a trap – that much was overly obvious -- but at this point, Brigit didn’t care. He had made his threat. He had taken it too far by involving Maggie, yet, he would have known that was the only way to get an immediate reaction from Brigit. Seamus Flannery had made the dare. Brigit was going to call him on it. Her rage would be her fuel for what she now knew she had to do – what she had always known she would eventually have to do since the day she had met him.

“Why don’t you listen to the whole story before you decide what you’re going to do?” Mama Dee suggested. Brigit turned and looked at her dear friend. The old woman didn’t shrink from the blaze she saw burning in Brigit’s eyes.

“I don’t have time for the whole story. I know what I have to do, Mama,” Brigit answered. Her voice was low. Her mind was already made up.

“Is it your intention to dispose of him?” John asked.

“It is.”

“May I suggest that you think hard on the implications regarding such an action?” John pressed, hoping to dissuade Brigit from the thought, if only temporarily. There were no implications, but John was hoping it would at the least, stall her from making a rash decision.

“You can suggest whatever you want, but I’m not going to listen. I’ve told you from the very beginning that he was going to be a problem. You said that we would deal with it when the time came. The time has come, John. I’m going to deal with it,” Brigit snapped angrily.

“Have you lost your sense of mercy and compassion?”

“My compassion for Seamus Flannery ran out months ago. Mercy is not a gift he deserves at this point. He’s taken Maggie, John, or did you miss that memo? He will not be returning to this office. I suggest that you find his replacement quickly,” Brigit barked.

“Brigit, I’m sorry,” Belinda whispered.

Brigit glared hard at the Goth girl for a moment. The thought crossed her mind to go and shake Belinda Yaris with all she had in her for falling for Seamus Flannery’s deceiving ways – for not believing that he would be capable of such treachery. As if he had heard the thought, Yoshiro Takamoto stepped directly between Brigit and Belinda. His right hand landed softly on the hilt of the sword he now carried in the sash around his waist. His dark eyes were leveled calmly on Brigit.

Brigit noted his action and remained where she stood. Belinda had done nothing wrong except be gullible. They all knew it and were prepared to defend her. Brigit knew it too, but at the moment, rationale escaped her.

“I need some air,” Brigit finally said. Before anyone could reply, she stormed from the office and down the hall. Yoshiro Takamoto left the room behind her as the three remaining Reapers all breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“This is just the beginning,” John predicted as he inanely lifted the cup sitting on the corner of the desk and brought it to his lips.

As the bittersweet contents flowed over his tongue, John grimaced and swallowed hard as he looked at what he was holding. It was the cup of coffee Brigit had carried in.

“This is vile,” he proclaimed, setting the cup back on the desk where Brigit had left it. “How can she drink this?”

“Have you ever seen her when she hasn’t? Brigit can be awfully cranky when she has to go without it,” Mama Dee explained with a weary sigh.

“Well, that certainly explains a lot,” John mumbled as he walked around the desk and plopped down into the chair. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” Mama Dee said softly. “Brigit will come back. She just needs some time to figure out what to do.”

“What if she decides to go after Seamus?” Belinda asked softly. Mama Dee looked at the young woman beside her. She couldn’t tell who Belinda was more worried for.

“There’s no ‘what if’ or ‘deciding’ left to do, child. She will go after him,” Mama Dee answered. “And we have to find some way to be okay with it – no matter what happens in the end…”

Brigit let her fury carry her all the way home. It burned through her with the power of a thousand bonfires. Maggie wouldn’t be there when she arrived. She knew that; but, she wanted to see it with her own eyes. Seamus Flannery was an idiot to think he could succeed this way…

The fire of that fury exploded anew when she stood before the door of her apartment. The blue webs of light that had been spun across the door prevented her from entering. When she had reached out her hand to penetrate it, the magical weavings burned her skin with searing pain. It was the first time in almost two years that she had felt such a sensation. For half a second, it almost made her feel alive. Someone had meant to protect Maggie, unknowing that Maggie’s protector was one of the unseen as well. Brigit kicked the wall beside the door forcefully and roared in anger. Her hand smarted from the blue wall’s heat. There was only one person Brigit could think of that was capable of such sorcery – Sola DuLach.

Brigit slowly turned away from the door to the apartment she could not enter. As her dark eyes fell on the closed door of Mama Dee’s apartment, Brigit realized that Sola could not be blamed. If anything, Sola had possibly prolonged the incident another day by providing the magical defense across the door. Sola had seen something to make her do all this, yet, she had not sealed Mama Dee’s door. She hadn’t been aware that Maggie would have a reason to enter that space as well… As Brigit reached out and opened the unsealed door, her imagination began to reel with the possibilities of what she would find on the other side.

The room was empty except for the paint supplies in the center of the room and the ladder lying on its side by the wall. As Brigit eyed the butter cream color Maggie had began to put over the stark white main wall of the room, her mind flew with imagination over the events that may have happened. Slowly, her gaze came to rest on the gallon can set away from the pile in the middle of the room. A darkening red spot on the rim stoked the flames of her anger. It was blood. Seamus Flannery had drawn blood from Maggie. His fate was definitely sealed in her mind.

With that thought, Brigit turned and stalked out of the apartment. She had to prepare for what she knew without a doubt that she needed to do: Kill Seamus Flannery.

21: Seamus and Maggie

Maggie struggled hard against the hand firmly tangled in her hair. The pain flashing through her head was sharp, but she wasn’t sure whether it was from where she had struck the paint can when she had fallen from the ladder or if it came from the iron clad grip the man kept on her as he pulled her along behind him.

Maggie forced the weight of her body into her legs, hoping to at least slow her abductor down. Her feet dragged loudly through the gravel beneath her, leaving deep ruts in her wake. Fear and anger pulsated together through her veins as she struggled against him. She could feel his cold skin under her hand as she fought to pull his fingers from her hair.

Suddenly, he stopped walking. Maggie still fought against the grip he held her in. Obscenities flew from her mouth with a fluency that would make a sailor blush.

“If ye calm yerself, I’ll let go,” he purred, yanking her head back so that she could look up into his face.

Maggie immediately stopped struggling and searched his eyes for a thread of truth to what he had just told her. His eyes were a deep emerald green set beneath a crown of flaming-red hair. Though he was smiling, Maggie could see the maniacal dance of danger through his eyes. The eyes, after all, were the windows to the soul.

“That’s a good lass,” he purred, loosening his grip around the handful of curls Maggie had been sure he meant to pull from her head. As soon as she was free, Maggie scrambled on her knees from his reach before turning to face him. The action made him roar with laughter.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded as she managed to finally get her feet under her. She remained in a crouching position, ready to dash if he took even the smallest of steps toward her. She had never been a good runner; but she was sure that, at this moment, she could run faster scared than he could mad.

“The name’s Seamus Flannery,” he replied when he had finished laughing at her. “Ye are a hell cat, aren’t ye? I thought ye might have it in ye, but who knew? I could tell ye had a wee bit of the devil in ye as I watched ye, got to know ye…

“What are you talking about? What can you tell? How did we get here?” Maggie asked, looking all around her for the quickest possible escape from the red-headed man.

‘Here’ was nothing more than an open space of sharp gravel surrounded by high, snow-capped mountain peaks. Above them, clear blue sky hang firmly in place. Below them, a narrow green valley carpeted the space between the mountains. At any other time, Maggie might have stopped to admire the beauty. Its beauty, however, was completely lost to her brown eyes as she quickly continued to survey her surroundings for the quickest escape route.

“I have me ways, lass,” Seamus shrugged. “There’s no place ye can go that I won’t find ye, so ye might as well leave the thought of runnin’ be,” he warned with a dangerous smile. Maggie eyed him for a few seconds. She was still ready to run at the slightest movement he might make toward her.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked slowly.

“For now, nothing more than I’ve already done,” he replied.

Maggie watched him squat where he stood. He adjusted the strap over his shoulder to bring what he carried across his back to rest on his knees. A glint of sunlight reflected from one end and caught Maggie’s eye. It was a sword he carried. The sight of it confused her all the more.

“Be assured, though, I do have plans for ye,” he announced as he reached inside his leather jacket and removed a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

Maggie continued to watch him intently as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and put it between his thin lips before returning the pack to its place inside his jacket. She began to search her memory for his face as she watched him reach into the outer pocket of his jacket and pull out a worn book of matches. As he struck a match and touched the flame to the tip of the cigarette, Maggie came to the final conclusion that she had never met this man. He was a complete stranger to her, yet, he had said he knew her – he had been watching her. That thought further confused her. Surely she would have noticed if he had been following her, stalking her. It wasn’t everyday that a man with such a head of red hair crossed her path.

“Perhaps I should tell ye a story,” Seamus said as he exhaled smoke. The suggestion interrupted Maggie’s thoughts and snapped her back to the present moment.

“Perhaps you should go to hell,” she spat at him.

Seamus Flannery erupted into laughter again, but Maggie noted that he did not move from where he was squatting. One hand held his cigarette, the other lay casually over the hilt of the sword resting on his knees.

“I suppose I will if yer girl happens to win,” he mused. “However, seein’ as she’s a coward through and through, we might just be waitin’ awhile before that happens.”

“My girl? Who are you talking about?” Maggie demanded.

“Yer love, of course. Brigit Malone, assistant to the Grim Reaper himself,” Seamus announced.

The words that flew from his mouth across the space between them knocked Maggie back a few steps like the slap from a cold hand to her cheek. How did he know Brigit? What would make him think her ghost could show up here? What did he mean by calling her a coward? Why would he say she was the assistant to the Grim Reaper? What rabbit hole had this man dragged her through to suddenly turn her world so upside down? Maggie suddenly began to feel nauseous again.

“What the fuck is going on?” Maggie groaned as she swallowed hard to fight the rising urge to be sick.

“Well, ye see, it’s like this,” Seamus began. He stopped and looked at her seriously. “Ye might want to have a seat, love, before ye fall on yer face. I’d hate to see such a pretty sight all cut up. These rocks… granite I think they are,” he said as he picked one up to examine it. “They are sharp. I’d hate for Brigit to assume I’d done ye any real harm.” Seamus casually tossed the rock he had been holding back to the ground before grinning at Maggie.

“Brigit is dead,” Maggie groaned. “Stop talking about her like she’s going to show up at any second. She’s been dead for two years. Just stop it,” she snapped. Her head was reeling. She wanted to close her eyes to stop it all – the nausea, the headache, the image of the red-headed man bringing up the painful reality that had enveloped her for the last two years… but she couldn’t. She didn’t trust him enough to take her sight from him.

“Ah, ye don’t know, do ye?” Seamus inquired.

“Know what?”

“Yer girl is dead, aye; but she’s a spirit now. As am I, as are you in a way,” he explained calmly. “I didn’t kill ye. I just took yer soul. I’m the Bailey – the death bringer. Yer girl, Brigit, she’s a Reaper – the one who crosses a soul to their judgment by God.”

“Brigit didn’t believe in God,” Maggie snapped, ignoring for the moment what he had said about taking her soul. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I have a score to settle, lass,” Seamus replied calmly. “You’re the bait. I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance that Brigit will come for you. I’m banking on the thought that she really loves you. I mean, after all, that’s why she took the job with the firm to begin with. At least, that’s what she says. I don’t know. Maybe she’s as big a liar as she is a coward. We’ll see,” he shrugged before flicking the butt of his cigarette into the gravel.

“This isn’t happening,” Maggie told herself as she turned away from him finally.

She pinched herself hard on the forearm and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she found that she was still standing in the open space surrounded by the high snow-capped mountain peaks and clear blue sky. She glanced over her shoulder. He was still squatting with the sword across his knees. Amusement danced through his emerald green eyes as he watched her. Nausea flowed over her once again as her mind struggled against everything he had told her.

Brigit was dead. Maggie had faced that fact every morning for the last two years. To think of Brigit as more than the occasional fantasy of her spirit still being present or to measure her as more than ten years of memories… to know that Brigit was more than a corpse in a casket in the cemetery – it was all suddenly torn to shreds and scattered on the ground at her feet. Maggie could feel the pressure of her grief rising up within her. She swallowed hard again to keep it from escaping. She refused to let her kidnapper see her cry at the lies that were flying from his mouth. Finally, she turned and faced him again.

“Brigit is dead,” she repeated firmly.

“Aye, her body is, lass; but as I’ve told ye, her ghost lives. Just wait, ye’ll see that I’ve not lied to ye. If Brigit loves ye as much as she puts on, she’ll come to save ye – or, at least, try to.”

“If not? If you’re making all this up? What then?” Maggie asked.

“Then ye’ll be stuck here until they pull the plug on yer body. Either way, makes no difference to me.”

“You’re an asshole,” Maggie snarled.

“I’ve been called worse, lass,” Seamus chuckled as he stood.

“If you’re telling the truth,” Maggie said as she leveled a defiant gaze on her kidnapper.

“I am,” he assured her.

“Brigit will kill you.”

Seamus Flannery looked deep into his quarry’s dark brown eyes as her words reached his ears. He could see the light of disbelief that still burned in her glare. She was having trouble believing everything he had told her. He was glad about that. It would make it easier for him to manipulate her. Keep her scared, he thought as he let a slight grin come to his face. She had tossed out the empty threat that Brigit would kill him. He knew she was bluffing. She didn’t believe it herself. That only lent credence, in his mind, to the fact that Brigit was indeed a coward.

“We’ll see about that,” he finally said. “Now, come. This is not the place I have in mind for us.” Maggie made no move toward him. She stood her ground, defiant against his wish to keep moving. The lack of response annoyed him. “Ye don’t want to piss me off, lass,” he warned with a sigh.

“What are you going to do if I do? You’ve already said that you don’t care what happens to me,” she argued.

The hiss of the sword being pulled from its scabbard sliced through the air between them. Danger flashed through his emerald green eyes as he leveled him on Maggie. She froze beneath the glare she felt piercing her skin. Every ounce of defiance that had kept her standing suddenly fled her. Her knees felt weak as she looked into the sunlight being reflected in the long sharp blade he held in his hand.

“Don’t piss me off,” Seamus Flannery repeated with a low growl. “Now, move.”

22: Preparation

She returned to 666 ½ Bleecker Street with determination set firmly on her shoulders. She did not stop at Belinda Yaris’ office as she would normally have done upon returning to the office – nor did she go to the office she shared with John Blackwick. The energy she had felt earlier rippling through the walls had finally calmed, but Brigit could still feel the tension that hung in the air. Reapers, Inc. was in a serious state of emergency and it could be felt by all who entered its hall.

Brigit caught sight of John Blackwick as he emerged from their office. He said nothing as she turned to her left and entered the space that had been assigned to Seamus Flannery. Brigit stopped just inside the door and let her dark eyes scan the room. The last time she had been in the room had been the day Seamus’ arrogance had gotten him hurt. She had entered the space only to dump his mangled body on the sofa that had served as his bed and then once more to check on him. That had been the day she had brought Belinda Yaris into the firm. After that day, she had not set foot in it again – not even when in search of the Irishman that had threatened to kill her.

Now, she stood like a slowly rotating statue in it. Her eyes scanned every inch of the room in search of anything that would help her find him. A small sliver of hope burned in her heart though her mind told her that Seamus Flannery was smart. He wouldn’t be so lazy about covering his tracks. He would want her to work at her task. He would want her to be consumed with worry for Maggie’s safety and tired from the rigors of the search. No, Seamus Flannery would not make any of this easy for her.

Her gaze landed on the small brown book laying on the writing desk to her left. Immediately, Brigit recognized it as the book John had given Seamus upon his volunteering to become the Bailey. Had he become so cocky that he didn’t need the instructions to do his job anymore? Or did he not want to carry the reminders that he needed to bear some sort of honor while carrying out his new responsibilities? Brigit picked the book up and stared hard at it, hoping it would give her some insight to his thinking.

“It won’t tell you anything, Brigit,”

Her attention snapped to the door. John Blackwick was leaning against the frame of it, watching her. He looked weary, she thought as she eyed him for a moment.

“Why did he leave it?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “Why would you leave it behind if you were him?”

“Because I wouldn’t want to be reminded that there are rules to be followed,” Brigit answered. “Are you here to try to stop me?”

“No,” John Blackwick answered as he shook his head slowly.

He had given it all a lot of thought since she had stormed out of the office. Seamus Flannery had gone rogue, choosing to use the abilities of his new office for a vindictive endeavor. He had gone back on his word. Such an action could not be tolerated and John knew an example must be set. The fact that Seamus had chosen to include Maggie Devon in his plot for revenge only sealed his fate in engaging Brigit one-on-one. John Blackwick knew that, at this point, he could not interfere any more than he already had. Brigit would never allow it. This was her fight now.

He pushed himself from the doorframe he had been leaning against and reached into his suit jacket. From the inside pocket he withdrew the long black portfolio and passed it to his assistant. With a quick glance, Brigit saw that it was Seamus Flannery’s file.

“Reap by any means necessary,” John instructed her gravely. Brigit looked into his ice blue eyes. They were void of emotion. John Blackwick had found peace with his decision. “Now go. Choose your necessary tools. Seamus is carrying a sword, so that you know. Take Belinda with you.”

“Why?” Brigit asked quickly. John paused in his reach for the brown book she was holding.

“Because she was witness to Mr. Flannery’s flight. If you have any hope of finding Maggie soon, Belinda is it. The book, please?”

“Fine,” Brigit grumbled.

She handed the brown book to John and watched as he left the small office. She listened as his quiet footsteps carried him to their office and then were silenced by a sound Brigit rarely ever heard before: the closing of their office door. Its quiet echo rang in her ears as she pocketed Seamus Flannery’s file. John Blackwick had given his blessing. He would not be part of it any more.

Brigit took one last quick glance around the small room before leaving and going to the arsenal room. Seamus Flannery had taken a sword. He had every intention of engaging her in combat. She wouldn’t disappoint him, she thought as she stood in the middle of the room surveying the various implements of battle.

As she eyed the table holding the swords, she could tell which were missing from the cache. The black samurai sword had been reclaimed by Yoshiro Takamoto. He was its maker and the only soul that could wield it now. The other missing sword was a long sword used during the Crusades of the middle ages. Slowly, Brigit assessed the slight collection that remained: a Spanish Rapier, a Roman short-sword and a Scottish Two-handed sword.

The Spanish Rapier, though light and quick, would be no match against the razored edge of the long sword Seamus now carried. A good and heavy blow from him would break the rapier’s steel with little resistance. The Roman short-sword was, well, short. Brigit knew that she would have to manage to get within arm’s length of Seamus to be able to utilize the shorter weapon. She had seen him swing a shelaighley during a fight. He could be a mad storm of arms and instrument. There was little opportunity to avoid a blow of one or the other and Brigit knew a sword only made it all the more dangerous. Finally, her eyes came to rest on the Scottish Two-handed sword, a behemoth of a weapon as any she could ever imagine using. The blade alone was as long as she was tall. The hilt of it added another foot and a half. Brigit knew there was absolutely no way she could swing the sword, much less defend herself, with any amount of real control.

Reluctantly, she brought her gaze back to the Roman short-sword. She was about to reach for it when she heard the almost silent footstep behind her. Quickly she turned and found Yoshiro Takamoto standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Takamoto,” Brigit greeted coolly. “What can I do for you?”

“Is your quest honorable?” he asked in reply. Brigit stared hard at him for a moment before answering.

“Yes.”

Yoshiro Takamoto returned the gaze he was under. He could see his peer’s determination to accomplish the task her heart called her to do. He was fully aware of the depth of the love she still held onto for her lover. He could also feel the thread of worry that wound around her at the possibility her lover might come to harm. Brigit Malone had been pushed to the point where she now stood, ready to run head-first into a battle she might lose to protect her love. That fact alone made her actions honorable in Yoshiro Takamoto’s mind. Slowly, he pulled the long black sword from his sash and held it out to her with upraised palms. Brigit watched as he bowed low with his masterpiece extended toward her.

“If your quest is truly honorable, take the sword,” he instructed gently.

“I will return it to you Mr. Takamoto,” Brigit promised as she gently lifted it from his palms. She felt the energy of it course through her as she returned her peer’s bow of respect. “Thank you,” she whispered before raising her eyes to the empty doorway. Yoshiro Takamoto was gone.

Brigit eyed the weapon in her hand. She had Seamus Flannery’s file in her coat pocket. She now held the means to his end in her hand. There was one more thing she needed and the proceedings could begin…

Belinda sighed heavily as she lifted the cup of cocoa. Mama Dee had brought her back to the café in the hopes of giving her some free space to think. Mama Dee stared out the window letting her own silent thoughts and concerns rumble through her mind as her plump forefinger nervously traced the rim of her coffee cup. Belinda, however, focused on one thought. She couldn’t help but to keep seeing the look in Brigit’s eyes when the assistant Reaper had pinned her against the bookshelf. If there was ever a moment when Belinda had the thought that she could truly die, that would have been it. The look of betrayal and rage she had seen in Brigit’s dark eyes had filled Belinda with heartache. She hadn’t known Seamus would use her in this way. She would have found a way to stop him from taking Maggie sooner if she had.

A shadow fell over the booth and both women turned to look. Belinda felt herself cringe at the sight of Brigit standing beside the table, her face as smooth as granite and the long black samurai sword in her hand. Belinda noted, however, that Brigit did not look at her. Instead, the dark woman kept her eyes fixed on Mama Dee.

“Belinda, you need to come with me, please,” Brigit said coolly. She was calm, but Belinda could tell the fire of her rage still burned close to the surface. Without question, Belinda slid from her seat and stood silently beside the woman she so admired.

“Where are you taking her?” Mama Dee inquired at once, her sight darting from Brigit’s face to the sword in her hand and back again. Belinda looked at the old woman and was touched to see the concern in her eyes. At least someone still likes me a little, she thought.

“She’ll be fine, Mama,” Brigit assured her old friend. “John has instructed me to bring her with me.”

“What? Has that boy gone completely insane? Brigit, you can’t take her into harm’s way. It’s bad enough Maggie’s caught in it and that you’re running straight into it,” Mama Dee sputtered. “Please, leave Belinda alone,” she implored.

“It’s okay, Mama,” Belinda interrupted. “I want to help Brigit any way I can. I’m going with her. I’ll be okay,” Belinda said, hoping to ease the worry she saw dancing across Mama Dee’s face. Mama Dee leveled a stern eye on Brigit when she realized she could argue no further.

“You take care of her, Brigit Grace Malone,” she said. She had used Brigit’s middle name to no affect. Brigit didn’t even flinch.

“Don’t worry, Mama. I will,” Brigit promised before turning and exiting the café as silently as she had entered.

Mama Dee watched as Belinda turned and hurried to follow her out. Brigit had promised to keep the young woman safe. Mama Dee found some small comfort in that. Brigit would never make a promise she couldn’t keep.

23: Concern for Maggie

Maggie trudged up the incline without thought to her surroundings. The air was beginning to cool around her but she paid no attention. Her anger still burned through her, keeping her oblivious to the chill that was settling on her skin. Seamus Flannery was following close behind, but he maintained his silence as they walked. It was a good thing, Maggie thought. He had already said enough to keep her mind reeling with the persistent thought that he was truly insane.

What kind of madness was it to believe that he was dead? How did he know Brigit? How was this all happening to her?

What he had told Maggie was not enough to explain anything to her. He had said he had a score to settle with Brigit, yet, he had not told her why. He had called Brigit a coward, but he did not know Brigit the way Maggie had known her. She wondered how this man could fabricate such ideas about Brigit when Maggie was sure he had not known Brigit while she was alive. Surely Brigit would have mentioned meeting someone so delusional.

Maggie caught her breath as she suddenly felt her feet slip out from under her. The rocks she had stepped on had given way and caused her to fall forward. Quickly, she threw out her hands to break the fall. She felt the jagged edges cut into her palms as her hands braced against the earth to keep from falling completely on her face. She felt the pain shoot up her forearms just before she felt Seamus Flannery’s ice cold grip on her bare arm.

“Careful, lass,” Seamus warned as he pulled her up. Maggie jerked her arm from his grasp as she turned her palms upward to examine them. She could see the cuts caused by the razor sharp rocks. They hurt, but they were dry. There was not even the slightest color of blood rising to the surface. “Are ye hurt?” Seamus asked gently.

“What do you care?” Maggie snapped.

“It’s just a question, lass. How’s your head?”

Maggie looked at the red-headed man and frowned. She had not paid much attention to the pain in her head since they had begun their trek. She had been so busy wandering through the landscape of confusion Seamus Flannery painted in her thoughts. His question now brought her back to examining that pain.

“It aches, why?” Maggie finally replied.

“It means you’re still alive,” he said calmly. Maggie looked him in the eye. There was no amusement in them. He was telling her the truth. “If ye were dead, there’d be no pain. Within a few hours, there’d be no cuts in yer hands. Ye’d only have the memory that ye fell and cut them. Remember that,” Seamus instructed gently. “When ye’ve stopped feelin’ the pain, yer dead.”

“You really believe all this, don’t you?” Maggie asked as his words sank in on her mind. She noted the caring tone to his voice as he spoke. It made her think that, maybe, he might not hurt her after all. “You really believe you’re dead.”

“Sweetheart, I know I’m dead. I’ve been dead over twenty years now. Two bullets right between me eyes. If that don’t kill a man, I don’t know what will,” Seamus bragged with a slight smile.

“Why? Why were you killed?” Maggie asked. She still couldn’t believe him, but she figured it might be in her best interest to at least humor him

“I had the grand plan to steal a big load from some associates. It was going to be big enough to get me out of New York and send me brother, Thomas, back to Ireland. He was such a sniveler, always complainin’ that he wanted to go home. He didn’t want to work for his riches. He just expected it to be handed to him. Not me, though,” Seamus smiled broadly with pride, “I chased any and every opportunity I could find.”

“So you were a thief?”

“I guess ye could say I was a ‘jack-of-all-trades’,” Seamus shrugged with a sudden attempt to be humble. “Thief, drug dealer, messenger boy, assassin,” Maggie was uncomfortable with the emphasis he put on his last word. “I had some fun at times, aye? They got my brother, too, ye know. They found him waiting on the steps where we were stayin’. I told him to wait for me there, that we’d leave as soon as I had the package.”

“Where is your brother now?” Maggie asked with a shiver. An icy wind had suddenly arisen and blown across her face and bare arms.

“He’s gone. They crossed him, yer Brigit and John Blackwick. They had meant to offer him the job before me, but he behaved like such a girl that they knew I was the better man. They wanted someone strong and brave. So, they gave the job to me.”

“What job would that be?” Maggie felt silly even asking.

“Reaper in charge of Dangerous Cases. It was my job to cross over the souls no one else had the balls to face. Not even yer girl wanted to face them. She must have been afraid she’d break a nail,” Seamus jabbed sarcastically. “It was a fun job, brawlin’ and bustin’ heads. It made me feel alive.”

Maggie watched the flame-haired man for a few more seconds. His tone had changed again. Now, he was sounding proud. Almost to the point of being cocky. If he truly had interacted with Brigit, Maggie knew without a doubt that they would have mixed like oil and water. Brigit tended to have little patience with people as arrogant as Seamus Flannery.

“What’s your beef with Brigit?” Maggie finally asked. He was in a talking mood and it appeared that talking seemed to slow him down.

“She’s a coward. She left me in a bad situation that could have killed me.”

“But you just said that you’re dead,” Maggie pointed out. “How could it have killed you?”

“Ah, I see ye still don't understand," Seamus chuckled teasingly. "My body is dead, but my spirit – my spirit can still be killed. Ye see there are two options automatically presented to ye when you’re to be crossed over. Heaven or, Hell. That’s it. However, if ye put up a fight and refuse to face yer judgment or neither of these options appears, a Reaper can send a soul into Eternal Limbo where there is no end to the cycles, ye see?" Maggie nodded in her acknowledgment of that statement. She knew what Limbo meant. Seamus sighed deeply and continued his explanation:

"Brigit left me in a position where that could have happened, where I could have been sent to Limbo by the hands of dark spirits. I don’t take kindly to abandonment in critical times and I have no mercy for cowards,” he growled.

Seamus Flannery was becoming agitated with the memory he carried. Maggie wondered how recently this event had taken place that he would continue to carry such a heavy load of revenge on his heart.

“Why now? Why involve me?” Maggie asked quickly.

“I had to love, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It was the only way I could get her attention. Yer girl is a pet around the firm. She thinks she’s too good to get her hands dirty or to lower herself enough to admit to her ways. She needs to pay for her sins – all of them. The sins of the flesh, the sin of cowardice – they all have a price to be paid. No one but me can see that. No one is willing to admit she’s a cancerous stain. I will, though. I can admit it and I will take care of it. Now, come on. We’ve got a ways to go still.”

Silently, Maggie turned and continued trudging up the incline with Seamus close behind her. Could she really believe anything he said? Was she becoming as delusional as he was?

Brigit, if this is real, please hurry, Maggie prayed silently.

Tom Bennett sighed and readjusted his position in the uncomfortable chair next to Maggie’s hospital bed. His eyes did not leave her face. Something was going on in her mind though the doctor had told him that she was comatose. Her body was reacting to something, but Tom had no idea what it could be. The doctor had suggested that it might be involuntary nerve spasms as a result of the head injury. Tom had the feeling the doctor was wrong – dead wrong.

A figure appeared in the doorway of the small room. Tom’s eyes immediately went there. He was relieved to see Sola DuLach standing there, a small bouquet of French lavender and Baby's Breath in her hand.

“Is she still sleeping?” Sola asked quietly, not moving from the doorway.

“According to the doctor, she may not wake up,” Tom replied. “Come in,” he instructed. “I’d get up, but I think my butt is too cramped to let me move.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sola smiled as she stepped close to Maggie’s bed and gently laid the bouquet on the bedside table. She looked down at Maggie’s face, watching the rolling of her eyes behind their lids and the constant clenching of her jaw. “What has the doctor said?”

“She’s comatose. Her vital signs are strong, but the twitching is supposedly a result of her hitting her head,” Tom recited with a bored tone. Sola glanced at him.

“You don’t believe the doctor?” Tom rolled his eyes and readjusted his position again.

“What do you think it is?” he asked.

Sola had called him to go and check on Maggie. She had expressed concern. Tom had not asked her why. He had simply obeyed. Now, he was convinced his best friend knew more than she would possibly be willing to let on. Sola cast another glance at him before returning her gaze to Maggie’s animated face.

“I think it’s something beyond our control,” Sola sighed. “It’s in the hands of the Divine now.”

“Will she wake up?” Tom asked quietly. Sola caught the weary note in his voice. She knew he would be here all night. Maggie was alone on this plane of existence. Tom Bennett wouldn’t leave a friend so alone at such a time.

“Eventually, yes, I believe she will,” Sola determined. “There’s something she’s going through right now, though. Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be okay.”

“Do you know what it is? You seemed very concerned when you called me,” Tom pointed out.

“I had my reasons, Tom,” Sola answered. She wasn’t about to tell him about the spirit she had seen following Maggie at the party. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you why I was concerned. Maggie will be all right, though. She’s strong. She’ll fight whatever it is that has taken her spirit.”

“Great,” Tom groaned. “Soul snatchers.”

Sola looked up at him suddenly. Her brown eyes were serious.

“Why don’t you go get some coffee? Maybe stretch your legs a bit? I’ll watch over Maggie,” she suggested.

Tom looked into her eyes and realized that his best friend had taken offense with the tone of his flippant remark. There were a great many things Sola DuLach was familiar with and believed in that Tom knew he would never be able to wrap his mind around. The biggest element of her belief lay in the unseen worlds. Something about Sola gave her an unnatural sight and Tom knew better than to mock it. Finally, he nodded and heaved himself out of the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. Every joint in his body groaned with complaint as he stretched. Sola was right. He needed coffee.

“Would you like anything?” he asked meekly as he walked toward the door.

“Not right now,” Sola responded, trying to control her irritation. “I’ll be here when you come back,” she assured him with a final note of dismissal.

When Tom was gone, Sola returned her attention to Maggie. Maggie's spirit was in motion and she was irritated. Sola lay her hand across Maggie’s forehead and slowed her breathing. The ice cold skin under her palm surprised her. Quickly, Sola’s eyes darted to the monitor that Maggie had been hooked up to. Her body temperature was showing as normal, but her skin was cold as if she were out in the snow without a coat. Slowly, Sola removed her hand and stared hard at Maggie’s twitching face.

A whisper of a sound behind her brought Sola from her thoughts. The energy that followed the whisper was slight and contained. Slowly, Sola turned to face the door, completely aware that it would not be Tom Bennett she would see there.

He met her gaze solemnly. His ice blue eyes were not fully aware that she could see him. He glanced at her for a brief second before settling his attention on Maggie. The thick black hair on his head looked unkempt, as if had recently endured a fit of worry by the nervous running of his hand through it. His suit was crisp, though. Sola wondered momentarily if this ghost meant to be here.

“Just so you know, I can see you,” she calmly announced. The pale man’s ice blue eyes seemed to acknowledge her statement as he took a step closer and settled his gaze to her face. “Why are you here?”

“Is this Maggie Devon?” the man asked quietly, as if he might be heard by someone else. Sola caught the accent with which he spoke, but she kept her thoughts focused.

“It is, but she is still living. Who are you?” Sola inquired as she took a step to place herself between the male spirit and her friend on the hospital bed.

“I could ask you the same, love,” the man replied calmly. “My name is John Blackwick. I’m a friend of Brigit’s. And you are?”

“Sola DuLach, I’m…”

“The Blue Witch,” John smiled slightly. “I’ve heard of you.” Sola couldn’t help but to look surprised. “My firm has worked with your predecessors throughout the ages past. Let me say I am happy to finally meet you,” he explained.

“Your ‘firm’, Mr. Blackwick?”

“Reapers, Incorporated. I am the current head Grim Reaper,” John explained.

“Well, you’re certainly a snappier dresser than your predecessor,” Sola smiled as she glanced him over once more. She relaxed in the presence of the spirit. “Why are you here? Maggie is still alive,” she pointed out again. She had no fear that he would do Maggie harm. Sola knew full well how the hierarchy of passing souls worked. The Grim Reaper was merely the escort to a soul’s fate – not the actual instrument of death itself.

“I am aware of that,” John sighed. “Her spirit has been taken,” he said quietly as he stepped closer to the bed. He was studying her face again, as if it might give him some indication as to what she was going through.

“I had guessed as much,” Sola admitted. “What does it have to do with your firm?”

John remained silent as he looked down at Maggie Devon. He had not seen her since the day of Brigit’s funeral. Even then, that sighting had been from a distance and somewhat distracted as he had been focused solely on Brigit at the time. Maggie was pretty, with the lines of a classic beauty. Her sandy brown hair framed a peach colored face that was currently revealing the signs of her irritation with her captor. Considering the circumstances of her abduction and who her captor was, John couldn’t say he didn’t understand.

“Mr. Blackwick? What does Maggie have to do with your firm?” Sola asked again, bringing John from the final thought that he could see why Brigit was so passionate about keeping her promise to remain with Maggie. There was a light that burned in her face even when she wasn’t looking at you. It was the kind of light that could hold anyone’s attention forever.

“One of my Reapers has gone rogue. He took Maggie in the attempt to pick a fight. Unfortunately, he has been successful,” John explained.

“Who is he picking a fight with?”

“Brigit.”

“How do you know Brigit?” Sola was sure her expression of curiosity changed to a look of surprise at the mention of Maggie’s deceased partner. She had been unaware that Brigit had not crossed over into the rewards for her life.

“She’s my assistant,” John Blackwick sighed heavily, “and she’s gone to face him.”

24: The Chase Begins

Belinda stood in the middle of the room nervously. Brigit had escorted her back to the apartment where Seamus had kidnapped Maggie and subsequently disappeared. Brigit had not spoken since her request that Belinda join her at the café. Even then, that exchange of words had happened mostly with Mama Dee. The silence was deafening to Belinda. She could hear her mentor’s anger still roaring through it. She wished Brigit would say something, even if it was mean and berating. At least, it would drown out the mocking guilt that was laughing at her now.

“I think it was here,” Belinda said nervously as she stepped to the spot where Seamus had been standing when he had seized Maggie by the hair.

Belinda closed her eyes against the memory of that image as she raised her hand and began to feel through the air. Slowly, her fingers extended out and began to search for the node that would indicate the seam Seamus had found to tear open the door of his escape. She had seen him reach out above his shoulder. He was taller than she was. She had watched him find it so quickly. She was so nervous. The added pressure of Brigit’s dark eyes boring a hole through her didn’t help either.

Suddenly, she felt it. A sigh of hopeful relief escaped her as she pinched the invisible node between her fingers and tugged. The seam gave way slightly. Belinda pinched at it again and pulled harder. Her effort was rewarded with a tear wide enough to accommodate a passing elephant. Hoping to see a reaction of some sort, she turned her bright blue eyes to Brigit; but her mentor remained silent and stone faced. Belinda felt her heart return to the pool of guilt it had been swimming in. Brigit had exactly two things on her mind and Belinda knew there was no room for anything more.

“This is it,” Belinda announced.

She remembered smelling the fresh air that had blown through the tear Seamus had created. Although her sight had been focused on Maggie at the time of its original opening, Belinda’s sense of smell had detected the scent of pine and crumbling rock emanating through the portal. She was sure she remembered seeing a glimpse of such before Seamus had pushed her back from the portal.

Brigit finally moved from where she had been patiently waiting for the girl to accomplish what she had said she could do. She went to stand next to the nervous young woman and peered through the opening to the landscape on the other side. It was relatively barren and grey. Her eyes searched for any sign of Seamus and Maggie as she fought to ignore the nervous energy emanating from Belinda Yaris.

“How can you be sure?” she asked. Belinda seemed to perk up at the sound of Brigit’s voice.

“My nose never lies,” Belinda replied proudly. Brigit looked at the young woman solemnly. The gaze pushed Belinda down from the elation she felt over Brigit’s finally speaking to her.

“Come on,” Brigit instructed.

“What? Why? I opened the door,” Belinda was shocked that Brigit would want her to continue further.

“You’re going to see what you refused to see,” Brigit declared with an angry snap. “We told you that Seamus Flannery was no good and you didn’t believe us. I want you to see the consequences of your poor judgment. Now, get going before you piss me off,” Brigit barked.

Belinda swallowed hard before turning and stepping through the opening she had created. Brigit meant to expound on the lesson Belinda had already found herself in the midst of learning. As if I didn’t feel bad enough, Belinda thought as she stormed ahead of Brigit.

They walked in silence a short way before Brigit sighted the first evidence that Belinda had set them on the right path. There were disturbances through the sharp gravel before them. Maggie had been dragged, which Brigit imagined Seamus would have had to do. Maggie would have put up a fight of some kind after being taken against her will. As she stood over the ruts left in the gravel, she suddenly found herself hoping that Maggie would leave more clues, even if she was fully unaware of the current reality she found herself in.

“Where could they have gone?” Belinda asked as she stood in the clearing a few yards ahead of Brigit.

Brigit looked at the young woman briefly before letting her eyes scan the surrounding scenery. They were on a shelf at the base of an incline. Further below them, Brigit could see a green valley. In the middle of it, she could see two trees growing side by side. Their limbs, so tenderly entwined, were still relatively bare of foliage due to the effect of Spring being late to bloom. Between the two trunks, Brigit could see a mist that seemed to be suspended in the space like a thick spider’s web. The trees were a portal. She would remember that when she returned…

Quickly, Brigit scanned the rest of the scene. All around them were snow-capped mountain peaks. Her instincts told her to climb. Seamus Flannery would want a dramatic landscape to support whatever scene was he might be envisioning for the final conflict. Brigit’s dark eyes rose to the sky and she frowned. The blue of it was quickly being swallowed by a rolling front of thick, black storm clouds. They had to hurry. It would only be a matter of time before Mother Nature unleashed the fury Brigit was still carrying close to her heart.

“Where do we go now?” Belinda asked as Brigit approached her.

“Up,” Brigit said quietly. “Seamus wants drama. He’ll be looking for the perfect backdrop to all this.”

Brigit narrowed her eyes as the wind began to blow. Beneath the wail it created, she thought she heard a whisper. Quickly, she opened her mind to hear the prayer the wind carried: Brigit, if this is real, please hurry…

Brigit closed her eyes for a second. The sound of the voice uttering those words reassured her and stoked her ire at the same time. It was Maggie's voice calling out to her. It was proof, for now, that Maggie was okay.

She wanted desperately to reply, to assure her lover that she was on her way; but Seamus was an adept Reaper. He had learned a long time ago to hear the unspoken with his mind. She was sure he would be listening to every sound carried on the wind. Brigit couldn’t take the chance of alerting him to their proximity, despite the fact that she was unsure of just how close they actually were. She couldn't take the chance that he would harm Maggie because he was suddenly spooked.

Instantly, she closed her mind and returned her gaze to the incline ahead of them. Belinda had already started to climb. She was eager to prove herself to Brigit. For a second, Brigit wished she had not been so hard on the girl earlier. I’ll apologize when this is all over, Brigit told herself as she began to trek up the path Belinda was taking. I hope she’ll forgive me…

25: The Pause in the Storm

The storm rolled in faster than Brigit had anticipated. The rain fell from the sky in solid sheets and lightning bolts struck the ground all around them. Belinda had slowed in her trek to walk beside Brigit – even if it was in silence. Thunder roared as loud as the wind around them. Brigit appeared unfazed as rocks jumped straight from the ground when a bolt of lightning arced to connect to the earth. Belinda, however, jumped as high as the rocks had, a squeak of surprise always escaping her. The storm that raged all around them was appropriate, Brigit thought as she trudged over the slick ground. It matched the storm raging inside her.

“Brigit, I think we should stop,” Belinda yelled over the howl of the wind. “We could get lost,” she pointed out. She watched as Brigit looked over her shoulder in the direction they had been heading. “We might get lost,” Belinda repeated.

Brigit heard the other woman’s words. The wind and rain sliced at her face as she tried to pierce the darkness with her eyes. Belinda was right. They needed to stop and wait until the storm passed. At the rate it was blowing, though, Brigit feared the prospect of how long they would have to wait. Her only remaining hope was that Seamus and Maggie had stopped somewhere safe. Seamus would be indifferent to the storm. Maggie, Brigit knew, would be terrified. She would be unaware of the fact that the elements could not harm her now. Brigit turned and looked at Belinda again. Through the sheets of rain between them, Brigit could tell that Belinda was frightened as well. Her bright blue eyes were wide with her fear.

A bolt of lightning arced downward and struck the ground immediately next to Brigit as she scanned the darkness surrounding them. By the flash of light it provided, she spied a pine tree just below them. They needed no shelter from the storm. The rain did not soak them and the freezing chill on the wind did not penetrate their skin. Yet, Brigit had the thought that some façade of protection would calm Belinda. If they had to wait, she figured it was best to make it as calm a wait as possible.

“Over there,” she directed with a wave of the samurai sword she carried in her hand. Belinda followed the direction of Brigit’s focus and felt a sense of relief wash over her. Brigit was going to stop, even if it was only for a little while.

They met under the tree and turned to stand side by side as they watched the storm rage all around them. The thunder rolled heavily, shaking the boughs over their heads. Brigit felt her companion shiver as if the thunder had shaken her as well. With a heavy sigh, Brigit sat on the ground, resting her back against the trunk and the samurai sword across her lap. Belinda quickly followed suit, grateful for a moment’s rest.

Maggie shivered violently as she watched Seamus walking idly around the space where he had decided they should stop. He had found an overhang on the path just as the rain had started to fall. He had shoved Maggie under its protection and then began a hurried search for anything to start a fire. They were too high above the tree line, however, for him to find anything of use. Maggie could feel the temperature dropping quickly as the rain fell harder and harder. She could hear him cursing as he searched for even the slightest sliver of kindling. Her ears strained to hear his words clearly, but most of them were unintelligible.

They had been climbing higher and higher until the moment the rain had started to fall. Seamus had hoped to reach the mountain’s peak that was now swallowed by the black storm clouds so close above them. Lightning roiled through the dark billows like mongering eels for a few seconds before picking a target and flashing its fury on the earth. It was immediately followed by deafening claps of thunder. Maggie couldn’t help but to flinch with every explosion of light and sound all around her. It didn’t help that she was not dressed for the occasion. The old and faded navy blue t-shirt and jeans provided little warmth in this weather. She rubbed her hands briskly over her arms in the attempt to generate some warmth, but it was a wasted effort. The cold was penetrating her all the way to the bone.

Another flash of lightning lit up the mountainside, striking some distance below them. Maggie’s eyes instinctively followed the path of the illumination to where it struck the earth. She saw the shadow that stood mere inches from where the tip of the bolt had connected with the ground. It was a familiar shape. Maggie felt her heart skip a beat. She would know that silhouette anywhere – even after two years…

Quickly her eyes went to Seamus. He was still pacing inanely in the rain. He was indifferent to the eruptions around him and the pelting of the rain against his face. He was concerned with making sure Maggie was taken care of. He had not seen the shadow that had been illuminated by the lightning. He did not know that Brigit was so close behind them.

“Forget it,” Maggie called over the howl of the wind. Seamus stopped his pacing and looked at her with wide eyes. “Just forget it,” she called again.

“You’re cold, lass,” Seamus noted as he approached. “I can’t have ye ill when Brigit finally shows up. My scrap is with her – not you. T’wouldn’t be fair to let ye come to harm in the meantime,” he said as he crawled into the dry space next to her. The sleeve of his coat gently brushed against her bare arm. Maggie was momentarily surprised to note that it wasn't wet despite the fact that he had been out in the rain since it had began.

“You could have thought of that sooner,” Maggie remarked before pushing her surprise aside as another wave of chills overcame her.

The lightning flashed again and she couldn’t help but to look in the direction she had seen the shadow before. She felt her heart sink when she didn’t see it again. My eyes were playing tricks on me. It was just wishful thinking, she told herself.

“Maybe ye should sleep,” Seamus suggested nervously. He was agitated with worry – or frustration – it was hard to tell. Maggie wondered briefly if perhaps he had seen the shadow as well. “We’ll leave as soon as the storm is done. Go on, close yer eyes. I’ll not harm ye, I swear.”

Maggie looked at her captor for a moment. His expression was oddly serene. His green eyes were focused on the darkness that surrounded them. She thought about asking him what his thoughts were; but she was tired. She didn’t want to ask any more questions. She didn’t want to hear anymore of Seamus Flannery’s fabrications. Quietly, Maggie wrapped her arms around herself as best she could and leaned against the cold rock behind her. Sleep would not be easy to find…

“Tell me the story, Belinda,” Brigit said quietly.

She was weary of listening to the sound of the rain. The thunder and lightning had finally passed, yet it was too dark to resume their search for Maggie and Seamus. Belinda had been right to worry that they might become lost. In the darkness, it would be impossible to tell up from down. Brigit had been considering opening her mind to search for a random and unprotected thought, but she finally decided against it. Seamus would surely keep his mind closed – unwilling to give any indication to their location. Brigit still didn’t want to take the chance of putting Maggie any further into harm’s way because Seamus was spooked.

“Well, Seamus had asked me out to coffee,” Belinda began timidly.

She had already told the story in great detail to Mama Dee and John Blackwick. She had hoped Brigit wouldn’t ask her to repeat it in full detail. Belinda was sure she couldn’t face another round of Brigit’s rage. The silence was hard enough to endure, but Belinda knew she preferred it to Brigit’s anger.

“Not that story,” Brigit interrupted. “I’m calm right now. Let’s keep it that way,” she advised.

“Okay,” Belinda breathed out. She was relieved to not have to tell that story. “Then what would you like to hear?” The question was met with a few seconds of silence interrupted only by the gentle fall of the rain through the boughs above them.

“Tell me your story,” Brigit finally said. “Tell me about your side of your life.”

Belinda peered through the darkness, trying to see Brigit’s face. All she could see, however, was the other woman’s shadowed profile. Belinda was well aware that Brigit often used the technique of getting a soul to tell her their story so that she could free them from the residual time loop where they were caught at the moment of time just before their death came upon them. They would repeat their actions over and over until the moment a Reaper appeared to cross them over. Belinda felt her heart skip a beat with the sudden fear that Brigit had decided to cross her. As if her thought had been read, Belinda heard:

“I’m not going to cross you. I don’t have your file,”

The statement was issued quietly. Belinda felt herself slump with relief. Despite the drama as of late, she knew she was not ready to cross over yet.

“Well, in that case,” Belinda gushed, “okay then.” She took a deep breath and smoothed the ripples in her long, black skirt. Lightning suddenly flashed, reflecting like a strobe light off the overly-large safety pins that served as the buttons on the pockets of the skirt. “I was the product of a Hell’s Angel and a truck driver. Dad rode a chopper and mom drove a big rig. Despite what you may think, it was a match made in Heaven…”

26: The O’Brien Twins

Mama Dee grunted as she made a quick reach for the little girl that raced past her. Her plump fingertips barely brushed the child’s shoulder causing the child to shriek with delight. The over-extension Mama Dee had made put her off-balance. Before she could think to right herself, the small old woman felt a pair of tiny hands firmly against her broad behind.

“Don’t you…”

Mama Dee didn't have time to finish the statement as the tiny hands pushed and sent her sprawling face forward. The little girl that she had initially been reaching for whirled and sang in the corner, oblivious to the action going on in the middle of the room. The small hands that had sent Mama Dee sprawling belonged to the little girl’s identical twin brother.

Mama Dee had received her assignments that morning along with the suggestion to bring Yoshiro Takamoto along so that he could understand the different techniques used to cross a child. The quiet Japanese man had merely observed in silence, so far. There was no conversation between them as Mama Dee took them from one assignment to the next. She had other things on her mind and none of it had to do with children.

They had come to the former home of Molly and Brendan O’Brien, twins that had passed after contracting a serious case of scarlet fever. They had been waiting eighty years to cross, but after witnessing the wild run the two had of the house, Mama Dee had the thought that the O’Brien twins had not been waiting because they had been overlooked. The truth of it was that the O’Brien twins had been waiting because they were out of control imps that would wear on anyone’s patience. Upon finally setting eyes on them, Mama Dee had found herself frowning.

“They would have to be red-heads,” she grumbled as the twins ran screeching past her and Yoshiro Takamoto.

Slowly, Mama Dee rolled over and took a deep breath as she stared at the ceiling. Obviously, it was going to take more than being nice to corner the twins and send them through the door to their fates. Exhaling hard, Mama Dee heaved herself up into a sitting position in the middle of the dusty kitchen floor. The twins were running a circle around her, shrieking and singing at the top of their lungs. She briefly wondered if these children would be passing through a door to her left – the door to Heaven. If they were so lucky, Mama Dee promised to pray for her friend Mary every day.

A figure suddenly loomed in the doorway. The children immediately froze and stared at the solemn face of the man in the flowing robes. His dark eyes were focused on them, holding them where they stood. Mama Dee turned her head and eyed Yoshiro Takamoto for a second. He did look imposing, seeming to be ready to leap on the children if they made even the slightest of moves…

“Children, come here,” Mama Dee instructed as she heaved herself up off the cracked tiled floor. Neither of the carrot-topped twins moved an inch. “Children,” Mama Dee called again. “Come to Mama Dee.” Still, neither child moved.

Mama Dee sighed and withdrew the files for Molly and Brendan O’Brien from under her bra strap. She would go to them if they wouldn’t come to her. As she took a step toward them, the O’Brien twins simultaneously took a step away from her. The movement garnered a quick bark that turned into a long and low growl from Yoshiro Takamoto. That sound caused the children to yelp and immediately jump to hide behind Mama Dee. A red-head could be seen peeking out from around each of Mama Dee’s hips. Even Mama Dee was caught by surprise at Yoshiro Takamoto’s sudden interaction with the situation. Finally, the little old woman found her voice.

“Mr. Takamoto, we do not growl at the children,” she said sternly.

The Japanese man immediately silenced his growl. The look in his dark eyes argued that it had been necessary, but Mama Dee ignored him with a shake of her head. Slowly, she turned to face the now silent O’Brien twins. The frightened looks in their eyes melted Mama Dee’s irritation. Out of the corner of her eye, Mama Dee saw their door appear to her left. They were going to Heaven, after all. Mama Dee’s praying for Mary would begin as soon as she saw them through the door.

“Children,” Mama Dee addressed the twins. Fearful brown eyes turned up to her. “It’s time to go now,” she said softly, hoping her irritation didn’t resound in her voice.

“Where are we going?” Molly O’Brien asked timidly.

“It’s time to go to a better place than this dusty old house,” Mama Dee replied.

“But this is our home,” Brendan O’Brien pointed out.

“I know, sweetheart; but you’re all alone here,” Mama Dee sighed.

“We’re not alone,” Molly said.

“We have each other,” Brendan added.

“Don’t you miss your momma and daddy? What about your brothers and sisters? Wouldn’t you like to see them all again?”

“There were fourteen of us,” Brendan pointed out.

“I don’t think they missed us,” Molly finished.

“Now, look you two,” Mama Dee’s voice took on the same stern note she had used with Yoshiro Takamoto. “It’s time for you to leave this place. I know you’re scared to leave your home, but you can’t stay here anymore. Now, please, be good children and do as I say,” Mama Dee instructed as she opened the door. As soon as the door was open, Mary, the ancient woman who tended the children on the other side, appeared. “This is Miss Mary. She’s going to take good care of you from now on.”

“Is she the Virgin Mary?” Brendan asked, his eyes growing wide.

“Are we in trouble?” Molly asked quietly.

“No, sweetheart. Not yet, anyway,” Mama Dee replied with a heavy sigh. “Now you go on with Miss Mary and try to be good. May you both find eternal peace,” she wished the children as they hung their heads and filed past Mary to the other side. The two women exchanged glances. “Good luck with those two,” Mama Dee wished her friend. “They’re a handful.”

“Great,” Mary sighed before following the children through the door and closing it behind her.

Finally Mama Dee turned and looked at Yoshiro Takamoto. His expression had not changed. He stood waiting, silently patient.

“Make a note, Mr. Takamoto,” Mama Dee said as she tucked the twin files under the sash of her coral pink dress. “If they have red hair, they’re gonna be trouble.”

27: Jean-Pierre, Part 2

He sighed heavily and continued staring out the window. He had sighed so many times, the act in itself was becoming exhausting. Waiting was exhausting. Mama Dee had promised that John Blackwick himself would come to take him out of the grand salon he had left his mortality in. Yet, the mysterious Mr. Blackwick had yet to appear…

Jean-Pierre had lost track of time since his demise. He had spent the first few days pondering how he could have been so oblivious to Henri’s scheme. He had thought they were happy, so perfect together; but then, Henri had a past that Jean-Pierre had refused to believe in. He had always thought his lover was making it all up, that it only added to Henri’s mystique. As he had drawn his last breath from the poison induced asphyxiation, Jean-Pierre had suddenly realized his mistake. He had suddenly seen that Henri was every bit as dangerous as he had let on.

It is too late now, Jean-Pierre had told himself over and over after those first few days. He spent the next few days unsure who to be more angry at – himself for being naïve, or Henri for being such a bastard. He wished that he could see Henri now. He wondered if the murdering son-of-a-bitch was playing the grieving widower or if he was the life of the party now that he had inherited all of Jean-Pierre’s estate.

A slight change in the energy of the room caused Jean-Pierre to leave his thoughts and look to the room behind him. His azure blue eyes quickly scanned the room only to see nothing.

“Qui est-ce?” he called out. When no answer came, he sighed heavily again and resumed staring out the window. He was bored. He hated to be bored.

“Monsieur Marchande?”

Jean-Pierre quickly turned to face the source of the voice that had addressed him so clearly. The ice blue eyes that locked directly with his took his breath away. The man was ravishing to him. Such pale skin framed by a crown of ebony black hair…Jean-Pierre could feel a sense of excitement suddenly stirring to life again.

“Who are you?” Jean-Pierre asked, hoping to control his surprise.

“Je suis Monsieur Blackwick,” the handsome man replied.

“Parlez-vous Francais normal?” Jean-Pierre asked quietly.

“No,” Mr. Blackwick replied with a slight smile, “but I am fluent,” he assured Jean-Pierre. “English, then is it?”

“Please. Where were you born?” Jean-Pierre was intrigued by the smaller man. He felt himself wanting to know absolutely everything about this person he had been waiting so long to meet.

“Ireland,” John answered. “I suspect you’ve been waiting for me?” he inquired, shoving his hands casually into his trouser pockets.

“All my life, I would say,” Jean-Pierre replied as he flashed his most charming smile. John couldn’t help but to smile in return. He had not missed the double meaning intended in the other man’s reply.

“Are you ready to leave this place?”

“I thought you’d never ask…”

John nodded his head toward the main door of the chateau before turning and exiting the luxurious salon. He heard the soft footfall behind him indicating that his companion was quick to follow. A smile came to his face with that thought.

Mama Dee had warned him that Jean-Pierre Marchande was a beautiful young man; but she had said nothing about how captivating his beauty truly was – nor how breathtaking. John had felt his heart skip a beat when Jean-Pierre had looked at him. As he had stared deep into the other man’s azure blue eyes, he was sure he would drown in their depths. Then, he had smiled and John knew it would only be a matter of time before he was lost for sure…

Jean-Pierre asked no questions as John Blackwick opened the main door of the chateau and led him through the burning white light. He didn’t care where this man was taking him so long as he took him far, far away from the silent chateau that was no longer his.

28: Dawn

The rain stopped just before sunrise. Upon noticing its cessation, Brigit rose from where she had been sitting under the pine tree and walked a short distance away. Belinda had finished her life’s story some hours before, leaving Brigit to carefully process her thoughts in the silence that had settled between them again. Belinda had been calm when she had finally stopped talking. Her fear at Brigit’s anger had been lost with the sobering part of the tale where she had realized she was dead and waiting on the endless run of the subway train where she had died.

“From there, you know the rest,” Belinda had said quietly.

Brigit did know the rest. Now, as she stood a few yards away from the Goth girl, Brigit collected her thoughts. A slight hue of yellow touched the hem of the horizon just above the mountains to the east. Soon, dawn would be in full emergence. A new day would begin.

I am fond of her, Brigit mused with a quick glance over her shoulder at her companion. Belinda was still sitting under the pine tree. Her eyes were closed with her own thoughts. She is my friend. I can’t break her heart anymore than it will be, she decided.

Sighing deeply, Brigit resumed her watch of the dawn’s birth. Belinda had fallen for Seamus to the point where she had thought she had found love. It had been a nine month long farce that Belinda had refused to see for what it truly was. Brigit knew that what she had to do to rescue Maggie would end the existence of Seamus Flannery and annihilate the object of her young friend’s affection. She had insisted, in her fury, that Belinda continue on the journey so that she could face the consequences of her poor judgment. Brigit had thought it would serve Belinda right to see where her mistrust could lead.

As the yellow dot on the horizon began to spread and grow into a warmer hue of peach, then orange, Brigit finally made her decision. Quickly, she turned and walked back to the pine tree where they had taken shelter from the storm. Belinda’s bright blue eyes opened and focused on her at the sound of her quick approach.

“You need to go back, Belinda,” Brigit announced. A look of surprise filled her companion’s eyes.

“Why? I thought you wanted me to see,” Belinda sputtered as she began to crawl to her feet. "I don't understand."

“You’ve seen enough. I want you to wait for me at the office. Those two trees in the valley, they’re a portal,” Brigit pointed to the green valley far below them. “Give the direction as you pass between them. You’ll arrive safely at the office,” she instructed firmly.

“Brigit,”

“Just go, Belinda. We’ll talk later,” the dark woman interrupted. Before she could see the disappointment settle in Belinda’s eyes, Brigit turned and began walking up the incline.

“What if you don’t come back?” she heard Belinda call. Brigit paused in her climb, but did not turn around.

“Tell John where it happened. He’ll come for Maggie.”

Belinda watched as Brigit continued to walk away. It didn’t make sense to her as she watched her friend, her mentor, resume the path they had been following the evening before. Belinda had finally resigned herself to the idea that she had been useless to stop Maggie’s abduction. She had kicked herself mentally for believing that Seamus Flannery had been a good person deep down. She had been resolute in her determination to help Brigit save Maggie at any cost. Even if it meant watching one of her dear friends die the final death…

Yet, Brigit had dismissed her.

Sadly, Belinda turned and looked at the valley far below. She could see the trees Brigit had told her to go to. They were like thin shadows looming on the patch of green below. Belinda knew they had traveled a good distance since stepping through the portal she had been able to recreate; yet, she had been unaware of how high they had actually climbed. Glancing over her shoulder again, she caught the slight glimpse of Brigit steadily climbing up the mountainside.

Keep her safe, Belinda prayed before turning and beginning her own trek back to the valley below.

“Wake up, lass. It’s time to go,”

Maggie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the man’s voice so close to her. She had hoped that when she awoke, she would find herself safe and warm in the bed she had once shared with Brigit. She had hoped that this would all be just a bad dream brought on by paint fumes in an unventilated room. Yet, there he was. He was standing a few feet away from the overhand where they had sheltered in the storm, his hands on his hips and his emerald green eyes trained on something far below them. His flaming red hair glowed bright orange in the rising sun. A wicked smile lay across his face.

Slowly, Maggie turned to see what held his attention. The gasp that escaped her was loud enough to break his concentration. It was Brigit he had been staring at. She was coming, steadily climbing the incline with a look of solemn determination set on her face. Before she could open her mouth to scream Brigit’s name, Maggie felt his icy, cold hand clamp over it to keep her silent.

“Not yet, love,” he purred in her ear as she struggled against him. “It’s my advice that ye keep quiet if ye want to get out of this alive,” he threatened. “Ye want to live, don’t ye?”

Maggie stopped struggling as her eyes focused on Brigit. Brigit had not seen them yet. If she had, Maggie was sure her lover would be running up the incline rather than walking. Slowly, Maggie nodded her head to confirm that she wanted to live, if only to see Seamus get what he quite obviously deserved.

“Then, start moving and keep yer mouth shut,” Seamus instructed with a growl. He removed his hand from her mouth and watched to see if she would obey. Maggie stole another glance at Brigit before being yanked around and pushed in the opposite direction.

Her mind reeled as she stumbled upward. Everything she had known before yesterday seemed like a distant memory at the moment. The knowledge that she was Maggie Devon, widowed first grade teacher with no current direction for life, was no longer real to her. This exact moment was real. She was here, climbing the rain slicked mountainside toward the snow-cap above. Seamus was real, intent on his plan to battle with Brigit. Brigit was real, on her way to rescue Maggie. The only remaining thing that no longer seemed real to Maggie was the notion that she was still alive.

Maggie heard the familiar hiss of the sword Seamus carried as it was removed from its scabbard. Something in the action told Maggie that Seamus Flannery was suddenly very scared.

29: Belinda’s Return

Mama Dee swallowed the sip of coffee she had taken and sighed. Finally, she thought, I get to have a drink in peace… She had been unsuccessful in her attempt to relax for two days. One cup, that’s all I want. Is that too much to ask? As if that thought might be answered, Mama Dee raised the cup and took another quick drink.

Belinda entered the café and looked around. She had come here to sort out her thoughts before returning to the office. She was sure there would be a barrage of questions as to why she had returned alone. She was sure there would be some sort of punishment meted out for leaving Brigit behind despite the fact that Brigit had dismissed her. Belinda wanted a few more moments to think about it all before she returned to report to John Blackwick all that had happened.

The sight of Mama Dee sitting in the booth where Belinda had first delivered the news of the scandal Seamus had created caused Belinda’s heart to skip a beat. While John Blackwick would be upset over Belinda’s leaving Brigit, she was sure Mama Dee would be furious. Belinda was well aware of the deep friendship between the two women. While Mama Dee had elicited a promise from Brigit to take care of Belinda, the young woman was sure Mama Dee would have expected Belinda to take care of Brigit with the best of her meager abilities as well.

The young woman considered, for a moment, of just continuing her approach to the counter where Giuseppe Cincotta appeared to be conversing with a new customer; but it was too late. Mama Dee had already seen her. A look of dread filled the old black woman’s eyes. With a heavy sigh, Belinda turned and dutifully approached the booth.

“Where is Brigit?” Mama Dee demanded as Belinda slid into the empty seat of the booth.

“She’s still out there,” Belinda replied. “She dismissed me this morning.”

“What? Why?” Mama Dee sounded surprised.

“Because she said that I had seen enough.”

Mama Dee looked the younger woman over for a few seconds. Brigit’s change of heart in regard to Belinda Yaris didn’t surprise her. Mama Dee was well aware of the concern and care Brigit harbored for the younger woman. Dismissing Belinda from the journey was Brigit’s sure-fire way of making sure the young woman stayed safe. Sadness and confusion played in the girl’s bright blue eyes as Mama Dee continued to study her. The play was overshadowed by the guilt Belinda still felt at her unwitting part in it all. Suddenly, Mama Dee lifted her coffee up and drained it of its contents in one long swallow. Belinda merely looked away. She felt like crying.

“I’m getting more coffee,” Mama Dee announced as she slid from her side of the booth. “I’ll bring you back some cocoa,” she promised before waddling away.

The gesture of kindness added a little more weight to the urge to cry. Belinda bit her lip bottom lip.

It was all so overwhelming. She wished she could just turn all the feelings off – close the door to them and lock away the key. What do I do? Belinda asked herself as she rubbed the back of her hand quickly across her cheek to wipe away the tear she could feel running down it from her eye. The skin was dry, but Belinda felt the release of the pressure where a tear would have escaped if she had still been alive.

“Here you go,”

Belinda turned in time to see Mama Dee slide the big mug of cocoa before her. There was a softer look on the little old woman’s face. Belinda recognized it as a look of pity. She quickly looked away from it into her cocoa. Tiny white marshmallows swam on the surface. Giuseppe had added his own attempt at comforting her. Belinda felt the sudden urge to start laughing.

“He thought it would make you smile,” Mama Dee related as she settled into her side of the booth. “He likes to see you smile.”

“She’s going to kill Seamus, isn’t she?” Belinda suddenly asked. Seamus had given her a reason to smile. They had shared a connection – or so she had thought. Mama Dee released a heavy sigh from her ample bosom.

“If she don’t get killed herself, yes. Belinda, there’s something you need to understand about what’s between Brigit and Maggie. They were soul mates. Brigit would do anything for Maggie, including taking a life if it meant protecting her. There ain’t no sea deep enough or no mountain high enough to compare to how much Brigit loves that girl. The whole reason Brigit took this job was so that she could stay with Maggie. She had promised to be with her forever. This job was the only way she could keep that promise. Can you understand any of this?” Mama Dee asked gently.

“I can,” Belinda admitted. “Considering the circumstances of this existence, I thought I might have found that with Seamus. I guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Baby girl,” Mama Dee said softly, “that boy was just using you. He’s had a bone to pick with Brigit since before you came along. You just didn’t see his motives because you liked him so much. Your picker is broken. He knew how much you cared about Brigit and how much it would hurt you to hurt her. He knew how betrayed Brigit would feel because she cares about you so much. He was counting on that to hurt both of you and he didn't care,” Mama Dee explained.

“She doesn’t care any more,” Belinda sighed as the urge to cry returned.

“No? Then, why did she send you back here? I’ll tell you why,” Mama Dee’s voice took on a stern note. “Brigit didn’t want to see your heart broken by what she has to do. She has to put an end to this once and for all. It’s the only way she knows she can get Maggie back and keep her safe. If she doesn’t end this now, Seamus Flannery is just goin’ to keep trying to hurt folks – even you. Brigit is trying to protect you, too. You need to get that through your head, child. That boy is no good to anybody.”

Belinda let the old woman’s words settle in on her as she watched the tiny marshmallows Giuseppe had decorated her cocoa with slowly dissolve until they disappeared beneath the creamy, chocolate surface. The appearance of a little air bubble was the final indication that they had succumbed to their eventual fates. Mama Dee was right. Seamus Flannery had proven them right. He was no good. He was cocky and vindictive. It painted an ugly picture of him now. Belinda felt her heart slipping into the deep end of the pool of guilt it had been swimming in. It was tired. It wanted to drown now. She suddenly felt angry at Seamus’ deception.

“What a bastard,” she grumbled before lifting her cup and taking a deep drink. “What a self-centered, heartless bastard.”

“I ain’t one to say ‘I told you so’,” Mama Dee chuckled as she watched Belinda’s anger rise.

“You don’t have to, Mama,” Belinda groaned. “God, I was so stupid.”

“It’ll be over soon. Brigit will take care of it,” Mama Dee assured her gently.

“I know that, at least, I hope so. What if…”

“Oh, look, there’s John,” Mama Dee alerted. The old woman was happy for the sudden distraction. She didn't want to hear the 'what if' scenario that Belinda might present. If Brigit were to fail, they'd all be in trouble for sure and that was a thought Mama Dee just didn't want to add any power to.

Belinda turned in her seat and watched as John Blackwick entered the café, accompanied by the most beautiful man Belinda was sure she had ever seen. His face was perfect, reminding her of the faces of angels she had seen in paintings. He was slightly taller than John, but the distance between their heads seemed unusually close as they walked together.

“Who’s that with John?” Belinda asked as she watched the two cross the café and approach the counter.

“That, honey, is Jean-Pierre Marchande. He’s the new Bailey,” Mama Dee replied. “He agreed to John’s proposal last night.”

“He’s pretty,” Belinda cooed as she continued to watch the two men.

“He’s also the wrong flavor for you,” Mama Dee warned. Belinda turned quickly and looked at the old woman.

“What’s that supposed to mean? He’s a man,” Belinda pointed out.

“That prefers men,” Mama Dee finished. Belinda felt her mouth drop open with the realization of what the old woman had just said.

“Does John know that? I mean,” Belinda looked over her shoulder at the two men seated at the counter. Their gazes were focused on one another as they conversed. Occasionally, one of them would reach out to touch the other casually on the arm or the knee.

“Of course he knows. It almost makes me think he may have picked Jean-Pierre for the position for more reasons than he gave me,” Mama Dee mused before sipping from her coffee. “I suppose even the Grim Reaper must get lonely sometimes.”

Belinda’s eyes shot open wide with the full realization of where Mama Dee was going with her words.

“Do you mean to tell me that John Blackwick is…”

“Gay? Oh, yeah, honey. Didn’t you know?”

Belinda shook her head. She had not known John Blackwick’s preferences. She had always thought of him as an elegant and private man. She had never given thought to his love life, yet, as she watched him now, Belinda wondered how she could have missed it. John Blackwick had been a Reaper for over fifty years. He would have lived during a time when being openly gay would have been unheard of unless someone was looking to create a scandal and subject themselves to public ostracism. Of course he would have kept it secret. It would have been a habit so deeply imbedded in him that it would have carried over in his death…

“It’s a good thing Seamus doesn’t know,” Belinda said quietly.

“Why do you say that?” Mama Dee inquired.

“Apparently, Seamus hates gays,” the young woman revealed. “I never knew that about him until the day he took Maggie. He would totally be out of his mind if he knew about John. He seems to respect John.”

“That fact right there should have been a deal breaker for you,” Mama Dee scolded lightly before she drank from her coffee again. Belinda shook her head in disappointment and followed suit by sipping from her cocoa.

“I know. If I had known it sooner, I would have totally thought different about him,” she assured the old woman. “I can’t stand people who hate other people without a good reason; especially if it’s a group of people they’ve not taken the time to get to know. I mean honestly, how can loving someone be worth the reward of hate? I’ve never understood it all. Why can’t we just mind our own business and get along?”

“I hear that, child,” Mama Dee laughed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since I was a little girl. When I was growing up, I just wanted everyone to be happy and to be friends; but in those days, you had to have the right color skin.”

Belinda’s eyes opened wide with the realization of what Mama Dee was relating. Mama Dee had seen her fair share of hate during her life. The memory of it all was what had spurred her to be who she was – a shining example of love and acceptance.

“Everyone deserves love and friendship,” Belinda finally said.

“Amen to that, child, amen to that. After all, we’re all one race. In the end, it don’t matter what god you believe in or what rules have been written by the people in charge. All that really matters is that you were a good person and that you treated every soul you met with love. You may not understand them, you may not have agreed; but that don’t matter. The fact that you showed them a little love is all that matters when everything is said and done.”

Belinda nodded her head in agreement to Mama Dee’s sermon. The old lady was preaching to the choir, but Belinda agreed with every word whole-heartedly.

“Do you think you’ll ever cross over, Mama?” Belinda asked suddenly. Mama Dee smiled and shook her head.

“No, baby, I don’t think I will. There’s too many people that need a little love – even after they die. Especially the children…. What about you?”

“It will depend,” Belinda answered.

“On what?”

“On whether I get too bored, I think.”

“Do you really think that will happen?” The two women exchanged a knowing look. Despite her involvement in the excitement over the last two days, deep down, Belinda knew there would never be a boring day at the office.

“No, Mama. I don’t think it ever will.”

Belinda fell silent with the thought of it all. Reapers, Incorporated was her life now. She had made friends here. She felt love, even though she had disappointed the person who mattered the most to her. Mama Dee had been right. Brigit still cared. She had shown her love for Belinda by sending her away. Belinda stashed away the hope that someday, there might be someone she could love the same way Brigit loved Maggie. Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

“Can John really do that?”

“Do what?” Mama Dee looked confused.

“Pick someone like that? I mean, could he pick someone, say, to be my partner? You said that you think he picked Jean-Paul for more reasons than to just be the Bailey. Do you think he knew Jean-Paul would be interested? What’s so funny?” Belinda asked as her companion began to gasp with laughter.

“You,” Mama Dee said between gasps for air. “To begin with, his name is Jean-Pierre. Secondly, John would never really do something like that. He reads the files so that he can assign them to the correct Reaper – not to go shopping. I think this,” Mama Dee waved a plump hand in John and Jean-Pierre’s direction, “was an accident. Sometimes, that’s how it happens. You don’t go lookin’ for that kind of love. You’ll just be disappointed every time. You just got to wait for that kind of love to find you, baby. Be patient. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen in good time.”

30: Divine Intervention

He settled himself on the small boulder and folded his hands in his lap. His grey eyes took in the scene languidly. A storm had raged the night before, leaving the landscape so utterly clean. It was all so beautiful. The purity of the snow, the crystalline blue of the sky… On a normal day, it would be the perfect place to clear his thoughts of the daily duties he carried on his winged shoulders.

Today was not a normal day, though. Today, he bore the task of bearing witness to a moment the Divine had decreed important.

Close to his breast, he carried the short sword that had beheaded the Baptist. The cold steel of it burned through the silk of his shirt to the skin beneath. If the female Reaper were to fail, he would have no choice but to use it. He would have to finish her quest to rid the world, both seen and unseen, of Seamus Flannery forever. It had been so long since he had borne the wrath of the Divine. He only hoped the millennia between such moments of dire responsibility had not caused him to go soft.

A long, slow sigh escaped him. Waiting patiently would be easy. Maintaining the hope that he would not have to intervene was another matter. He had faith, however, that the female Reaper would succeed. She was being driven by love. Love was the greatest force of all creation.

His grey eyes settled on the forms now moving on the snowy plateau below. Seamus Flannery and Maggie Devon had entered the stage. It would only be a matter of time before the female Reaper joined them. Gabriel expected quite a show. After all, there was more than true love on the line here.

The arch-angel was aware that if the Divine didn’t intervene, the balance would shift and the shadows would gain a toehold no one could truly afford. The operations of Reapers, Incorporated had done well in maintaining the cycles of life and death and the balance of light and shadow up until now. It was the Divine’s intention that it should continue to do so. Gabriel prayed hard that Brigit would succeed.

After all, I’m really not in the mood to smite anyone today, he mused as another sigh escaped him.

31: Waiting for Brigit

Maggie pulled her knees to her chest. It was so cold here despite the sun’s bright rays shining down on them. She breathed hard into her hands, hoping to warm them at least a little so that she could rub them over her bare arms; but her breath held no warmth. She was shivering from head to toe, unable to keep her teeth from chattering with the force. If I get out of this, I’m moving to the equator, she told herself angrily. The cold was penetrating her to the core of her being. She had the sense that she would never be warm again.

Her brown eyes settled on her captor. The cold didn’t affect him in the least. He paced across the small snow layered plateau in eager anticipation of Brigit’s arrival to the scene. He still carried the sword unsheathed in his right hand. Occasionally, he would swing it through the air as if he were practicing for the fight to come. Maggie watched him. He was clumsy with the sword. Brigit would not be. Maggie was well aware of her lover’s skills with a sword. She had seen Brigit’s expertise with a sword in many of the martial arts tournaments Brigit had competed in when she was alive. It was Maggie’s hope now that this expertise had carried over in Brigit’s death.

She remembered awaking this morning with the hope that this was all a terrible dream. She had hoped with her whole heart that she had merely bumped her head and called it a day with the painting project in Mama Dee’s apartment by going to bed and going to sleep and then having the worst dream she could ever have imagined. Then, Seamus had awakened her. She had looked down the mountain. She had seen Brigit’s face, her dark eyes raised – as if Brigit could see her as well.

Maggie closed her eyes so she could see Brigit’s face again. It had been two years – two years of continuous grief, two years of missing the piece of her soul that was no longer walking through life beside her, holding her hand. It had been two long years since Maggie had felt like nothing else in the world would matter because Brigit was beside her. It had been two long years since she had felt safe.

Brigit had been dressed head to toe in black. It had been the same clothes she had been wearing on the night she had died. Even the antique black coat was still a piece of her attire. It was a look that added to the slight morbidity of the idea that Brigit really did still exist.

What had been that look on Brigit’s face? Maggie studied the image in her mind. Brigit had looked different, harder, colder… Maggie couldn’t put her finger on the correct description. All Maggie could see for sure what that there was no trace of the softness she had once loved about her lover’s dark eyes.

Another violent shiver ran down Maggie’s spine. She was freezing. She wondered how she would ever be warm again.

Sola took a deep breath and lay her hand gently over Maggie’s hand. She fought hard to ignore the iciness she felt under her palm. The monitor attached to Maggie’s body through various wires still read her body at a normal temperature despite the cold that lay on her skin. Maggie’s irritation had subsided somewhat, but Sola could tell that her friend was still within the rogue Reaper’s keeping.

Sola closed her eyes and stilled her thoughts. The gentle, monotonous beep of the heart monitor was all that could be heard in the room. She had returned to the hospital room with one intention. After dismissing Tom Bennett again, Sola set to work on her goal. She was adept at astral travel. She had mastered the act at an early age after beginning her training as a priestess. Davida, the ancient priestess Sola had mentored under, had been proud over her apprentice’s accomplishment at such a young age.

Her thoughts still, Sola focused her mind on Maggie’s energy. When the link was finally made between them, the Blue Witch opened her mind and felt the gentle rise of her spirit to follow the thread that streamed from Maggie’s comatose body. High she flew, through the roof of the building, over the city and west toward the retreating sun. Her spirit eyes burned from the brightness she soared toward. The thread flowing lightly beneath her fingertips was strong. Maggie was determined to live. Sola found a measure of relief in that notion.

Westward she continued to fly. Sola remained concentrated on her link to Maggie. She would find her. She would help her any way she could. Mountain tops began to rise in the distance. As Sola neared them in her flight, the thread to Maggie Devon’s spirit began a gentle arc downward. Maggie was there, somewhere amongst the snow-capped peaks that brushed the sky.

A sudden rush of shadow and air before her immediate vision caused Sola to let loose of the gentle lead of Maggie’s thread. She held her breath as she began to fall. The only fear that gripped her as she fell was that she had lost the trail. Quickly, Sola began to search the blue sky around her for the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the silvery thread, but her eyes could not locate it.

Suddenly, she felt strong arms around her and the race of the cold air around her began to slow. She craned her neck to see who had caught her. When her feet finally touched the earth again, she whirled on the intruder to her quest.

“Gabriel, what are you doing?” she demanded of the arch-angel. He appeared as annoyed as she felt.

“I am on a Divine mission, Witch. What are you doing?” he asked as he brushed at the sleeves of his grey suit coat. He settled his grey eyes on her in an icy stare.

“I’m trying to help a friend. I was following her spirit’s thread when you broke my concentration. What the hell was that about?” She demanded harshly.

“It would be wise, Witch, if you changed your tone in speaking to me,” the angel warned. Sola met his icy glare with one of her own. They had met on many occasions. She knew he could be just as stubborn as she could, especially if he felt he had not been paid his due respect. “Now, perhaps we can begin this conversation again,” Gabriel suggested after a few seconds of the stubborn silence. “Hello, Sola. How lovely to see you again.”

“Gabriel, this is no time for games,” Sola pointed out, though she did change her tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a Divine mission. I’ve already told you that.”

“May I ask what kind of Divine mission you’re on?”

“There’s been an upset in the spirit world, specifically within the ranks of Reapers, Incorporated. One of their Reapers has…”

“Gone rogue. I know. That’s why I’m here too. He’s taken the spirit of my friend Maggie Devon,” Sola revealed. “I came to see if I could help her.”

“Well, my dear, you’re just in time to watch the show,” Gabriel sighed. “Unfortunately, I am barred from entering the stage unless the female Reaper fails in her part of the mission.”

“Do you mean Brigit?” Sola inquired.

“I do. She’s approaching them now,” Gabriel revealed as he outstretched a graceful hand and pointed at the snowy plateau below them.

Sola squinted toward the forms he was pointing at. She could see Maggie sitting on the snow, her arms wrapped around her knees in the effort to keep her body as warm as she could. Sola’s eyes darted to the left and spied the red hair of the ghost she had seen following Maggie the night of Tom Bennett’s party. She felt her heart sink with the weight of failure at the sight of him. He had succeeded in taking Maggie despite the protection spell she had cast on Maggie’s apartment door.

“What do we do now?” The question sounded helpless, which was how Sola suddenly felt. Gabriel sighed again and reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“We wait,” he answered quietly. “You should return to your plane. I have my instructions. If Brigit should fail,”

“Do you believe she will?” Sola asked suddenly.

She had always admired the love that Brigit had carried for Maggie Devon. It had always burned so intensely when Sola had seen them together. She had always believed that such a love would never die, that it could move mountains and keep the lovers safe from anything the world might throw at them. She had always hoped that someday she would find a love like that for herself…

“If she should fail, I will fetch you at once. Someone will need to bring Maggie’s spirit back so that she is not lost here forever,” Gabriel pointed out. Sola returned her gaze to the plateau below. Gabriel was right. All they could do was wait…

Slowly, Sola opened her eyes and looked at Maggie’s face. Though she was lost in the spirit world, Sola knew that Maggie was completely aware of what she was going through.

“Hang in there, Maggie. Brigit is almost there,” she said quietly as she pushed a sandy brown curl back from Maggie’s cheek. “Everything will be all right,” she offered, hoping the encouragement would reach Maggie’s mind and spirit.

“Any signs of life yet?”

Sola turned to see Tom Bennett standing in the doorway. The brown bag in his hand suggested he had brought lunch back with him. Sola noticed the hopeful look in his weary eyes. As she had thought he might, Tom had kept vigil all night.

“Not yet,” Sola answered. She forced a slight smile to her face. “I don’t think it will be much longer, though,” she offered encouragingly. Tom raised a hand to stop her from revealing more.

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Whatever you know, don’t tell me. I probably wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Sola shot back at her best friend. “When will you open your mind to the unseen, Tom Bennett?” Tom shrugged and passed her a plastic container. Through the clear plastic of the lid, Sola saw that he had brought her a fresh salad.

“I think I’ll continue my subscription to ‘Ignorance is Bliss’,” he said with a smile. Sola returned the expression and peeled the lid off the container. The wait would be over soon. There was no reason to starve in the meantime.

32: The Truth of it All

Seamus Flannery was giddy with excitement. He couldn’t remember a time that he had felt so excited, so alive. The Irishman had been looking forward to this moment for a long time. Everything was about to change and he was going to be the usher to that change. From this moment on, the whole world – both seen and unseen – would lay wide open at his feet. The possibilities would be endless…

Seamus swung the sword through the air again. He was still adjusting to the feel of it. The instrument was unfamiliar to his hand. The weight of it was clumsy, far different from his beloved shelaighley. The shelaighley had been left behind though. It would be of no use for what he had in mind. He wanted Brigit Malone gone forever into the endless abyss of Limbo. Only a sword would help him accomplish that goal.

His emerald green eyes shot to the huddled form of his captive. A chuckle rose up and escaped him at the sight of her. At first, Maggie had been a hell cat, defiant and struggling against him. Seamus had enjoyed that. It had almost been a turn on for him; but then, something had changed. She had seen Brigit. Maggie had immediately become submissive at that moment. He had offered her life in exchange for her compliance. She had taken the barter without a moment’s span of thought. That had been a disappointment. Seamus had thought it would be the icing on the cake to send his captive off to Limbo as well. He would have reveled in the delight he would have felt at seeing the look in Brigit’s eyes at the sight of her beloved being taken away from her right before her eyes.

Oh well, she’ll be here soon enough, he thought as he swung the sword again. I’ll get to see that look from Maggie Devon; makes no difference to me. She’ll watch Brigit fall and then I’ll send her to join her.

Brigit finally stepped onto the flat edge of the plateau and stopped. Her dark eyes leveled on the sight of Seamus Flannery in the middle of the scene. She watched as he swung the sword he carried through the air. She could tell from his movements that he was unskilled with the weapon he had chosen. Its weight in his hand was unfamiliar and uncontrolled. Despite this, Brigit knew she would need to remain vigilant of his every move. She was well aware of his tendency to just start swinging. Seamus Flannery possessed the same speed that she did. Once he found momentum, his arms could become a blur of blows. That aspect was what made him the most dangerous.

“Brigit!”

Brigit’s attention snapped to the fringe of the area. Maggie was sitting on the snow with her knees drawn to her chest. The frightened look in her brown eyes ran through Brigit’s heart like a dagger. Brigit remained still as Seamus Flannery ceased his movement. Maggie’s call had alerted him to Brigit’s presence. She wanted to run to Maggie, to shield her from whatever Seamus Flannery might do; but she knew that if she made even the slightest move toward Maggie, the Irishman would beat her there and possibly do harm to Maggie. Maggie scrambled to her knees as if she meant to run to Brigit, but Brigit quickly raised her hand in signal to keep still. Maggie froze at the sign. Confusion flooded her face.

“Well, look who’s decided to join the party! It’s about time,” Seamus chided as he drove the point of his sword into the packed snow under his feet and leaned casually on the hilt. “I thought for sure that ye’d be along sooner than this,” he jabbed with a wicked smile. “What took ye so long?”

“Mags, you okay, baby girl?” Brigit asked, ignoring Seamus’ comments. Her dark eyes never left his face.

“I’m freezing, Bree,” Maggie answered with chattering teeth. Her brown eyes never left Brigit’s face. The intensity she saw on her lover’s face fully explained the danger they were in. The fact that Brigit wouldn’t look at her relayed the gravity of the situation completely.

“Aye, but yer fine,” Seamus interrupted. “She’s fine. I’ve not harmed her in any way, Brigit. Ye can see that for yerself, aye?” he pointed out.

“Why have you done this, Seamus? Why did you take her? If you had a fight to pick with me, you should have been a man and come to me directly. There was no reason to involve Maggie,” Brigit scolded. Her voice was low and level. Even Maggie could hear the fury that danced amongst her words.

“Oh, but there was,” Seamus responded. “Ye see, I had to get yer attention. Ye were too stupid to see that I’ve been trying to get it out for over a year now. Ye thought ye were above me, that ye were too good to have it all out with me. Ye thought ye didn’t have a price to pay; but ye were wrong, Brigit Malone. Ye were dead wrong.”

“A price to pay for what, Seamus? For your arrogance? What exactly am I paying for?” Brigit demanded.

“There’s a great many things that ye need to pay for,” Seamus growled. “Yer cowardice is what I’m most interested in making ye pay for. Yer perversion is just a bonus,”

“My ‘perversion’? What would that be, Seamus Flannery?”

“The perversion of lying with yer own kind. Yer an abomination in the sight of God. Yer kind needs to be erased from the face of mankind, sent to Limbo. There is no reward yer kind deserves. Ye make me sick, all of ye,” the Irishman spat venomously.

“So, that makes you judge and jury? Man, you’ve got some nerve,” Brigit chuckled. She took a step toward him. The movement caused him to snatch the sword out of the snow and hold it at a defensive angle. “Love is a reward in itself, you stupid bastard. Who the fuck cares who it’s shared with? You? Is it really worth your time to worry about that? Honestly, Seamus, you’re as much a flaming idiot as anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Ye shut yer mouth!” Seamus bellowed. Brigit smiled. She had struck a sensitive nerve in her opponent.

“Let’s be honest about everything,” Brigit continued.

She took another step toward him and watched as he took a step backward, the sword still raised before him as if Brigit might begin her attack on him at any given moment.

“Your arrogance is what got you in to trouble to begin with. You wanted to prove you were the big man. You wanted to be a show off. That’s why I crossed over three souls that day and then dragged your dumb ass back to the office. Tell me, Seamus, would you have done the same thing? Would you have brought me back? Or would you have left me behind because there was something about me that had nothing to do with you?” Brigit asked.

She leaned the black samurai sword against her thigh and slowly began to shrug out of the black coat she had worn every day since her death.

“So, let’s be completely honest,” she said again. “Do you think you can do that, Seamus?”

In a single fluid movement, Brigit freed herself and tossed the coat to Maggie before sweeping up the samurai sword again. She did not unsheathe it, however. The moment to draw it had not come.

“That’s not how the story goes, ye lying’ bitch,” Seamus snarled as Maggie snatched up the coat and quickly draped it around her shoulders. She was surprised to feel a slight measure of warmth in it. “Ye hid in the shadows that day. It was me that crossed over that gang. It was yer lack of ‘assistance’ that made me sick. I burned for days because of you. Then, to top it all off, ye told John Blackwick that I was stealing’ souvenirs. They were reminders of me conquests. Ye tattled on me like a jealous schoolgirl,” Seamus sputtered.

“You were stealing them,” Brigit replied quietly.

“They were mine!” Seamus bellowed.

Brigit took a third step closer to him. She could see that he was becoming more and more agitated. Soon, he would snap and take the first swing. Nonchalantly, she began to roll up the sleeves of the black button-down shirt she had been wearing at the moment of her death.

“How many gang members were there that day, Seamus?” Brigit inquired calmly.

“There were five. Ye know as much,” he snapped. Brigit took two steps to her right, placing herself directly between Seamus and Maggie.

“Wrong, dumb ass. There were six,” Brigit corrected. “The female was hiding in the shadows. She attacked from behind. By the time I finished with her, you were getting the shit kicked out of yourself by the two you couldn’t cross over. Do you know why you couldn’t cross them?” Brigit smiled as she asked the question, “Because you were stupid, that’s why.”

“Shut up, ye lying perverted whore!” Seamus screamed.

“I’ve been called worse,” Brigit shrugged nonchalantly.

“Draw yer sword, bitch,” Seamus instructed. “Come on!”

“Why? So you can prove how stupid you are? You’re going to lose, Seamus. Face that fact now,” Brigit responded as she squared her shoulders. “You’re as dumb as they come. Your ignorance and arrogance will be your undoing. Oh, wait, it’s already happened once. Will history repeat itself today?”

The scream that escaped his throat shattered the air around them. Brigit had maintained her gaze into his emerald green eyes. She had seen the instant that he had finally snapped. He had immediately become an open book to her.

She barely had a moment to draw the samurai sword before he was close enough to swing at her. The blade hissed through the air close by as she ducked its arc toward her head. She heard Maggie scream with fear as she pulled the katana she carried from its sheath and whirled with it outstretched. The energy that coursed through the shimmering blade burned the hilt firmly against the palm of her hand. Quickly, she raised the sheath in her other hand to deflect the next swing he offered as she drew the katana back to offer him a blow of her own. Her eyes focused on his face. His eyes were focused on the swords. He wasn’t paying true attention.

“Is that all you got, Seamus?” Brigit taunted as she deflected the next few swings of his sword with the sheath she held in her left hand. “My grandmother can do better than this,” she teased. “Come on, let’s get this pissing match over with, you flaming idiot. Give me your best shot,” she barked as she deflected another swing before bringing the sheath up to strike him square between the eyes.

Seamus stumbled back a few steps with the force of the blow. Brigit watched as his green eyes narrowed to dangerously thin slits. She had his full attention now. She could see the realization sink in on him that he had underestimated her. It was time to step up the game. He was about to become extremely dangerous. Quickly, Brigit stilled her thoughts again and steeled her focus on his eyes.

Seamus charged her full force. The strength behind the blows he delivered pushed Brigit backwards. Maggie scrambled from their path as they grappled. Her mind was racing. She had never heard Brigit speak the way she had to Seamus. She had never witnessed Brigit’s fury at such a dangerous, yet controlled, level. What had changed in her that Brigit would be such a destructive force? Maggie turned when she was a safe distance away and resumed her watch in silence. She knew she had to keep quiet. Brigit couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Seamus, as predicted, began to swing the sword wildly. Brigit did the best she could to keep up, blocking each blow with either the sword or the sheath as he pushed her further back. The wicked smile he had shown earlier had returned to his face. A maniacal fire danced in his eyes. Brigit fought hard to maintain her attention on his eyes.

Brigit felt her stomach suddenly clinch with surprise as she lost her footing and slid down on one knee. She looked up in time to see Seamus’ sword arcing down toward her head. Quickly, she brought the samurai sword and sheath up into a protective cross over her head. Seamus must have guessed she would do as much and quickly changed the direction of his swing. The razored edge of his sword sliced through the fabric of her shirt, through the skin and deep into her ribs in a fluid, burning motion. A loud gasp escaped her as she looked up into his eyes and heard Maggie begin to scream.

“How does that feel, bitch?” he growled as she dropped the sheath and sword.

She could feel the ice cold air rushing into the wound as her hands went to cover it. He had cut too deep. Brigit could feel the ooze she had seen flow from Earl Hennessy’s wound begin to flow toward the mouth of the wound Seamus had created. Maggie’s screams were filling her ears as she struggled to rise off her knee. She could see Maggie beginning to crawl across the snow toward her. In her mind, she ordered Maggie to stay where she was. Whether the words actually left her mouth, Brigit was unsure. Her eyes were beginning to blur as they searched the snow for the dropped sword. She had to find it. She had to protect Maggie. She had to finish this…

Her long black hair draped over her face as she leaned forward. The wound was beginning to burn. She could hear Seamus ranting as he paced a few feet away from her. Was he congratulating himself? Or was he continuing their argument from before? She couldn’t tell. Her mind was racing. Brigit could feel herself gasping for air as her left hand pushed against the snow to keep herself somewhat upright. The ooze from within her was seeping through the fingers of her right hand and through the fabric of her shirt. Her left hand continued to drag through the snow as she fought to focus her sight. Nausea was beginning to roil in her gut as her fingers scrambled through the layer hiding the sword. Maggie’s hysterical sobs were penetrating her mind like sharp daggers.

“Come on, get up,” Seamus barked as he turned and stormed toward Brigit. He delivered a sharp kick to her side, striking that place where he had cut her. The blow toppled her onto her back, taking the last breath from her. “Get up already,” he screamed again.

Brigit stared at the bright blue sky above her, gasping hard for the breath that refused to come back to her. Seamus’ kick had put her in a prone position for an easy kill. She had felt the hidden sword when she had rolled with the force of the kick. Slowly, she let her right hand slip from the wound in her side to rest in the snow. Her fingers curled tightly around the hidden hilt. She had to find one last ounce of strength. She couldn’t let it end like this.

“I’m not done with you,” Seamus growled as he reached down and grabbed Brigit by the top of the head.

With a vicious yank, he pulled her off the ground by her hair and up to her knees. He flashed a proud smile at Maggie as he did so, knowing that she was watching the scene in absolute horror. He was too intent on making sure the hysterical woman saw the demise of Brigit Malone in every minute detail that he did not see the hilt of the sword in Brigit’s hand as she was dragged forward.

“Are ye paying attention, Maggie me dear? Watch close, now,” Seamus called as he took a step back and raised his sword with both hands. “Everything’s about to change, me darlin’,” he called. “Say good-bye to yer whore forever,” he sang.

The hiss of the samurai sword as it sliced through the air came as a late warning. The blade sliced cleanly across his gut, leaving a wide gash in its wake. Seamus slowly looked down as the freezing air rushed in and caressed that place where his entrails should have been spilling out. A deep blackness loomed there instead. Slowly, the ooze began to flow from the wound and soak the front of his shirt. With wide and disbelieving eyes, he looked up as Brigit staggered to her feet.

“I’m done with you,” Brigit growled as she raised the katana’s edge to rest on his shoulder.

Before another word could escape the aghast Irishman, Brigit drew the sword’s blade cleanly across his throat in a quick stroke. She watched as his head lolled back to rest between his shoulder blades. The same black ooze she had seen flow from Earl Hennessy bubbled up from the gaping hole in Seamus Flannery’s neck. Slowly, he sank to his knees before falling forward into the snow. His head lay solidly against his back, his emerald green eyes fixed eternally on the blue sky over them. Brigit stumbled back as the winds of Limbo rose up around them and blew across the frozen plateau with gale force, carrying Seamus Flannery’s body -- with the sword meant to end Brigit’s existence still clutched in his hand -- away with it into nothingness.

Brigit grunted loudly as she landed on her back in the snow. She could still see the blue sky above her. The winds of Limbo had left her behind. She still existed. She had won…

“Brigit, oh my god,” Maggie sobbed as she rushed to her lover’s side. She quickly began to cover Brigit’s face with kisses. “Baby, please, talk to me,” she pleaded as she cupped Brigit’s face in her hands.

“Mags,” Brigit groaned loudly. Her breath was returning, but she knew what was about to happen next. Seamus’ blade had cut her deep. Brigit knew it would be too soon that the infection would set in and began its rampage. “Mags, I’m so sorry,” she groaned as she fought to focus her eyesight on her lover’s face. “I’m so sorry,”

“Shush now,” Maggie cooed with relief. “Save your strength, Bree. We can talk about it later,” she promised as she pushed Brigit’s black hair away from her face.

“No, you need to know,” Brigit insisted. She was beginning to lose her struggle against the blackout that was threatening to overcome her. “I promised you,”

“Bree, be quiet, baby. We can talk about it later,” Maggie sobbed as she stared hard at Brigit’s face. The soft lines she had thought were gone were beginning to return. Maggie had always thought Brigit to be so beautiful when she had slept. Although this was not a moment she would have picked to admire Brigit’s beauty, Maggie couldn’t help but notice that it still remained.

“Perhaps I can help,”

Maggie spun around to face the sound of the man’s voice. Instinctively she spread her arms to shield Brigit from further harm. The tall, blonde man in the grey suit made no move toward them. Maggie felt her heart racing in her breast at the sight of him standing so calmly a few feet away. How had he managed to approach them without her hearing him?

“Go away,” Maggie snarled. The blonde man appeared nonplussed by her command. When he remained, Maggie reached for the sword Brigit had used to dispel of Seamus Flannery. A quick fire burned through her fingertips as she touched the hilt. Maggie yelped and dropped the sword before sticking her stinging fingertips into her mouth to cool the burn.

“The sword is cursed, Maggie,” the blonde man explained gently.

“Who are you? Maggie demanded as she rubbed her fingertips on the sleeve of Brigit’s black coat. “What do you want? How do you know my name?”

“I want to help. If I don’t, Brigit could perish. Seamus has inflicted serious damage to her from what I can see,” the man replied. Maggie looked him over for a few seconds. He remained perfectly still, allowing her to assess him in her own time.

“Can you get us out of here?” Maggie inquired. A slight smile came to the strange man’s thin lips.

“Sadly, no; but I can make sure someone will come for you, Maggie Devon.”

“How do you know my name?” Maggie asked again. The tall man’s slight smile broadened.

“I know everyone’s name,” he replied.

“Can you really help Brigit?”

“I can,” he assured her.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder at Brigit’s face. A slight flush of bright red was beginning to fill her cheeks. Maggie had seen such a flush before on Brigit’s face before when she had been running an unusually high fever.

“The longer you wait, the more life force she loses,” the man pointed out. Maggie followed the path of his gaze to the snow at her feet. It was turning black where the liquid flowed slowly from the wound in Brigit’s side. Finally, Maggie nodded in concession.

“Please, if you can, help her,” she pleaded.

“Move aside, please,” he requested as he began to approach.

Obediently, Maggie moved out of his way to sit at Brigit’s head. Carefully, she lifted her lover’s head and cradled it in her lap. The heat that was radiating from it worried Maggie as she gently stroked Brigit’s hair. Her brown eyes settled on the man’s graceful hands as he carefully peeled back the sliced fabric of Brigit’s black shirt. She heard herself gasp as he solemnly slid one hand into the wound. Brigit’s body arched in the discomfort as he slowly stroked the opening deep inside her. Unintelligible words flowed from his mouth in a melodic whisper as he continued his movement. Maggie held Brigit’s head as still as she could, cooing soothing words as she watched the strange man work. When he was finally back to the surface of Brigit’s skin, Maggie followed the trace of his finger over the angry red line that had been a gaping, oozing gash only a few minutes before. When he could do no more, the man stood and sighed wearily.

“She will be very ill for awhile,” he determined, “but she will survive.”

“Who are you?” Maggie asked quietly.

“My name is Gabriel,” he replied softly.

“What do I do now, Gabriel?” Maggie inquired as she watched him turn to begin his walk away from them.

“Have patience, Maggie Devon. You will see someone soon,” Gabriel promised as he walked to the edge of the plateau.

Maggie watched as his wings suddenly became visible. They unfolded and stretched wide around him before lifting him into the bright blue sky with rocket speed. She closed her eyes in disbelief. It was one more pebble on the path of thought that she had completely lost her mind…

“Bree, what kind of strange world do you live in?” Maggie sighed as she returned her attention to her lover’s face. No answer came. Maggie leaned over and gently kissed Brigit’s forehead. The heat of her skin burned against Maggie’s lips and she began to cry.

33: A Search Party

Sola crossed the street toward the main entrance of 666 ½ Bleecker Street. To any other mortal, the narrow door would be invisible. All a regular mortal would see would be the red brick that joined the businesses situated in the 666 and 668 Bleeker Street addresses. Sola could see it clearly, though, and she was anxious to pass through it.

Gabriel had come to her as he had promised. Brigit had succeeded in her quest to destroy the rogue Reaper, Seamus Flannery; but she had been severely injured in the process. She was unable to lead Maggie from the snowy plateau and Maggie had no clue how to maneuver the spirit world by herself. Sola had to go for her; but she knew she needed help. There was no way she could manage Maggie and an unconscious Brigit at the same time. The only conclusion Sola had been able to come to had been to seek out John Blackwick. Brigit was a Reaper now. John Blackwick would know how to care for her properly.

Sola knocked forcefully on the solid door of 666 ½ Bleecker Street. No answer immediately came. Quickly, she raised her fist and pounded on the door again. This time, it was answered. A young woman with raven-black hair and bright blue eyes stood in the opening looking at her in surprise.

“I need to see John Blackwick at once. It’s an emergency,” Sola gushed.

“And you are?”

“My name is Sola DuLach. Please, I must see Mr. Blackwick,” Sola reiterated.

The girl made no move to allow her entry. Instead, she remained in the doorway, her bright blue eyes assessing the woman that had knocked on the door. Frustrated, Sola quickly pushed past her and entered on her own. She had no time to wait patiently for an invitation. Maggie and Brigit’s souls were on the line…

“Hey!” the girl yelped as she landed against the wall. The exclamation echoed down the hall as Sola paused to look around her. She had never been to the main office of Reapers, Incorporated. Its grandeur, though dark and somewhat gothic, surprised her.

“Sola DuLach,”

Both women turned to face John Blackwick where he stood at the opposite end of the hall. A look of concern was set firmly on his pale face. The raven-haired girl stepped in front of Sola as John began to approach them.

“John, I’m sorry. She just,”

“It’s all right, Belinda. She’s a friend of the firm,” John assured the young woman as he pulled her to the side. “Sola, what has happened? Why are you here?”

“It’s Brigit, John. She’s been severely injured. I was hoping you could help.” Sola revealed quickly.

“Of course, I will. What about Maggie? Is she all right?” John asked.

“She’s trapped with Brigit on a mountain. I don’t have the knowledge to care for an injured Reaper, but I can’t leave Brigit behind. She was my friend at one time.”

“I can appreciate that. How do you know so much about what has happened to her?” John asked quickly as he began to button his suit coat.

“Gabriel was there,” Sola replied. John’s eyes opened wide at the mention of the arch-angel’s name. “He was sent there to bear witness and to finish the job if Brigit failed.”

A silence settled between them as John processed what the Blue Witch was telling him. Brigit had destroyed Seamus Flannery and had been injured in the process. There was no doubt in his mind that, by now, Brigit was burning with the infection that befell an injured Reaper. Finally, he turned and faced a wide-eyed Belinda.

“Belinda, do you know remember the place where you parted with Brigit?” he asked quickly. Belinda nodded quickly in response. “Good. I want you to gather Mama Dee, Jean-Pierre and Cornelius Hager. Meet us there as quickly as you can. Sola, do you know the place as well?” John asked. Sola also nodded. Belinda had already jumped into action and disappeared out the door. “Very well, then,” John sounded slightly relieved. “You and I will go there so that you can take Maggie back.”

“I’m ready to go when you are,” Sola offered.

“Are you here in spirit?” John suddenly asked.

“No, but you and I both know that doesn’t matter right now,” Sola countered.

John looked her over for a second. She was every bit as determined and fearless as her predecessors. This journey had the potential to do her some serious harm, but her love for the two women that had been her friends superseded the concern for herself. It was only one of the qualities required to be a Blue Witch. Sola DuLach had apparently mastered it effortlessly. He admired that greatly about her.

“Take my hand then,” he instructed. Sola obediently slipped her warm hand into the soft coolness of his. “Close your eyes and say the place. I’ll take care of the rest,” he assured her as he reached for the door.

34: Alone

Maggie rubbed her hands over her eyes. She didn’t understand any of this, no matter how hard she tried to make sense of it all. She had held onto the thin thread of hope that this was all just a bad dream. That hope had died as soon as she had held Brigit in her arms. The weight of Brigit’s head in her lap was a firm reminder that things couldn’t be any more real than they were at this moment.

Gabriel had left some time ago. He had promised that someone would come for them. Maggie looked at the sun. How long would it be before that someone came? She returned her gaze to Brigit’s sleeping face. She was here. They were together. Maggie didn’t want to look away for another moment. Yet, she couldn’t help but to continue to pray that someone would arrive soon.

A low moan escaped Brigit. Maggie could feel the heat radiating from Brigit’s head. She had only to imagine how hot the rest of her body was. Carefully, she lifted Brigit’s head and slid out from under it. Brigit moaned again as Maggie lay Brigit’s head on the snow, cooing soft encouragements that everything would be all right. Her eyes went to Brigit’s side where she had seen Gabriel gently stroking against the wound Seamus Flannery had created. The snow was still stained black where the ooze had seeped from Brigit’s side. Gabriel had called it ‘Life Force’. Maggie barely glanced at it as she moved to be by Brigit’s side.

Maggie reached out to peel back the sliced fabric of her shirt and was confused when she found it whole again. She softly smoothed the fabric, looking for even the slightest remnant of a tear, but the shirt was complete. Quickly, she began to yank the tail of it from where it had been tucked into Brigit’s black jeans. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons until, finally, she pulled the shirt open, exposing Brigit’s pale body to the cold air. Her eyes shot to the angry red line that had been the gaping wound inflicted by Seamus Flannery. Maggie traced it with her fingertip, uncaring that the heat emanating from it seared her gentle touch.

“Oh, Bree, what did I get you into?” Maggie moaned as she fought the urge to cry again. She couldn’t cry anymore. She had cried long enough. Brigit needed her to be brave right now – not a bubbling mess of hysterical confusion. “You know, I don’t know what’s worse,” she said with a sniff as she placed her hand flat against the soft flesh of Brigit’s stomach. It felt very real beneath her touch. She had missed the solid reminder of Brigit’s presence beside her. “I don’t know if it’s worse to feel you with me every night or to see you like this,” she whispered.

A cold breeze blew gently across the plateau, pushing Maggie’s hair back from her face. Maggie quickly glanced up and scanned the sky, remembering how visible the coming of the storm had been the night before. The sky was clear, though. There would be no storm anytime soon. The air was beginning to get colder, however. Soon, the sun would set and they would be left alone in the freezing darkness.

“I wish you could explain all this to me,” Maggie said out loud as she pulled the shirt back to cover Brigit’s body again. “I would believe you, Bree. I swear, I would.”

Resigned to the silence, Maggie sighed deeply and stretched out on the snow beside her lover. Brigit was radiating so much heat. Maggie wrapped her arms around Brigit and held her close without fear of being cold anymore.

“Mags,”

The call came as a moan at first, barely penetrating the sleep that had wrapped itself around Maggie.

“Mags, where are you?”

Finally, Maggie opened her eyes and turned to look at Brigit. Her dark eyes were open and staring wildly at the dusky sky above them. Maggie noticed an expression she had never seen before on Brigit’s face. It was an expression of absolute fear.

“MAGGIE!” Brigit called, almost in a scream.

“Bree, I’m here, I’m here, baby,” Maggie assured her lover quickly as she scrambled to sit up so that Brigit could see her face. “Bree, calm down,” she instructed as she began to stroke Brigit’s face. The look of terror fled her dark features under Maggie’s gentle touch.

“I can’t see you,” Brigit admitted quietly. Calm settled itself quickly on the wounded woman under her lover’s reassuring fingertips.

“It’s okay, Bree. Just stay calm. You’ve been hurt.”

“I know,” Brigit replied calmly. “I’m very sick because of it. I will be for awhile. Mags, listen to me. You have to leave this place. There’s a valley below us. There are two trees in the middle of it,” Brigit gulped hard. Her throat was dry with the burning of the infection inside her. “It’s the way out of this place,”

“Bree, I’m not leaving you,” Maggie interrupted.

“Mags, you have to,” Brigit insisted. “If you don’t, you could die.”

“I don’t care,” Maggie snapped. “I’m not leaving you here alone.” A quiet chuckle escaped Brigit. “What are you laughing at?” Maggie asked as she watched a weary smile come to her partner’s face.

“You. Even as a spirit, you’re so damned stubborn,” Brigit answered.

“I guess you would know,” Maggie snapped. “Look who’s still hanging around and getting themselves almost killed a second time because they’re so stubborn. What the hell, Brigit? Do you know anything about what I’ve gone through in the last two years? What are you doing? Lay still,” Maggie barked as Brigit began to struggle to sit up.

“I’m not going to face your temper lying down,” Brigit gasped as she pushed herself into a sitting position. When she was finally upright, she turned her fever blind eyes to where she had heard Maggie’s voice originating from. Maggie looked into Brigit’s eyes and swallowed hard. They were solid black all the way across. No white showed where it should have. Brigit was totally blind. Maggie was near being unnerved.

“Your eyes, do they hurt?” Maggie asked softly, hoping her concern didn’t alarm Brigit. Brigit shook her head.

“It’s temporary, Mags. Don’t worry. Once the infection leaves, I’ll be back to normal,” Brigit sighed.

She wasn’t sure of the truth of her words, but she uttered them all the same with the hope of keeping Maggie calm. She was suddenly very tired again. She didn’t want to go back to sleep though. The cavalry was coming. Her time with Maggie on this level of existence would be short. Carefully, she reached out, wanting to touch Maggie. Maggie caught her hand. Brigit smiled when she felt Maggie’s soft lips pressed against her palm.

“Mags, I know it’s been hard. I’ve watched you,” Brigit admitted, “but, I made a promise to you that we would be together for the rest of our lives. I promised to be there until the last breath. I intend to keep that promise any way possible,” Brigit’s voice was calm. Maggie searched her lover’s face. She could see the determination Brigit carried deep in her heart to fulfill that promise. “I love you, Mags.”

“Bree,” Maggie didn’t know what else to say beyond that.

“I’m tired,” Brigit announced after a few minutes of silence. “I’m sorry,” she apologized as Maggie wrapped her arms around Brigit’s shoulders and pulled her close. Maggie stroked her lover’s dark hair as she cradled her in her arms. The tears silently returned as she rocked Brigit gently against her. “I’m so sorry for everything, Mags,” Brigit whispered against her lover’s breast just before the darkness of sleep enveloped her once more.

35: The Cavalry Arrives

“Belinda, are you sure this is the way?” John asked as Belinda Yaris paused beside the pine tree and looked up the mountainside.

It had taken some time for the group to finally come together in the field. By then, the sun had set and John couldn't help but to harbor the hope that Brigit and Maggie would make it through the night. They had been walked through the dark for hours. Most of the trek had been spent in silence as they followed Belinda across the meadow.

Belinda had been dogged in her confidence that they were headed in the right direction. Now, as the first hints of dawn were breaking on the horizon, John saw that the young woman had led them up the side of a mountain. As he looked at the surrounding scenery, at the surrounding mountaintops, he wondered how Belinda could be so sure.

The last time she had seen Brigit, it had been in this place. She remembered seeing Brigit’s form steadily climbing the steep incline, the black samurai sword held firmly in one hand.

“Yes,” Belinda replied before continuing on in the same direction she had seen Brigit go.

John and Mama Dee exchanged looks of concern before setting off behind the young woman. Sola DuLach had already started walking again, determined to keep up with the raven-haired young woman that was guiding them up the mountainside. Jean-Pierre remained close to John and Cornelius Hager silently brought up the rear of the train.

“Who knew I would find so much adventure after dying,” Jean-Pierre joked quietly as he scanned the landscape all around them.

“Just wait, honey. It can be a lot more interesting than this,” Mama Dee called over her shoulder as she trudged ahead.

Jean-Pierre chuckled and took a blind step. The loose rock under his foot gave way suddenly. His gasp was cut short by the feel of a strong hand catching him by the arm. John Blackwick smiled gently as he helped the other man regain his footing. For a second, their eyes met.

“Merci,” Jean-Pierre offered quietly.

“Of course,” John replied, just as quietly.

“They’re here!”

John turned and looked up the steep mountainside. Belinda Yaris and Sola DuLach had reached the plateau. Both women, John realized, were determined to find their friends as quickly as possible. The exclamation from above spurred Mama Dee to quicken her own climb. Even Cornelius Hager seemed to take on an air of urgency as he rushed past the Grim Reaper and the Bailey.

Maggie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the voices coming from the edge of the snowy plateau. Quickly, she looked over her shoulder and gasped at the sight of Sola DuLach rushing toward her through the lavender light of dawn. Brigit groaned slightly against Maggie’s shoulder at the sudden movement. They had slept the whole night wrapped around one another for warmth. Carefully, Maggie rolled Brigit off her lap and struggled to stand. She was cramped from sleeping upright all night. Or, so she thought.

Maggie watched as more figures appeared at the edge of the plateau. Sola was leading the charge, followed closely by the raven-haired female Maggie remembered seeing just before Seamus Flannery had pulled her through the hole. Next, Maggie saw a face that made her heart skip a beat. Mama Dee was running toward her as quickly as her short, plump legs could carry her. The look of concern on the old woman’s face betrayed her worry for them. Next came three more faces. They were men that Maggie was sure she had never seen before.

“Maggie, are you okay?”

Maggie’s attention snapped back to the face of Sola DuLach. The other woman’s auburn hair burned copper in the rays of the emerging morning sun. Sola’s face was flushed with the exertion of the climb. Maggie wondered briefly how her friend had managed to come to this place where it seemed only spirits and angels could exist.

“Mama?” Maggie asked when the little old black lady rushed to her. They embraced and began to laugh as they held onto one another in relief. “Are you a Reaper too, Mama?” Maggie asked against the little old woman’s head.

“I sure am, baby” Mama Dee replied.

Maggie drew back just in time to see one of the men kneel beside Brigit. Serious concern burned through his ice blue eyes as he stared at her face. His attention fell to the snow that had been dyed black with the essence of her life force before Gabriel had closed the wound. Quickly, he pushed back the fabric of Brigit’s shirt, exposing her skin for all to see. Maggie was immediately enraged.

“Hey! Get your hands off her,” she barked as she attempted to move toward him. She was caught by Mama Dee and Sola at the same time. It was a restriction that caused her rage to burn all the more. The pale man in the black suit looked up from his inspection of Brigit’s wound and leveled an icy stare on her.

“I will not harm her,” he said quietly.

“Maggie, baby,” Mama Dee cut in. “This is Mr. Blackwick. He’s Brigit’s boss. He ain’t gonna hurt her,” Mama Dee explained. “He’s the Grim Reaper himself. He’ll take good care of her.”

“She’s right, Maggie. Mr. Blackwick can take care of Brigit. Let him do what he has to,” Sola added. Maggie looked at the sincere expression on each of her friends’ faces before looking back at the pale man kneeling beside Brigit.

“Who closed the wound?” John asked as he traced the angry red line that still burned brightly against Brigit’s pale flesh. The heat rising from it burned against his finger.

“A man named Gabriel,” Maggie offered. Her eyes didn’t leave the long finger that was touching her partner’s flesh. She couldn’t ignore the sense of protectiveness that still danced through her mind.

“Gabriel is no man, love,” John sighed with relief. Maggie turned and looked at Sola questioningly.

“Gabriel is an arch-angel,” Sola explained.

“Mama, I don’t understand any of this,” Maggie admitted as she turned quickly to look at her dear friend.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll explain as much as we can on the way down,” Mama Dee assured the younger woman. John had begun to instruct the others as to what they would do. Finally, he turned and approached Maggie.

“Miss Devon, I must ask you to please remove the coat,” he said almost apologetically.

At first, Maggie pulled it tighter around her as the tried to comprehend why he would make such a request. The coat was Brigit’s. It had kept her warm through the night, remaindering her of how it felt to be truly enveloped by her lover. John Blackwick’s solemn gaze suggested that he would not ask again, but that he would not back away from the request he had already made. Finally, Maggie nodded and slowly began to shrug out of Brigit’s coat. The cold morning air shocked the bare skin of her arms as she held it out to the Grim Reaper. With an air of reverent gratitude, he took it from her gently before turning away.

She watched as he paced the snow packed area until he found the black sheath to the samurai sword. Her eyes remained locked on him as he picked it up and returned to the spot where the sword itself lay resting in the snow near Brigit. Carefully, he slid the sheath over the blade before laying Brigit’s coat to cover it. He wrapped it gently in the black sequin and wool folds before rising to his feet again. Maggie remembered how the sword’s hilt had burned her finger tips the day before. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one that could feel its biting rejection. John Blackwick returned to her and passed the bundle to her.

“If you wouldn’t mind carrying it until we must part ways?” he requested.

Maggie could only nod again as she accepted the bundle into her arms. Maggie wanted to talk, but the words refused to rise from within her as she met John Blackwick’s ice blue eyes. Finally, he returned to the group gathered around Brigit’s body.

Cornelius Hager knelt in the snow and wrapped his boney hands around each of Brigit’s booted ankles. John Blackwick and Jean-Pierre grasped one another’s hands tightly under her back. Belinda Yaris knelt in the snow and gently cradled Brigit’s head in her hands. In a single fluid movement, the four rose in unison and lifted Brigit’s burning body out of the snow and onto their shoulders. Maggie felt a sob rising up from her gut at the sight of them bearing Brigit’s body slowly toward the edge of the snowy plateau. It looked like the funeral procession for a fallen hero. Maggie squeezed the bundle in her arms tight against her chest as Sola and Mama Dee gently ushered her in the procession’s wake.

As they carefully descended the mountainside, Mama Dee and Sola did their best to explain it all to Maggie. She listened in silence, her eyes never leaving the sight of Brigit’s body as it was carried by the other Reapers. The raven-haired girl, Maggie noticed, seemed the most intent at being gentle with Brigit. It was her shoulder that Brigit’s head rested on, after all. Maggie’s eyes continued to watch as Mama Dee and Sola gently talked on either side of her.

Once they were off the mountain, they began the slow trek through the green valley below. The two trees Brigit had told her about loomed in the near distance. Maggie could feel her stomach churning with anguish. Soon, it would all be over. Soon, she would not be able to see Brigit again. At last, the sob she had been struggling to control throughout the journey finally escaped her. Maggie stopped walking and doubled over as her painful anguish demanded to be let out.

“Maggie, what is it?” Mama Dee asked quickly as she stopped to look at her friend.

“Mama, I don’t want to leave her. I can't be without her anymore,” Maggie admitted between deep sobs. “I love her so much,” she wailed. Mama Dee sighed heavily and pulled the younger woman into her arms. Sola DuLach, she noticed, remained silent as she watched on.

“Maggie, baby, you can’t stay here,” Mama Dee said gently as she rubbed the crying woman’s back. “You’re still alive. Your time has not come yet,” she pointed out. Maggie’s heart was breaking all over again.

“I could stay,” Maggie argued. “I want to stay.”

“No, Maggie,” Mama Dee’s voice took on a stern tone. “Brigit wouldn’t want that. Not after all this. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve told you? You are not alone. Brigit is with you every night so that you won’t be alone. You are still alive. She wants you to keep on living. She’s not going to leave you, ever. She risked her soul to save yours. Don’t show her it was all for nothing,” Mama Dee scolded. “Brigit wants you to live, baby. Do it for her.”

“They’ve stopped,” Sola interjected softly. “It’s time to part ways.”

Maggie turned and looked ahead. The four Reapers carrying Brigit’s body stood patiently before the two trees. Maggie could see the mists that hang between the trunks of the towering giants. Once they entered that mist, she would not see Brigit again until her own last breath as a mortal came. They were waiting for Maggie. They were giving her the opportunity to say good-bye. It was the act she had been denied when Brigit had originally died.

Slowly, Maggie began walking toward them. Her arms were like iron bars around Brigit’s coat and the sword that was hidden inside it. Brigit had used the sword to save her and the coat had kept her warm through the night. These were precious treasures to her. She wanted to hold them as tightly as she had held Brigit through the night. Maggie came to stand beside the stoic figure of John Blackwick. Slowly, he turned his head and met her stare.

“The time has come, Maggie, I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Please pass the coat and sword to Mama Dee,” he instructed.

Obediently, Maggie turned and handed the bundle to her dear friend. When that was done, he nodded in indication that Maggie should say her good-byes. Maggie turned and approached the raven-haired girl that cradled Brigit’s head on her shoulder. For a moment, their eyes met. Maggie could see, in that brief moment, the feelings the young woman held for Brigit. They were feelings that Maggie respected and found gratitude in. They were feelings that were most likely muddled with guilt for not being able to stop Seamus Flannery from doing what he had done. Maggie found it within herself to forgive this girl. The fact that she had led the rescue party back to them spoke volumes to Maggie. This girl was truly Brigit’s friend.

“Please take good care of her,” Maggie requested quietly.

“I will, I swear,” Belinda replied as if she were uttering a solemn vow.

Maggie turned and gently pressed her lips over Brigit’s. Though it was the fever that caused Brigit’s flesh to burn, Maggie found some relief at the reminder of how warm her lover’s kisses had always felt. She squeezed her eyes tight to burn this memory into her brain.

“I love you, Bree,” she whispered close to Brigit’s ear. “I always will. I’ll be waiting to see you again,” she promised as the tears began to stream down her face once more. Although her cheeks felt dry, she could feel the pressure of their trail. Quickly, she brushed her eyes with the back of her hand as if she could erase that pressure all together.

Finally, Maggie stepped back and nodded at John Blackwick. She had said all that she needed to say. Solemnly, he returned her nod and the procession steadily advanced into the mists that hang between the two trees like a giant spider web. Mama Dee looked back as she followed a few paces behind. This scene broke her heart almost as much as the scene had the night Brigit had died. She prayed Maggie would come to understand everything she had told her and that she would know without a doubt that Brigit would keep her promise until the end.

“Are you ready to go?”

Maggie turned and faced Sola DuLach. The strange woman had a gentle, yet weary, smile on her face. What had she done to be able to come to this place? Maggie could only wonder.

“Will I remember all this when I wake up?” Maggie asked as she suddenly remembered a fact that Sola had revealed to her during their descent from the mountain. Her body was lying in a hospital bed in a comatose state.

“If you want to, Maggie, yes. If you need help, I’ll be there,” Sola promised. Maggie looked at the mists and sighed heavily. The Reapers were gone without a trace.

“Let’s get this over with,” she decided. Sola nodded in agreement.

“Take my hand and don’t let go,” the Blue Witch instructed. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

36: Burning

She was floating slowly. The river that carried her burned her body from head to toe. She could smell the scent of her flesh as it was scorched. The odor of her hair burning off her scalp filled her senses as she drifted along. This must be what hell feels like, Brigit thought as she struggled to open her eyes.

At one point during her drift along the river of lava, she had felt a momentary rush of cool air caress her body. She had sighed in relief before the heat returned to overcome her naked body again. She refused to scream, though. She had known the infection would be serious as soon as she had felt the ooze rushing out of the wound Seamus had cut into her side. She had not known, however, that it would burn so badly. It became her determination to endure it all in silence. Such was her stubborn pride…

How long had she been here in this burning river?

Brigit tried to count backward in her mind to the moment she had last heard Maggie’s voice so clearly. The journey to the burning river had already begun by then. Her eyes had already gone blind with the mounting heat as she approached its banks. She had assured Maggie the black blinders were temporary, that they didn’t hurt. She had tried to sound convincing despite the pain that pierced her brain through her eye sockets. Brigit knew that Maggie would have freaked out completely if she had known the truth.

The thought of Maggie briefly blocked out the flames that held her so firmly in their clutches. Their time together had been too short. There had been so much that Brigit had wanted to tell her lover; but there had only been enough time to apologize for everything. There had only been a few minutes allowed to remind her of the promise Brigit had made on their first anniversary. The only thing left after that had been Maggie’s heartbeat in her ear as Maggie had held her. Beyond that, Brigit could only remember her slow descent into the burning river. Had John Blackwick ever come to rescue them? Were they still sitting on the frozen plateau? Was Maggie okay? What had been carried as a whisper to her on the burning winds around her? Was it Maggie still talking to her? Brigit couldn’t make out the words.

It felt as if she had been floating for days. Occasionally, she could hear the whispers of other familiar voices carried on the searing winds that blew across her face. She wanted to call out, to ask them to find her and pull her out of the scorching waters that burned her skin. At one point, she could hear a song carried on the wind, a woman’s voice singing so gently. Brigit had strained to hear it despite the fact that she could not understand the woman’s words, nor recognize the voice. Brigit knew it wasn’t Maggie. Maggie couldn’t sing. This voice was beautiful. She wanted to follow it, but she was too weak to swim against the current that carried her away from it.

Finally, Brigit determined that it was probably for the best that she just let the flow take her where ever it wanted. She had no clue how much further it would be. She had no hope that she would be whole once she reached the end of it. The only thing she knew for certain was that, eventually, all rivers would reach the sea.

John Blackwick sighed heavily as he rubbed his eyes. He had not really left Brigit’s side since returning with her body to the office. If he did, it was only for a few minutes. The other Reapers had returned to their duties with a reverent silence. Mama Dee had taken over the responsibilities as head Reaper in the interim and Belinda Yaris had stepped into Mama Dee’s role as head of the children’s assignments. Jean-Pierre had begun his duties as the Bailey, making sure he returned to the main office to turn in the new files to be passed out the next morning. Everything was flowing smoothly, leaving John to focus his concern on his fallen assistant.

He had been touched by the sentiments he had heard Maggie Devon whisper to Brigit before they had parted ways. He had always been aware of Brigit’s burning love for Maggie, but it was overwhelming to see that it burned just as bright within Maggie as well. John had hoped, once upon a mortal moment, that he had possessed that kind of burning passion; but he had been wrong. Despite his error, he had never given up the hope that it really existed. He found a small measure of delight to see that it did, in fact, exist. His poet’s heart had been overjoyed.

“Tea, mon ami?”

John looked up and found Jean-Pierre standing in the doorway of the small office they had placed Brigit in to recover. Through the dim light, John could see the paper cup the beautiful man carried in his graceful hand.

“Please,” John finally replied. Jean-Pierre entered the room and passed him the cup. John could smell the bergamot bouquet of a strong Earl Grey. It wasn’t his favorite flavor, but he appreciated the thoughtfulness behind it. His ice blue eyes watched as Jean-Pierre stepped close to the bed Brigit lay on. He watched as the tall man’s azure eyes studied her face.

“She is a lucky woman, no?” Jean-Pierre remarked as he reached out and brushed a lock of her long black hair off her bare shoulder. He had assisted John in undressing her before they had put her on the small bed.

“How do you mean?” John asked as he swallowed the sip he had taken of the bitter tea.

“She is lucky to have someone that burns with such love for her,” Jean-Pierre explained quietly.

“Oh, that, yes, I agree. She is a lucky one,” John replied.

“Do you wish for such a love? For yourself, I mean?” the beautiful young man asked as he sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes did not leave Brigit’s face as he asked the question. John stared hard at the Bailey’s perfect profile.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he finally said. “I’ve been a spirit for so long and a Reaper for just as long. I suppose I’ve not given it any thought. And you? Do you wish for that kind of love, Jean?”

A slight smile flickered across the beautiful man’s face. John noted that his companion’s gaze remained focused on Brigit. He is hiding his thoughts, John thought. Otherwise, he’d look at me…

“Always,” he whispered. “A love that burns despite the bridge of death is a wish that has lain in my heart since the first day I discovered its delights. Now that I am dead, I find that wish is still in my heart. And, I find, that it is still coupled with the hope that there will be someone to share in that burning with me.” Jean-Pierre finally turned and leveled his azure blue eyes on John.

John Blackwick understood the meaning behind the gaze. He yearned to reach across the space between them and answer those words with a deep kiss; but this was neither the time, nor the setting he envisioned for that moment. Instead, he let a gentle smile place across his lips.

“Perhaps soon all your wishes will be granted,” he replied. Jean-Pierre returned the smile before standing. He paused to lay a gentle hand on John’s shoulder.

“I will keep an open heart,” he promised before striding out of the small room. John sighed heavily and returned his attention to Brigit’s sleeping face.

“Time is all we have, mon ami,” he whispered before taking another sip of the tea.

37: The Return of Maggie Devon

Maggie opened her eyes slowly, trying to focus her vision on her surroundings. She had ceased feeling the cold at some point, but her heart felt heavy – as if it had been broken all over again. The constant beep that pierced the silence brought her eyes to focus on the stack of machines beside the bed. Slowly, her vision cleared as she watched the lines on the screen reflect the rate of her pulse.

Her mind returned to the memory of Sola DuLach telling her she was in a hospital bed.

Sola had brought spirit Maggie to the main entrance of the hospital where she lay comatose somewhere inside. Maggie had suddenly found herself wanting to ask so many more questions, but Sola had gently assured her that there would be plenty of time to ask them after she woke up. Sola looked weary. She had traveled through the spirit world in her physical body. The trip had taken its toll on the petite woman. Maggie had to contain her gratitude as she followed Sola through the hospital halls to the room where her body lay. The mere ‘Thank you’ Maggie had expressed before laying down on the bed would never be enough…

A slight movement against the wall caught Maggie’s attention. Slowly, she rose up and looked at the sleeping form of Tom Bennett in the visitor’s chair. His head was propped against his fist and his body was bent in an extremely uncomfortable looking angle. His crew cut had grown out some and the goatee he had begun to grow had spread with the uneven stubble of a full on beard. A soft snore escaped him as he inhaled.

“Tom,” Maggie called softly.

No response came as her friend continued to sleep. Maggie glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was nearing midnight. Visiting hours were long over.

“Tom, wake up,” Maggie called again. This time it was a little louder. Another gentle snore was her only reply.

She looked to the bedside table. Someone had brought her gifts. A small bouquet of French lavender, a small stuffed dog with a heart around its neck… well wishes, she was sure, from her friends. Quickly, she snatched up the small stuffed animal and threw it across the room. It struck Tom Bennett straight in the face. The impact of it woke him immediately. His eyes opened wide and looked quickly around the room before settling on her smiling face.

“Oh, shit! Maggie, you’re awake,” he announced as he jumped out of the uncomfortable chair to rush to her side.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” she said calmly.

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Tom retorted as he gave her a massive hug. “How do you feel?” he asked as he squeezed her face against his broad chest.

“Like I can’t breathe,” she gasped before managing to push him away. The rush of air returning to her lungs was a welcomed sensation. “How long have I been here?” she asked.

“Five days,” Tom answered. “Oh crap, we need to call the doctor,” he suddenly realized.

“Tom, wait,”

It was too late. Tom Bennett had already dashed from the room, squealing with the news that Maggie Devon was awake. Maggie didn’t know whether to frown or burst out laughing at the sound of his high pitched announcement echoing back down the corridor from the nurse’s station. With a deep sigh, Maggie pushed back the blankets and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The tug of wires attached to her body reminded her that she was still being remotely monitored. She was about to begin removing the pads stuck to her skin when a flash of white in the doorway caught her attention. Maggie’s hand froze in mid-air as the doctor calmly entered the room with a smile playing on his face.

“Hello, Maggie,” he greeted as he neared the bed. The puffiness under the eyes behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses suggested he had been pulled from a much needed nap. “My name is Dr. Barclay. How are you feeling?” he asked as he pulled a stethoscope from the right pocket of his white doctor’s coat and put the earpieces around his neck.

“A little like a lab-rat at the moment. Can you take these off me?” Maggie asked, pointing at the various lines of wire attached to her body. Dr. Barclay smiled.

“Maybe, in a minute. We may still need to monitor you. Do you remember what happened?” he asked gently.

Maggie looked deep into his chocolate brown eyes. She remembered everything that had happened during the time up until Sola had helped her back into her body. She had the feeling, however, that if she revealed so much, she might end up in the psychiatric ward. Dr. Barclay didn’t appear to be a man that would believe in anything beyond what his five natural senses told him to be real.

“I fell off a ladder,” Maggie finally said. She cast a quick glance at Tom, who was watching on with a huge smile. “I must have hit my head on something.”

“You did,” the doctor confirmed. “It was a good thing your brother found you. You could have ended up much worse than you did.”

“My brother? I don’t have a brother,” Maggie arched an eyebrow in confusion before casting an accusatory glare at Tom. The burly man shrugged in apology and fished his cell phone from his jeans pocket. Quickly he began to dial numbers to further avoid the accusatory glare Maggie was casting in his direction.

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said quietly. “I couldn’t see the resemblance either,” he joked. “Follow my finger please,” he instructed as Tom could be overheard excitedly proclaiming the news of Maggie’s return to the waking world. At one point, he was relating so loudly that Dr. Barclay turned to face him. “Dude, take it outside, will you?”

“Sorry,” Tom apologized as he scurried from the room, the cell phone still firmly planted against his ear. He was calling everyone he could think of despite the hour. Maggie could only imagine the replies Tom was actually hearing once the recipient of the call realized the time.

“Now, where were we?” Dr. Barclay asked more of himself than Maggie.

“I think the ‘pull my finger’ test is next,” Maggie quipped. Dr. Barclay smiled as he set the earpieces of the stethoscope in his ears.

“It’s good to see your comedic skill weren’t harmed in the fall,” he retorted as he listened to her heartbeat.

“Stick around, I’m just getting warmed up,” Maggie assured him as she took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

38: Saved by a Ghost

Brigit inhaled deep as a cool breeze blew across her face. Her body still burned. She was still adrift on the river of fire. She had lost track of all time by now. It felt as if she had been floating for years. The hope that eventually the river would lead to a cool sea was beginning to smolder into ash in her mind.

“Do ye want out?”

Brigit’s head whipped painfully to face the sound of the familiar voice so close to her ear. The black blinders over her eyes had melted some over the past couple of days. Though her vision was not clear, she could make out shapes and hazy colors. Through the opaque veils on her eyes, she could make out the shock of red hair that loomed over her face.

“Seamus,” she groaned. The word rumbling through her dry throat scraped and burned like the sharp edge of hot glass.

“Aye, lass, ‘tis me,” the voice assured her. She could hear the amusement dancing in his voice. “I’ll bet ye thought me gone forever, aye?”

“You are gone forever,” Brigit replied dryly.

“Into Limbo, aye; but part of me remains. Right here,” he gently tapped the scarred flesh on her forehead. Brigit winced from the slight sting where he had touched her. “In there, I’ll always remain. I’m just a ghost in yer memory now, lass. For better or worse, I’m a part of ye forever,” he chuckled.

“What do you want?” Brigit asked as she licked her lips. She could feel the deep and dry crevices where they had split open from the heat.

“To redeem me self, I suppose ye could say,” Seamus sighed. “I can help ye through this,” he offered. “Ye just need to tell me ye’ve had enough.”

“Of you? That moment passed ages ago,” Brigit responded sarcastically.

“I suppose it did,” he agreed, “But will ye keep on being so stubborn? Believe me, lass, this fire don’t let go easy. It’ll get worse before it gets better,” he warned. “Ye can stay there, playin’ the eternal martyr or ye can take me hand and start on yer way back. Makes no difference one way or the other to me,” he said evenly.

“Why should I trust you?” Brigit asked as she struggled to focus her vision on the face of the ghost walking calmly on the shore beside her. She could make out his form and the fire of his red hair; but the details of him were shielded by the opaque veils across her eyes. She couldn’t see the expression on his face. She couldn’t see his eyes. His eyes would have told her the truth of his intentions. Brigit could feel her frustration mounting.

“That’s your choice, lass,” Seamus mused out loud. “Any reason I could give ye, ye probably wouldn’t believe anyway. This existence, this life as a ghost – as a Reaper – it was a choice ye made with no reason other than what yer heart told ye to do. Maybe ye should listen to yer heart again, or maybe ye should just pay attention to what yer going through. Like I said, this will all get worse before it gets better. Can ye keep from losing yer mind? Trust me, every sane thought ye’ve ever had will melt away by the time yer through. The heat will burn away any ounce of logic ye might have left in ye,” he explained. “I should know.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” Brigit asked.

“No, lass. I’m just telling ye what will happen if ye keep with yer stubborn pride. Just look at what happened to me,” Seamus answered. “I was only acting crazy before me illness. Afterwards, well…” he clicked his tongue as if he were admonishing his own behavior after his bout with the infection. “There was no acting involved. I was friggin’ insane to be sure.”

Brigit closed her eyes and thought about what he had said. She had a choice to make. She could take the chance and trust him – or she could continue to burn. Slowly, painfully, Brigit lifted her hand from the molten water. She could feel the hot rivulets snaking down her arm as she waited to feel his hand against hers. She held her breath with the hope that she had not misplaced her trust.

“Seamus, please,” she pleaded painfully.

“That’s all ye needed to say, lass,” she heard him say with a light chuckle.

With a sharp and painful yank, Brigit felt her entire body pulled free from the burning river. The sharp inhale of the dry air sliced her throat and lungs as she felt Seamus’ hands lift her onto the bank. The air was hot against her naked skin, but not as hot as the river had been. The difference gave Brigit a brief moment of respite. The searing of her skin began to ebb as he lowered her onto the hot sand of the bank. Once she caught her breath, Brigit turned her blurry sight to the kneeling shadow beside her.

“What now?” she whispered.

“You’re on yer own now, lass,” Seamus said quietly. “Once ye’ve got yer strength, start walking back up river. Eventually, ye’ll return to yerself. Ye’ll be back to yerself in no time once ye awake,” he predicted as he stood.

“What about you?” she called. Though she could not see him clearly, she could tell that he was walking away.

“I’ll be around,” he called over his shoulder. “When ye least expect it, I’ll be around.”

Brigit listened to his voice. She did not hear any malicious undertone in his words. He was a ghost in her memory now, that was all. She would never forget the evil he had borne during his existence as a mortal and as a Reaper. At the same time, she would never forget the act of kindness he had just shown her. He had answered a question she remembered asking him before she had destroyed him. He had not left her behind when she needed help the most. Seamus Flannery, now nothing more than a ghost in her memory, had redeemed himself.

39: Coffee

Belinda let the last low note hang on her breath. She had been singing gently. It was a soothing song whose words seemed to come from some memory she had never known. She didn’t know what the words meant as they rolled off her tongue. Once they were loose in the air of the small room where Brigit had been placed, Belinda seemed to forget them.

Silence settled around her shoulders like a warm blanket as she gazed on her mentor’s sleeping face. Belinda had grown accustomed to the dark woman’s silence during their journey on the mountain. Though Brigit had sent her away in a sudden show of kindness, Belinda couldn’t help but to liken this silence to the silence she had endured before that moment. The only difference now was that Brigit was unaware of its effect on her protégé. It didn’t matter, though. Belinda had made a promise to Maggie to take good care of Brigit. She intended to honor that promise despite the agonizing silence between them.

“How much longer, Brigit?” Belinda sighed as she leaned back in the chair beside the small bed. “How much longer before you wake up?”

They had been taking turns keeping vigil for a week. John sat with her most of the time, his ice blue eyes revealing the concern he carried for his assistant. Mama Dee would sit with her when John became restless with his thoughts. She would retell her side of the memories she shared with Brigit. When the old woman grew weary of wading through the memories, Belinda would take a turn at her mentor’s side. All she could think to do was sing. So she opened her mind to hear the words she had never spoken before and opened her mouth to let them out with the hope that it would help Brigit find her way back.

Belinda let her blue eyes roam around the dimly lit room where they had laid Brigit. It was bare except for the bed and the chair. It was also much smaller than the other rooms of the building. She wondered momentarily if John had opened a broom closet and decided it would do. Slowly, Belinda closed her eyes and leaned her head against her fist. Her throat felt dry, but it would still be awhile before John returned to resume his watch. In the mean time, she decided, it wouldn’t hurt to rest herself for a moment.

“A watched pot never boils,” she mumbled quietly.

“Coffee,”

Belinda’s eyes shot open at the dry croak that suddenly filled the room. Her head whipped to the right to look at Brigit. An audible gasp escaped her when she saw that Brigit’s dark eyes were open and staring at her through the dim light.

“Brigit! Oh my… are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Belinda gushed as she leaned forward.

“I need coffee,” Brigit croaked clearly. Belinda searched the other woman’s eyes. A light grey film still covered them, but Belinda knew for sure that Brigit was definitely looking at her.

“Right. I can do that,” Belinda proclaimed as she jumped up. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” she promised as she dashed from the room.

Brigit listened as Belinda ran down the long hall to the office’s main entrance. By the echo of the Goth girl’s heavy black combat boots running across the wood floor, Brigit knew for sure they had brought her back to the office to recover. Through the thin film still covering her sight, she guessed they had finally given her a space of her own. The blurred walls were unfamiliar to her as she scanned the small room.

She had followed Seamus Flannery’s instructions. Once she had regained some of her strength, Brigit had arisen from the hot sand of the bank beside the river of fire and slowly trudged her way upstream. Her scarred body had seared with the pain of a million needles pricking her flesh with every step. Eventually, either the pain began to subside or she had finally grown numb. Brigit was unsure. When her bare feet no longer blistered in the hot sand or sliced open on sharp rock, she knew she was getting close to her destination. Though the veils over her eyes took their time in thinning, she could tell when she had finally arrived to a greener place. The air had cooled considerably, kissing her burnt flesh with a healing touch. Then, she had clearly heard the song that drifted softly to her ears. It had been that song that had led her the final distance back to herself.

Cautiously, Brigit pushed herself up into a sitting position. She felt a slight streak of pain race between her ribs with the movement. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the place where Seamus had sliced her open. The skin was cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. Her clothes, she suddenly realized, had been removed. She was naked save for the light blanket that had been placed over her. A wry smile came to her face.

“I wonder who had that honor,” she mused out loud as she slowly rose from the bed.

Hands outstretched, she felt along the wall to her immediate left. She stumbled slightly when she bumped against the chair Belinda had vacated. A quiet curse flew from her mouth as she recovered her balance and continued to explore the small room. Finally, Brigit found herself back at the bed, her feet wrapped in the mound of her clothes that someone had dumped on the floor.

“You could have at least folded them,” she grumbled to no one in particular as she stooped to pick them up. “Nothing but a bunch of heathens around this place, I swear,” she continued as she proceeded to turn her shirt right side out before sliding it on.

Belinda raced all the way to the Bleecker Street Café. Brigit was awake! She had asked for coffee! The young woman laughed with pure delight as she ran. Brigit had awakened on her watch. She had uttered her needs to her, Belinda Yaris. Life couldn’t be any sweeter than it was at that moment.

She burst through the door of the café like a rampaging bull set loose in a china shop. Conversations ceased and drinks were spewed with the surprise of her entrance. Even John Blackwick sloshed his tea with the explosion Belinda’s entrance had created.

“Coffee!” Belinda yelled as she rushed across the room. “She wants coffee!” she proclaimed with delight. John Blackwick leveled his ice blue eyes on the young woman. Belinda ignored him as she danced from foot to foot with ecstatic impatience as Giuseppe turned to prepare her demand.

“Belinda, what has come over you? Why aren’t you sitting with Brigit?” the Grim Reaper inquired as he studied the look of pure joy on the Goth girl’s pale face as she jigged gleefully beside him.

“She’s awake and she wants coffee!” Belinda gushed. “Better make two, Giuseppe. She’s gone almost two weeks without it. She’s gonna be cranky if she doesn’t fill the reserves,” Belinda declared.

“Brigit’s awake? When?” John asked as he finally realized what the young woman had just said. He jumped up from his stool and smiled. Belinda’s giddiness was contagious.

“Just a few minutes ago and she wants coffee!” Belinda repeated with a laugh as John turned and ran from the café.

Giuseppe set the two cups on the counter and watched as Belinda swiped them up and left as quickly as she had come in. The big Italian merely sighed and shook his head. Things had certainly taken on a new life since the change in command of Reapers, Inc. Some days, Giuseppe wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all.

The two Reapers raced all the way back to 666 ½ Bleecker Street. John couldn’t help but to join Belinda in whooping and laughing as they ran. Never before had he been so delighted over an injured Reaper’s recovery. Never before had John Blackwick held another Reaper with as much adoration as he did Brigit Malone.

Brigit had finally managed to pull her second boot on when the sound of running feet coming down the hall reached her ears. She looked up in time to see the two forms try to enter the thin doorway at the same time and manage to get stuck there shoulder to shoulder. She suppressed a chuckle as she watched the shadows struggle to push themselves through the opening at the same time. After much grunting and wiggling, she could finally make out their identities as they fell into the room, finally free of each other. The unmistakable scent of Giuseppe’s brew reached her nose and Brigit felt her mouth begin to water. Belinda had returned with John Blackwick in tow and a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Where’s the fire?” she finally asked as she outstretched a hand to receive the paper cup Belinda bore. She was grateful to feel the warmth of the cup against her palm as Belinda gently passed it to her.

“How do you feel?” John asked quietly. Brigit arched a dark eyebrow. She had never heard excitement in the Grim Reaper’s voice. She wondered briefly if her ears were playing tricks on her.

“I feel like I’ve been run over at least three times,” she replied before raising the paper cup carefully to her lips. She took a slow sip, relishing the taste of the creamy sweet nectar only Giuseppe could produce. “How long have I been gone?” she asked once the warm liquid made its way through her.

“Over a week now, I would guess,” John offered. Brigit looked up at him. Through the film over her vision, she could make out that he was smiling broadly back at her.

“Will you stop smiling like that? You’re creeping me out.”

“Sorry, love. I’m just relieved to finally see you awake,” John apologized. “What can you tell me? What do you remember?” he asked.

Brigit lifted the coffee cup to her lips again. She drank slowly as she pondered John’s question. She could remember everything down to the tiniest detail until the moment her infection had pushed her into the burning river. Yet, Belinda was still in the room. She didn’t want the young woman to hear the tale she had to tell.

“Were you able to find the Bailey?” she asked instead. It was an obvious avoidance of John’s question and she was sure he knew it. A light laugh escaped the Grim Reaper as he nodded. “Why are you laughing?”

“I found him, all right,” John replied as his laughter gained momentum. The memory of his day hunting the Bailey immediately returned to his mind’s eye. The particular spectacle of finally coming up on the sleeping Bailey was what pushed him near the edge of hilarity. “He was sunbathing in the nude in the south of France,” John revealed between gasps. Brigit raised both eyebrows in amusement. She had never heard him laugh so hard.

“What’s so funny about that?” she inquired as the image of the nude Bailey began to appear in her imagination. The vision that formed in her mind was not a pretty sight in the least.

“It was raining,” John roared with laughter.

The memory of it began to replay itself and sent him completely into a fit of hysterical laughter that wrapped around Brigit and Belinda and squeezed gently until they were laughing as well. When they were finally able to catch their breaths, John set his gaze gently on Belinda Yaris. He had immediately recognized the reason as to why Brigit had not answered his request for the details of her memory. She had sent Belinda away before in order to spare her the details of the end of Seamus Flannery. He was sure it was what Brigit wanted to do now as well.

“Belinda, you might want to go,” he suggested gently.

“No, I want to stay,” Belinda responded. “Brigit, I want to hear it,” she said firmly. “Please don’t send me away again.”

Brigit turned her head to face the solid shadow she knew to be Belinda. She could only imagine the emotions running through the young woman’s bright blue eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch her friend’s shoulder in silent apology; but Brigit kept still. There would be a proper time and place for apologies and the seeking of forgiveness.

“I brought you coffee,” Belinda reminded firmly. The statement revealed the fear and frustration the young woman was feeling at the possibility of being sent away again – as if she were a child not old enough to understand what the grown ups were talking about. “I even brought you a second cup,” she added.

“All right, Belinda,” Brigit sighed. The bribe had worked. “You can stay.”

40: Lunch

Maggie glanced at her watch for the tenth time since arriving at the small café on the corner of Houston and Broadway. Sola had suggested they meet at one in the afternoon for the lunch Maggie had promised before all the hullabaloo had erupted; but Sola was late. Maggie had ordered water to sip on, but as she looked around her at the tables of the other patrons, she was beginning to develop a craving for wine. Her waiter was approaching the table again. Maggie quickly made up her mind.

“Are you ready to order yet?” he asked with a patient smile.

“I’m still waiting for my friend, but, I would like a glass of red wine,” she admitted.

“Of course. Would you prefer a cabernet or a merlot?” he inquired.

“A merlot sounds wonderful,” Maggie decided.

“Bring the whole bottle,”

Maggie looked up and smiled at the sight of Sola DuLach standing behind the waiter. Though the other woman was smiling, Maggie could see the harried look in her eyes. Sola’s tardiness had not been intentional.

“Yes ma’am,” the waiter replied before zipping away to fill their request.

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Sola apologized as she occupied the empty seat at the small table. “We had a mishap at the temple and I was unable to leave until we could set everything right again.”

“Do I want to know?” Maggie asked with a smile. Sola shook her head.

“Let’s just say that we had a novice who decided to play with something much bigger than she is and it got loose.”

“Oh my,” Maggie moaned. “And I thought first graders could be a wooly bunch,” she laughed.

“She is a first grader!” Sola laughed as well.

“Ladies, your wine,” the waiter announced as he returned. “Allow me to describe this particular bottle for you,” he began. Maggie held up a hand and stopped his rehearsed speech.

“Is it a merlot?” she asked.

“Yes,” the young man replied. He was startled by the interruption. It wasn’t part of the script.

“Does it contain alcohol?” Maggie persisted.

“Uh, yes,”

“Then pour it,” she instructed. The young man audibly swallowed hard.

“Certainly, ma’am. Right away,” he replied as he tipped the bottle and proceeded to fill their glasses. “Are you ready to order?” he asked cautiously.

“I’ll have the house salad with vinaigrette dressing,” Maggie answered. Sola smiled.

“Make that two,” she added.

She studied Maggie quietly for a moment. There was a difference about her that made Sola curious. It was as if the grey shawl of grief was finally beginning to fall away from her shoulders. Maggie was very close to being the woman she had once been before Brigit’s passing.

“So,” Sola began as she reached for the deep red wine. “How’s life since you’ve been awake?”

“Actually, it’s been great,” Maggie mused before picking up her own glass and taking a sip of the merlot. “I feel,” she paused as she began grasping around her brain for the right word, “alive again.”

Sola listened intently as Maggie recounted the ordeal of convincing the doctor that she was well enough to leave the hospital and then the wrangling with Tom Bennett over the fact that she wanted to go home to sleep in her own bed. He had thought he could win the argument by including William, but even William knew when to stop pressing the point. Sola understood how disturbing Maggie had found it to be when she had fallen asleep that first night and not felt Brigit’s invisible presence beside her as she had hoped she would now that she knew Brigit was still with her. Brigit had been seriously injured and, as Sola understood it, she would be seriously ill from the infection that would result from that wound. The Reapers had taken her back to their stronghold to care for her. Until she recovered, it would be some time before Brigit would be coming back each night to watch over her lover as she slept.

Sola watched intently as Maggie’s features danced with the fires of life. Brigit wanted her to go on with life. Mama Dee had urgently pressed that point on Maggie during the final minutes of their time with the Reapers. She could see that Maggie Devon had taken it to heart. Sola could see that Maggie was allowing the sun to shine on her soul again. It was a pleasure to see her friend so animated again.

“So, in the end of it all,” Maggie began as she speared a leaf of lettuce and a cucumber at the same time with her fork.

The waiter had returned bearing their salads with a reverent silence during the middle of Maggie’s tale. Sola had found it somewhat amusing.

“I need to tell you how grateful I am to you. I don’t think I would have made it back without you. Correction, I know I couldn't have made it without you.”

Maggie leveled her brown eyes on Sola as her expression of gratitude reached across the table. Sola smiled humbly and picked up her wine glass again.

“What are friends for if they can’t lift your spirit?” she asked before taking a sip.

“I hope I can return the favor someday,” Maggie said as she picked up the wine bottle and refilled their glasses generously.

41: Things Returned

Two more days passed before Brigit could see clearly again. She had first noticed the sudden keenness of her vision when she had looked up from the files she had been struggling to read and laid eyes on the angelic face of Jean-Pierre Marchande. His face was flawless, she thought. He was perhaps the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Ah, mon cher! The rumors are true! You have awakened!” he praised as he stepped around the side of the desk and stooped to plant a quick kiss on Brigit’s nearest cheek. “I feel like I have been waiting a hundred years to finally meet you,” he gushed with a broad smile.

Brigit remained silent as she struggled to recover from the surprise of his greeting. She had been hearing his voice for two days. It was nice to finally put a face with it.

“Have you seen John?” Jean-Pierre asked as he deposited new files on the corner of the large mahogany desk and leveled his azure blue eyes on Brigit. It seemed to her that Jean-Pierre had caught on to his job’s description quickly. The pile of new files was thick.

“He’s gone out to check in with another office. He said he would return this evening,” Brigit offered as she looked the new Bailey over. He seemed to exude a flair she would never have thought appropriate for the office of the Bailey; but, when she considered the past examples to compare to Jean-Pierre, Brigit realized that the flair was good. The bar had been set higher. Jean-Pierre was the new example to follow in the office of the Bailey.

“Oh, c’est bon,” Jean-Pierre sighed. “I had hoped he would remember our plans.”

“Your ‘plans’?” Brigit asked before she could stop herself. She did not mean to pry.

“Oui,” Jean-Pierre replied. “We have a coffee-date,” he explained with a slight flush rising in his alabaster cheeks.

“I see,” Brigit replied slowly.

She recognized that particular hue of rosiness in the tall man’s cheeks. She wondered if John Blackwick flushed the same way. Her eyesight had returned just in time to witness the first blooms of love – or lust – she wasn’t sure. A slight smile spread across her lips. While things were beginning to return to some sense of normalcy, other things around Reapers, Incorporated would obviously never be the same.

As the thought of things returning passed through her mind, another thought trailed closely behind it. She had made a promise before leaving the office to deal with Seamus Flannery. There was something she had to return. Stiffly, Brigit rose from behind the desk and started for the overly-small room where she had returned to this plane of existence.

“Where are you going?” Jean-Pierre asked when Brigit emerged from the small room with her black coat bundled in her arms.

“I have an errand to run before I call it a night,” she explained gently. “Please tell John not to worry about the assignments. I’ll take care of them in the morning when I return,” she promised.

“You will be gone all night? Are you well enough?” the tall man asked. She could hear the concern in his voice as he watched her walk slowly toward the door. He knew what was hidden within the swaddling of her black coat.

“I will be soon enough, Jean-Pierre,” she assured him. “Enjoy your date.”

Brigit left the office before he could protest further. Slowly, she walked the length of the hall and came to a pause just outside Belinda Yaris’ office. Brigit looked inside and found Belinda dutifully at task.

Belinda had remained to hear the details of Seamus Flannery’s last stand. Though the young woman had kept silent through the tale, Brigit had felt the weight of her young friend’s grief as it had sank in on her. Brigit had been sure at one point that, if she could have seen Belinda without the haze that covered her eyes, she would have seen real, wet tears. After the tale was told, Belinda had simply stood and exited the small room without another word. Now, Belinda was looking at Brigit, her bright blue eyes blinking with curiosity.

“What’s up, Brigit?” she asked finally. Her voice lacked the excitement she usually had at the sight of Brigit in the doorway. Things had changed between them. Brigit could not escape that feeling. She hoped, however, that it was a temporary change.

“I was, uh,” Brigit searched her mind quickly for a believable answer, “was wondering if I could borrow your Field Guide? I seem to have lost mine,” she finally said.

“Oh, sure,” Belinda said as she opened the desk drawer. She retrieved the small square book and passed it to Brigit. “Are you going on assignment?”

“No, not yet,” Brigit smiled. “I have to return something to a friend,” she explained as she nodded toward the bundle in her arms. Belinda nodded in solemn understanding. She knew what Brigit carried inside the coat. Brigit turned to exit the small office, but she stopped and the door and turned around to face the young woman again. “Belinda?”

Belinda looked up from her work again.

“Yes?”

“Are you – we – you, okay?” Brigit inquired. Belinda eyed her silently for a few seconds before she replied.

“We will be, Brigit,” the Goth girl assured her gently. “Now, get going before John comes back and see you. He’ll put you to work if he thinks you’re well enough,” she joked lightly.

“Thank you, Belinda,” Brigit said quietly before finally leaving the office. She paused at the main entrance and opened The Reaper’s Field Guide to the last page. It was blank, as usual. “Where is Yoshiro Takamoto?”

Before a second had fully passed, the sword master’s location was revealed. Brigit shielded her eyes as she stepped into the burning light that would carry her to him.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the light of the paper lanterns lining the path alongside the long building that was covered peacefully in the settling shadows of dusk. Over her head, Brigit heard the gentle whisper of the breeze through the white and pink cherry blossoms. It was a soothing sound as she stood still and listened. Blossoms that had fallen from their limbs lined the pebbled path before her. Their softness cushioned the sound of her footfall as she walked along the pathway. Brigit strained her ears for any sound of activity inside the long building. All was silent, however. The satellite office was peaceful and harmonious.

Brigit continued her approach along the path, her eyes searching the shadowed building for an entrance. Though her sight had returned, she was unable to make out the slightest sign of a doorway. Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind a tree to her left. Brigit took a step back; her sword hand instinctively flying into the folds of the coat bundled in her arms. The touch of the hilt stung her hand, but she held on, determined to defend herself against the shadow that approached her.

“I come in peace,” Brigit said softly. The shadow stopped in its approach.

“Who are you?” the voice that carried through the darkness was soft, just barely above a whisper. Yet, Brigit could tell that it was definitely female.

“Brigit Malone, assistant to John Blackwick,” Brigit answered just as softly. She had the sense that speaking any louder would send the peaceful energy surrounding her into chaos. “I am looking for Yoshiro Takamoto,” she explained.

“I will take you to him” the voice in the shadows said. “Follow me, please,” she requested as she stepped from the cover of the shadows and into the faint glow of the ethereal light cast by the nearest paper lantern.

The young woman was short, maybe four feet tall at best, but a quiet confidence emanated from her. Her thin frame disguised the power that coursed through her spirit. Brigit knew at once that the small woman was quite capable of kicking her ass if she had anything other than peaceful intentions.

“What is your name?” Brigit asked as she fell in beside the young woman.

“My father called me ‘Katuri’. My mother called me ‘Buttercup’. I answer to either,” the young woman replied with a slight shrug as they walked along the blossom covered path. “Here,” Katuri-Buttercup indicated with a slight wave of her hand and stopped.

They had come around the corner of the long building; but Brigit only saw another wall. Katuri-Buttercup went to the wall and placed her hand lightly against it. With the slightest of effort, she slid the wall to the right, revealing that it was not a wall at all, but rather, a panel.

“Come,” Brigit’s guide directed gently.

Silent, Brigit followed her guide into the building. There was more light here. She allowed her eyes to roam as she followed Katuri-Buttercup across the bamboo floor along the main hall. The walls that formed the hall were made of rice-paper screens on either side of her. Beautifully carved dragons emerged from the ceiling above them. Like the gargoyles that lined the ceiling of the main hall of her own office, these dragons were protectors.

Yoshiro Takamoto was sitting in meditation behind a low writing desk on the floor. Katuri-Buttercup waved Brigit into the office before turning and silently leaving. Brigit turned to watch the young woman depart. There was something about her that held the dark woman’s attention until she was out of sight. Brigit couldn’t seem to put her finger on what element it was about Katuri-Buttercup that kept her watching.

“You have recovered,”

Brigit’s attention quickly returned to the large office she had been led to. Yoshiro Takamoto had returned to awareness and was now silently studying her.

“I have,” Brigit confirmed. “I have come to return something to you,” she explained as she stiffly knelt on the floor before him.

Carefully, she laid her coat on the writing table between them before gently pulling the folds of it back to reveal the long, black samurai sword. She extended her hand to pick it up, but the sudden memory of how it had burned against her palm a few minutes before returned. Brigit paused in mid-air.

“My purpose to hold it has been fulfilled. Only you can touch it now,” she explained.

“Did it serve you well?” Yoshiro Takamoto inquired as he reached out and gently lifted the long, black sword from Brigit’s coat.

“Yes,”

“I am pleased,” he announced as he laid the sword across his lap. His dark eyes studied Brigit again as she pulled her coat on and buttoned it. Stiffly, she rose from her knees before bowing low at the waist in a show of gratitude to her new friend.

“Thank you, Yoshiro,” she said gently. “If you ever have need,”

“I will call for you,” the sword master promised. For the first time since their meeting, Brigit saw a gentle wave ripple over the man’s normally emotionless face. He was smiling.

With that, Brigit turned and made her way back toward the entrance of the long building. She had one more stop to make before finally making her way home to Maggie.

42: The Priestess

Brigit was calm as she stood on the opposite sidewalk and studied the façade of the building across the street. It had been dark when she had left Yoshiro Takamoto in Japan. Now as she stood on the sidewalk back in the city she had called ‘home’, the afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent toward its own twilight. The shadows that precede dusk were creeping ever so slightly down the twin serpents coiled around the stone columns framed the broad wooden door that marked the entrance to the temple. Brigit’s dark eyes settled on the crescent moon that had been carved between their heads. Its symbology was lost on her, yet, she had been brought to this place by the burning bright light of the portal when she had given the direction to find Sola DuLach.

The main room of the temple was empty when she entered. Brigit slowly scanned the large room as she acknowledged the energy that extended from the intricate carvings along the walls around her. The building was alive with a power that she had never felt before. This must be what Divine power feels like, Brigit mused as she slowly walked down the main aisle toward the dais at the head of the room. She felt the energy shifting easily around her as she moved. It was as if she were wading through gentle waters…

A shape on the altar held Brigit’s attention. The top of it was hidden beneath a blue cloth, but her eyes were focused on the gleam of silver protruding from under it. Slowly, Brigit removed the blue cloth and looked at the large chalice that had been hidden beneath the fabric. Entwined dragons had been etched into the silver bowl. As with the dragons on the columns outside, a crescent moon lay between their heads. Crystal clear water rested in the large bowl. Brigit stared at it for a few minutes, wondering what its purpose could be.

“Do you see anything interesting, Brigit?”

Brigit turned quickly to find Sola DuLach standing behind her. There was a calm look on the other woman’s face as she watched the female Reaper that had once been a mere acquaintance during her life.

“You can see me?” Brigit asked.

“I can see many things,” Sola revealed. “I see that you’ve recovered from your injury. I’m happy about that,”

“How do you know about that?” Brigit asked.

“I was with the Reapers when they carried you off the mountain. I brought Maggie’s spirit back to her body. Why are you here?” Sola asked in return.

“Well, I had come to see you about the spell you cast across Maggie’s door. I was hoping you have removed it because I’d like to go home tonight,” Brigit revealed. “But now, I think I have more questions than just that.”

“Would you mind re-covering the chalice?” Sola requested with a smile.

“Oh, sure, sorry,” she apologized as she gently lifted the blue cloth back to its resting place. “I was having a raccoon moment now that my vision is back,” she laughed.

“You lost your sight?” Sola inquired as she motioned for Brigit to join her for a seat on a wooden pew before the dais.

“It was a side effect of the infection. It cleared up just this morning,” Brigit explained. “Why are you not surprised to see me like this?” she asked as she sat beside the other woman.

“When you were alive, Brigit, I never told you or Maggie about what I really do. I am a priestess of Avalon. I have the great fortune of possessing capabilities to walk in both the mortal and immortal worlds. Our offices, from what I have recently been told, sometimes work together to maintain the cycles of life and death.”

“Our offices?” Brigit appeared confused.

“Reapers, Incorporated has occasionally sought assistance from Avalon. As a priestess, I am the contact for your office here in the city. In fact, it was your boss that took me to the mountain to assist with Maggie. I probably could have found her on my own, but Mr. Blackwick's way was much faster,” Sola explained.

“How is Maggie?” Brigit couldn’t help but to ask.

The last clear image she had of her lover was as a huddled, shivering form with such hope and fear in her dark brown eyes.

“She’s fine, Brigit, completely healthy. She has a million questions, but she’s fine. There is so much suddenly in her lap to try to wrap her brain around. And, she is aware that you are still around and what you do.”

“Does she know why?” Brigit asked as she heard the whisper of memory beginning to replay in her mind of those few moments of lucidity on the mountain when she had reminded Maggie of her promise to her.

“She does,” Sola replied. “I don’t think she will find your presence to be such a double edged sword anymore,” the woman predicted. “She’s a lucky woman to have someone that loves her as much as you do.”

Brigit let her companion’s words sink in on her. Luck had nothing to do with the fact that she loved Maggie Devon as much as she did. Fate was more like it. That love had been present from the first moment Brigit had seen Maggie. If luck had been involved, it was only in the fact that they had met when they did rather than waiting their whole lives to find one another.

“I hope that you will find someone who loves you as much, Sola,” Brigit wished out loud.

“If it is meant to be, I will,” Sola shrugged with a smile. She appreciated Brigit’s hope for her.

“May I ask for a favor?” Brigit asked as she stood.

“Name it,”

“Keep an eye on Mags for me? She needs you,” Brigit requested quietly.

“Of course,” Sola promised. “Now, go home. Maggie misses you.”

“The spell?”

“It should have faded by now,” Sola assured her. “It was meant as a temporary protection until I could figure out what else to do.” Brigit caught a slight note of admitted failure in the explanation.

“You did your best, Sola. That’s good enough for me.”

The two women exchanged smiles before Brigit turned to exit the main room of the temple. As she reached for the door, a sudden thought occurred to her. Quickly, she turned to look at Sola.

“If I should need you,” she began.

“I’m always here,” Sola cut in. Brigit nodded and proceeded to exit the temple. It was a relief to know that she had an ally in the mortal world. That would come in handy in the future, she was sure.

43: Home, Finally

Maggie pushed into the apartment while trying to balance the weight of her school bag and the dry cleaning in her arms. She was returning home later than usual as she had made the out of the way trip to pick up the clothes she had taken to Mrs. Al for cleaning. Brigit had used Mr. Al's Cleaning and More for years. Maggie had been sure they would do their best to clean one item in particular…

The small Asian woman had kept her with the long explanation of her confusion over the fact that they had been unable to remove the stain from the old and faded blue t-shirt that Maggie had brought in. Mrs. Al had expressed her confusion as to what the stain could have been, but Maggie knew the truth of its origins. She kept that small detail to herself however. Mrs. Al would never have understood the explanation that it was a stain resulting from the life force that had flowed from Brigit’s opened side during the escapade on the mountainside in an alternate reality. After realizing that the stain would be permanent, Maggie was suddenly glad they had failed in their efforts. It would serve as yet another reminder of Brigit's eternal love.

As Maggie dropped her school bag on the office floor and made her way back to the bedroom, she thought about the night she had been able to hold Brigit in her arms again. Over a week had passed since that night. It had been exactly a week since she had re-awakened in her body with a new knowledge she was eager to understand. It had been only a few days since the luncheon with Sola DuLach and only a day since returning to a classroom full of rowdy first-graders. During that whole time, Maggie had found herself wishing that she could just go home to wait for Brigit.

Yet, Brigit’s presence had not been felt in the apartment since a week before the accident. Before her abduction, Maggie had paid no attention to the times when she could not feel Brigit’s energy around her. Since her return from the unseen side of existence, Maggie noticed her partner’s absence and it worried her. Brigit had said that she would be very sick as a result of the wound Seamus Flannery had created. Maggie feared the worst when that memory resurfaced. How long could a ghost be sick? Could Brigit ultimately lose her fight of the sickness and pass on in the end? There were so many questions and the more that Maggie thought about it, the more the questions seemed to multiply.

As she closed the closet doors to hide the row of clothes she had hung, Maggie pondered her agenda for the rest of the evening. She had tests to grade, but she knew that wouldn’t take very long. She would prepare her dinner and eat slowly while she thought of all the questions that ran through her mind regularly now. Then, she supposed, she’d park herself in her reading chair and stare out the window. She’d watch the life of the neighborhood she lived in progress before her eyes. It was spring time. Her neighbors would be out in the tepid temperatures sharing their lives in an exchange of oral traditions. Maggie would watch them until the darkness gently urged them back inside. She would watch them while she waited to feel Brigit’s energy again.

Brigit slowly walked along the avenue toward home. She let her eyes casually roam from one side of the street to the other as she strolled. She recognized the faces of her old neighbors as they swapped stories from the steps of their stoops. She smiled when she heard their laughter and felt their heaviness when they relayed bad news. It was good to see some things never changed.

She paused outside the building where she had lived with Maggie. Instinctively, her eyes went to the front window of their apartment. She felt her heart do a little somersault with joy at the sight of Maggie’s face on the other side of the glass. Maggie was watching the neighbors as well. The gentle smile on her partner’s face told Brigit that Maggie was watching the people enjoy their chance to connect with each other in the warm afternoon. She wished for a second that Maggie’s smile was really because she could see Brigit finally coming home; but that was an unrealistic wish. Brigit knew that it would be a very long time before her reality collided with Maggie’s again. Until then, they would both have to be content with the idea that their realities merely ran parallel to one another.

“It’s better than the alternatives,” Brigit decided out loud as she climbed the steps leading up to the entrance of the building.

Eagerly, she climbed the stairs inside until she stood before the door to their apartment. The blue web of Sola’s spell had faded to the point of being fragile. Brigit held her breath as she reached out. The burning sensation she had experienced upon touching them before was no longer there. Easily, she brushed the remaining threads away as she would a cobweb and opened the door. She was finally home…

Maggie felt the shift in the energy of the room. Quickly, her brown eyes went to the door with the gentle rush of the energy that had pushed into the room. A faint scent of French lavender wafted on the wake of the shifting. She couldn’t help but to let the smile she had felt on her face a few minutes before broaden into a grin at the recognition of the scent. Brigit had finally come home.

44: New Connections

John Blackwick paused in front of the small bakery to examine his reflection in the window. He looked disheveled. His black hair was rumpled and the thin black tie around his neck had been loosened to the point of almost being undone. I’m a mess, he thought as he began to comb his fingers through this hair in the effort to smooth it back into place.

He had returned to the office in Rome just in time to enter in on a scuffle between two Reapers who had decided to duke it out over an insult that neither one would confess to shooting off. John had entered the fight with the intent to break it up and send them to their offices like children being scolded. Once he had been punched in the face, however, John had felt his Irish temper flare to life and he had fought just as hard as they did. When the two Reapers had finally realized who they were trading blows with, they had immediately dropped their fists and stood sheepishly awaiting the Grim Reaper’s final punishment. In the end, John had given each man a severe scolding before banishing them to their respective offices until he could decide what to do with them. Once they were gone, John had turned and depleted his remaining ire on his Italian assistant for allowing such nonsense to happen in the first place.

I’ll set Mama Dee on them next time, John thought as he straightened his tie. The idea of sending Mama Dee to Rome to keep everyone in line made the Grim Reaper finally smile. While her scoldings could be fearsome if they were trained on him, John couldn’t help but to imagine how they would be if they were aimed at Reapers behaving like children. The scene he envisioned brought a light laugh out of him.

Once he deemed himself presentable, John continued the short walk to the Bleecker Street Café. Jean-Pierre would be waiting for him there. It was their first official date. This evening, they were not the Grim Reaper and the Bailey. This evening, they were two men making a new connection…

“Miss Yaris?”

Belinda glanced at the pile of files Cornelius Hager had deposited on her desk earlier in the afternoon. Though her eyes had been reading the names and dates and her hand had been going through the motions of recording that information, her mind had been mulling over private thoughts. Something had changed around her and Belinda hoped desperately that it was something other than the absence of Seamus Flannery’s presence from the office. Despite the truth of the fact that, in the end, she had really meant nothing to Seamus, Belinda couldn’t help her missing him. She had cared about him. She had hoped that eventually he would reciprocate; but now she was faced with the knowledge that he never would.

“Miss Yaris?”

Belinda snapped from her thoughts and turned to face the person addressing her now. Pierce Nelson stood next to his desk, as if he meant to go somewhere but had suddenly remembered that he needed permission to do so. Warm hazel eyes were leveled on her in patient waiting of her acknowledgement.

“What is it, Mr. Nelson?” Belinda asked as she returned to face her work. The warmth of his gaze had surprised her. She was sure she could feel the warmth of a blush rising in her cheeks.

“I was thinking of taking a break for awhile, maybe go have some coffee?”

“Oh, sure, go ahead. You don’t need to ask permission for that,” Belinda informed her helper. “You’ve been working hard since you started. Go and relax.”

“I, er, uh,” Belinda detected the note of sudden nervousness in the man’s voice. She refused, however, to turn and face him again. His sudden onset of nerves made her nervous as well. “I was wondering, uh, if you would care to join me.”

Belinda’s pen froze in the air just above the page of the ledger where she had been writing. Her mind squealed with a sudden annoyance. She didn’t know what to say. She had never given Pierce Nelson much thought beyond the fact that he was her helper. He was an accountant, someone completely foreign to the geography of her world. Am I reading too much into it? Belinda asked herself as she sought for an excuse to turn him down. Finally, her gaze landed on the stack of files Cornelius Hager had turned in.

“I would love to,” Belinda finally said, “but I need to keep working.” The statement was neither a lie nor the whole truth. “Maybe another time?” she offered gently as she finally looked up at him. She saw the pink flush that had risen into his cheeks. He was just as rattled with the question as she was.

“Of course, yes, another time then,” he stammered as he made for the door.

Belinda watched him quickly exit their small office. Once he was gone from sight, she couldn’t ignore the sense of guilt that washed over her. She had hurt his feelings. Quietly, Belinda laid her pen on the desk and closed her eyes. And here I thought life could be dramatic…

45: Eyes

Brigit smiled to herself as she pulled the stack of files to sit on the desk before her. Jean-Pierre Marchande had placed them on the corner of the large mahogany desk yesterday afternoon before her departure for the evening. She was pleased to see that they had not been touched. It was the sign that John was allowing her to resume the helm.

Her smile remained as she began sorting the files. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she glanced inside each file. She had spent her first night home in weeks. She had spent the night with Maggie and it had been wonderful. Maggie was aware now and Brigit was elated with the difference it made.

Brigit felt the slight heat of a flush rise to her cheeks as she stopped that thought from progressing further. She couldn’t allow the memory of last night to cloud her focus now that she was back to work. If it did, Brigit knew she would be distracted all day.

“I know that look,”

Brigit looked up from the files to see Mama Dee standing in the doorway of her office. A knowing smile played on the old black woman’s face. Brigit felt the heat of her flush burn all the more.

“What look?” Brigit asked, hoping she sounded somewhat innocent.

“That look,” Mama Dee replied as she pointed a plump finger at Brigit’s face. “I’ve seen that look plenty of Sunday mornings when we used to have pancakes together. I’d have to sit there with my pancakes while you and Maggie would just make eyes at each other across the table the whole time,” Mama Dee accused with a laugh. “Sometimes I wondered why ya’ll even bothered to get out of bed.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Brigit apologized. It had never occurred to her that her friend would be offended by the afterglow of an intimate night.

“Shoot, if Maggie was here, ya’ll would still be making eyes at each other,” Mama Dee went on.

“Mama, I’m so sorry,” Brigit repeated. “I never thought,” Mama Dee waved a plump hand to interrupt her. Brigit obediently fell silent.

“Oh, go on with yourself. I was just playing,” the old woman laughed. “I thought it was cute to see the two of you act that way with each other. So, how is our girl? Is she okay since she’s been back?”

“Maggie is fine, Mama. She’s finally moving away from her sadness. She’s aware, you know? She knows I’m still here and that I’ll keep my promise to be with her. She knows I’ll be there in the end,” Brigit replied with a gentle smile.

“Well, they do say that traumatic events can trigger new understandings of thing you might not have thought about before,” Mama Dee sighed. “I would guess that Maggie was traumatized enough to finally realize she’s not alone, nor that she has been since you died.”

“I might agree with you on that, Mama,” Brigit replied. “Have you seen John this morning?” Mama Dee shook her head with a smile and a chuckle. The expression amused Brigit. Her friend knew something. “What is it?”

“I did see him last night at the café,” Mama Dee offered, “with Jean-Pierre.”

“And?”

“And, they were making eyes at each other that would put you and Maggie to shame,” Mama Dee revealed.

Brigit felt her mouth drop open with the news. She had been correct in her thought that there might have been a mutual attraction between John Blackwick and the new Bailey. She was surprised that John would let it be seen in such a public setting as the café where every spirit who didn’t want to cross over yet frequented. She was even more surprised that Mama Dee hadn’t brought the news to her sooner. Her friend had once possessed the tendency to eagerly share what little gossip she picked up around the neighborhood while they had sat on the stoop together.

“Oh, my,” was all Brigit could say when she finally found her voice.

“That’s what I said,” Mama Dee responded with a hearty laugh. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Brigit looked at the stack of files before her. It would be an hour or so before she was ready to pass out the assignments. When she said as much, Mama Dee nodded in understanding. “In that case, I’m going for some coffee. Would you like me to bring you back a cup?” the little old woman offered as she pushed herself out of the chair across from Brigit’s desk.

“That sounds delightful, Mama, thank you,” Brigit said with a smile as her old friend waddled toward the door.

“All right, then. You take it easy. I’ll be back soon and I’ll let you know if our boys are still at the café making eyes…” Mama Dee promised as she continued down the main hall.

Brigit laughed lightly and shook her head as she resumed the task of separating and assigning the files. As she did so, she realized there was an extra pile she was creating. It was a pile that she would have once assigned to Seamus Flannery.

Brigit paused and stared hard at the short stack she had created. What to do with it now? John had not yet replaced Seamus Flannery with a Reaper capable of handling the more difficult cases. Brigit wondered briefly if the Grim Reaper had even given it any thought. She loathed the idea of spreading that particular aspect of the workload to the other Reapers. None of them were brawlers as Seamus had been. None of them would be able to rise to the occasion as well as he had. None of them would certainly enjoy the task for the sake of a fight, either.

“I suppose I could take care of it,” she mumbled as she continued to eye the stack for a few more seconds. She hated that thought too. Something deep inside her told her that John Blackwick would hate it even more. “I’ll discuss it with John,” she finally decided out loud. For now, the stack would stay where she had started it. It would be the reminder that she needed to remember the topic the next time she saw John.

File after file were carefully assigned until Brigit held the last one in her hand. Her dark eyes rested on the name embossed on the black leather cover: Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco. The name sparked the ringing of a tiny bell in Brigit’s memory. How did she know that name? Where had she heard it before?

Brigit opened the file and read slowly. A slight smile began to emerge on her face as she pored over the contents of Liliana’s life. The memory of the woman’s name rushed back to her. Liliana Margarita de la Huerta had been someone’s true love. That someone had been waiting all these years for her to show up. Brigit now wondered how she would break the news to Edmund J. Polly that his true love, the young housekeeper he would have left his life of privilege for, had passed the final threshold of mortal existence in another country.

Brigit frowned with that thought. Liliana had returned to Spain after the night the cafe had burned to the ground with her lover trapped inside. She had lived out the remainder of her life married to another man, mothering children she had once dreamed of having with Edmund. On the occasion of her ninetieth birthday, after all the festivities had died down, Liliana had gone to sit beside the small fountain in the courtyard of her family’s small villa. There, she had let her memory roam to the face of Edmund J. Polly as she remembered it. There, Liliana had rested her head on the broad shoulder of Jean-Pierre Marchande and drawn her last breath.

Brigit closed the long black portfolio gently and stared at the cover again. Technically, the file should have been sent to the office in Madrid. Somehow, Jean-Pierre had misfiled it with the North American files. Was it coincidence or fate? The question bounced around a few times in her mind as she stood from behind the large mahogany desk. Either way, Brigit decided she would take this particular assignment for herself. Quickly, she went to the small file cabinet where John stored the portfolios of the staff and those spirits who refused to cross over. She thumbed through the files quickly until she found what she was looking for.

She reached out and plucked her black umbrella from the stand it shared with John Blackwick’s walking sticks. Her mind raced as she pocketed the files of Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco and her friend, Edmund J. Polly. Mama Dee entered through the main door just as Brigit came striding toward her. She held a paper cup in each hand. A look of surprise came to her face at the sight of the black umbrella in Brigit’s hand.

“Where are you going?” Mama Dee asked as Brigit accepted the paper cup that was held out to her.

“On assignment,” Brigit smiled. “The files are ready to be passed out. Would you mind taking care of that for me?” she requested as she reached for the door.

“What’s your rush?”

“True love, Mama, true love…” Brigit called over her shoulder as she exited 666 ½ Bleecker Street. Mama Dee watched the door close before shaking her head and turning to head to Brigit’s office.

“That girl doesn’t know the meaning of ‘take it easy’, I swear,” she mumbled to herself.

Brigit walked quickly over the few blocks to the Bleecker Street Café. She could just as easily have used the portal to take her there, but her heart was excited at the thought of true love finally being reunited – even in death. Besides that, Mama Dee had been kind enough to bring her coffee. Brigit wanted to enjoy it before setting to the task she carried in her pocket.

Edmund J. Polly was sitting exactly where he always sat at the booth by the window. His sad blue eyes were trained on the movements of the mortals that passed along the sidewalk beside the phantom café. From where he sat, he could see that spring had once again arrived. Everything was in bloom outside.

Brigit entered the café with her sight set directly on the old man. His sad blue eyes turned from the street scene outside to acknowledge her as she made her way to his booth. For a moment, the sadness dissipated and surprised delight emerged in its place.

“Miss Malone, how splendid to see you,” Edmund J. Polly greeted as Brigit slid into the empty seat of his booth. “I had heard of your illness. All better now, I presume?”

“I couldn’t be better, Mr. Polly,” Brigit replied. She couldn’t help but to beam a broad smile at him.

“What brings you to my table today?” the old man asked. “You’re smiling like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Well,” Brigit pulled the portfolios from her coat pocket and picked Liliana’s from the two. Carefully, she placed it on the table between them. She gave him a moment to register the name embossed on the cover. “I was wondering if you would still be interested in going to Spain.”

Brigit watched as the old man extended his hand to pick up the portfolio that had been placed before him. It was shaking. She saw the glistening of tears well up in his blue eyes as he ran a fingertip gently over the letters of his true love’s name.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” he whispered. His blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. “When can we leave?” His voice was suddenly strong with excitement.

“As soon as you’re ready,” Brigit replied.

“I’m ready now,” Edmund J. Polly declared before sliding from his seat.

It was the first time in over seventy years that he had left his post. Brigit continued to smile as she took Liliana’s file from him and returned it to her coat pocket. Like a gentleman, Edmund J. Polly offered her his arm as the heads of the other café patrons turned with the realization that one of the old timers was leaving. Even Giuseppe Cincotta stopped to watch. Together, Brigit and Edmund approached the door to the café.

“Keep hold of me, Mr. Polly,” Brigit instructed. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“With pleasure, Miss Malone. With pleasure…”

46: Mama Dee’s Conclusions

Mama Dee sank into the large leather chair Brigit and John took their turns in occupying. Her dark eyes settled on the stacks of portfolios Brigit had left on the desk. Something had distracted Brigit. What had she said about ‘True Love’? Mama Dee smiled slightly to herself. Brigit would always be a hopeless romantic. It was a trait she had carried with her through death. If Brigit could take the time to see ‘True Love’ in action, all else could wait.

‘True Love’ had been the distraction. It had obviously been important enough to Brigit to literally set everything aside. She had left in such a hurry, however, that she had given no other instructions except to pass out the assignments. With a shake of her head, Mama Dee slid the first stack to rest on the desk before her.

“I hope they don’t get used to this,” the little old woman grumbled as she picked up the first portfolio. “I don’t like being in charge – too many headaches.”

It was a true thought for her. Mama Dee had been filling in for John and Brigit during Brigit’s illness. The responsibility of sorting and assigning the files had required more attention to detail than Mama Dee had cared for. Those responsibilities, coupled with the training of Belinda Yaris to take over her own responsibilities with the children’s files, had been a double duty that the little old woman had found tiresome. John and Brigit seemed to run the firm effortlessly. They could continue to do so as far as Mama Dee was concerned. She was happy with the children. She’d be glad when she could return her full attention to the babies…

Mama Dee took her time scanning the portfolios, sipping her coffee slowly as she came to the conclusions as to which Reaper Brigit had intended to give the stack of assignments to. When the last stack was before her, Mama Dee frowned. The conclusion she came to troubled her.

This stack would have been the assignments given to Seamus Flannery once upon a time. They were the difficult assignments – the dangerous assignments. Mama Dee scanned the first portfolio. The contents of it turned her stomach.

She didn’t know what to do. John had left for Russia just moments before she had entered the café. Jean-Pierre had related the news to her before setting out on his own assignments for the day. Brigit was gone off on her own quest for the sake of ‘True Love’. Mama Dee was left to make the decision on her own.

“What would Brigit do?” she asked herself out loud.

Brigit, Mama Dee was sure, would not question what needed to be done. John had not found a replacement for Seamus Flannery yet. He had been so focused on Brigit’s recovery that he had not spared the time to replace the only one willing to take on these particular assignments. Mama Dee had the feeling that Brigit would try to complete these assignments herself until they could find a replacement, despite the fact that Brigit found no pleasure in fighting.

Yet, Brigit had rushed out of the office without any indication of where she was going, how long she would be gone, or what to do with this particular stack. Mama Dee sighed heavily again. She knew what Brigit would do. She was sure it was what she had to do. She didn’t like that knowing in the least bit.

With a heavy heart, Mama Dee placed the stack on top of the stack Brigit had set aside for her. She would take care of them – as she was sure Brigit would do. Then, she’d gladly return her full attention to the babies.

“I hope things get back to normal soon,” Mama Dee wished out loud as she leaned back in the big chair. For now, she would use the time to clear her mind of the worries before the other Reapers arrived. She had time to finish her coffee. She had time to remind herself how much she disliked being in charge…

47: Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco

Brigit heard the slight gasp that escaped her companion as they stepped from the bright burning light of the portal onto the cobblestone of the narrow street. She had instructed him to keep hold of her as they had passed through the burning white light that would take them to their destination. She had forgotten to warn him to close his eyes as well. She had become so used to traveling through it that she had forgotten how it felt the first time it was entered.

On either side of them, the high walls that housed families and storefronts of the small village rose to block out the early afternoon sun. She hoped the shadows cast by the high walls would give her companion some relief from the burning he had felt from the portal's light.

“Is this the place?” Edmund J. Polly asked as he slowly looked around in awe. Brigit looked up at him and nodded. She had never guessed him to be so tall; but then, she had always seen him sitting at the booth at the café. It belied his true height.

“Per the address in her file, yes,” Brigit confirmed as she reached out to the door that bore the numbers of Liliana’s street address. The door had been painted a bright red, giving a sign of life despite the shadows of the narrow street outside. Brigit pushed gently against the door and was pleased when it opened under her touch. She motioned for Edmund to follow her inside.

Together, they walked through the house in silence. Brigit could feel the excitement running rampant through her companion. He had been waiting over seventy years for this moment. She hated the fact that she would have to ask him to wait a few minutes longer.

“I understand,” Edmund assured her as he stared out the small kitchen window. Its view was of the small courtyard outside. His focus, however, was on the small, white-haired woman sitting on the edge of the fountain staring into its shallow depths. “She’s so beautiful,” he whispered as he stared.

“I’ll call you when she’s ready,” Brigit promised before stepping outside.

Her footfall was quiet across the cobblestones that made up the floor of the courtyard. Liliana made no move to acknowledge the female Reaper’s approach. She was lost in her thoughts as her dark eyes remained focused on the bubbling waters in the fountain.

“Buenas dias, Senora,” Brigit greeted gently. The greeting finally brought Liliana’s eyes up to rest on the stranger.

“Buenas dias,” Liliana replied calmly. “Quien esta?”

“Habla Englais?” Brigit asked instead. Liliana smiled with the question.

“I do, but it might be rusted,” the old woman replied.

“Not as rusty as my Spanish, I assure you,” Brigit laughed. Liliana only continued to smile as she watched the dark woman standing before her. “My name is Brigit Malone. I am here to help you cross over,” she explained. “May I join you?”

“Si,” Liliana answered with a wave of her hand. “I always find it so happy here by my fountain.”

“It is lovely,” Brigit complimented as she sat on the short wall of it, well outside arm’s reach of the old woman. “Have you been waiting here long?” she asked casually.

“A day or so, I think,” Liliana shrugged. “I have not paid so much attention. I have been saying prayers, asking for protection for what’s left of my family. I have been praying for guidance,” she revealed.

“Guidance through what, may I ask?”

“Through a choice,” Liliana replied. “You see, my husband has already gone. I thought he would be here when I died; but he is gone.”

“I’m sorry, Senora,” Brigit offered.

“It’s okay,” the old woman returned with a shrug. “I was not looking forward to spending eternity with him, you know? A lifetime was enough,” she laughed lightly.

“Did you love him? Your husband, I mean?” Brigit asked.

“As much as I could. He was a good man. He provided for his family, he never raised a hand to me; but he was boring. Always reading or working in his shop. He never wanted to go anywhere. ‘Why spend the money,’ he would say, ‘when you can open a book and go there for free?’ The only excitement we had was during the war and those aren’t exactly the memories you want to carry close to your heart, no? Yes, I loved my husband, but there was always another already in that place in my heart where my husband should have been,” Liliana sighed.

“Is this the choice you must make?” Brigit asked softly.

“Si. I loved another when I was a girl, before I returned to Spain. It was him that I was going to marry and grow old with; but he died the night we were planning to elope. He was going to leave his life in America and we were going to come here together," the little old woman suddenly shrugged, as if she didn't want to finish that memory out loud. "I guess the choice I am trying to make is whether I am ready to go or if I should wait to see if he will find me – unless he is gone as well. If he doesn’t come for me, I will know in my heart that it was never meant to be.”

“It was always meant to be, Lily,”

Both women looked to the door leading into the villa’s kitchen. Edmund J. Polly stepped from the shadows, a fragile smile playing on his old face as he gave Liliana time to recognize him.

“I know the voice, but I do not know the face,” Liliana admitted slowly.

“It is the face you would have seen if I had lived, if we had grown old together,” Edmund replied as he slowly began to approach the two women sitting on the fountain’s wall. “It’s me, Lily. It’s Eddie,” he announced.

Brigit watched as Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco sprang from her seat on the fountain wall and ran across the courtyard into Edmund’s outstretched arms with the speed of a young woman. She couldn’t help but smile as Edmund J. Polly caught his true love in his arms and held her tight against him while they both roared with happy laughter. She watched on silently as the two elderly people kissed each other with the passion of a young couple in love. It gave her hope to believe that one day she would share a similar moment with Maggie.

“I don’t understand,” Liliana said as she ran her old hands gently over Edmund’s face. “You were so young, but now, you are old. How can this be?”

“This is what I was on the inside, Lily. I was always an old man on the inside. Don't you remember teasing me so? You used to tell me all the time that I was such an old man. Death reveals our souls, my darling. You are so beautiful! I have missed you so, my love. I’ve been waiting for you all these years,” he gushed as he pulled her to him again.

“Oh, Eddie, I never knew,” Liliana apologized. “I was so heart sick after you died. I came back here. I married another,”

“So I’ve heard,” Edmund smiled gently. “But we are here and he is not. That’s all that matters.”

“What do we do now?” Liliana asked, turning to face Brigit. Brigit stood slowly, keeping her hands firmly planted on the crook of her black umbrella. Liliana quickly returned her gaze to her true love’s face. “Do you know her?”

“I do,” Edmund assured the old woman in his arms. “Miss Malone is a dear friend of mine. It was she who found you and brought me to you,” he explained. Liliana returned her attention to the dark young woman she had conversed so casually with prior to Edmund’s appearance.

“Gracias, Senorita,” Liliana said quietly.

“De nada, Senora,” Brigit returned with a smile. “Are the two of you ready to cross now?” She watched as the lovers exchanged smiling looks.

“There’s something I think we should do first,” Edmund announced as he leveled his blue eyes on Brigit. They were smiling brightly. “Marry us before we go,” he requested. Brigit almost burst into laughter with the request.

“Mr. Polly, I’m a Reaper, not a priest,” she pointed out.

“Do you believe in True Love, Miss Malone?” Edmund countered as he and Liliana turned to face her together.

“Of course I do, you know as much,” Brigit reminded.

“Then, please do this for us. Belief in ‘True Love’ ordains you enough in my mind. Please,” he pleaded.

“Please,” Liliana echoed.

Brigit looked from one old face to the other. Something inside her suggested the pair would refuse to cross over if she denied their final request. Finally, she nodded.

“All right,” she sighed. “Give me a minute to think of something good,” she requested. She searched her mind quickly. Finally, she decided to keep it short and sweet. “Since we obviously have no rings, the exchange of your vows will have to suffice. Edmund Jebediah Polly, do you vow to love this woman until the end of eternity?”

“I do,” Edmund responded with a broad smile.

“Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco, do you vow the same?” Brigit asked gently.

A slight movement in the shadows behind the couple before her caught her attention. She struggled to ignore it though her hand tightened instinctively around the crook of the black umbrella. Although the last of her malady had vanished just that morning, Brigit hoped she was physically ready for the fight she could sense coming her way.

“I do,” Liliana gushed happily.

“Then, by the power of True Love, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Brigit announced as she stepped within arms reach of the couple.

They had already began the kiss to seal the deal before she had finished speaking. Quickly, she withdrew their files, producing the door to their eternal fates. It was to her left. She hated to cut the party short, but the shadows behind the newly-weds were moving closer. Brigit smiled gently as the two turned and faced the door she held open for them.

“May you find eternal peace together,” she wished them.

Edmund J. Polly stooped and planted a light kiss on Brigit’s left cheek. Liliana Margarita de la Huerta Francesco Polly planted one on her right cheek.

“Thank you, Brigit,” the old man said. “Thank you for everything.”

“Get going,” Brigit instructed gently. “You have a whole new existence to explore together.”

Edmund and Liliana nodded in unison and stepped through the door together. Slowly, Brigit closed the door behind them and sighed happily before quickly stilling her thoughts.

48: Madame Zapatos

Every hair on the back of her neck was bristling. She had seen the movements in the shadows. Brigit knew full-well that she was not in the courtyard alone. Slowly, she returned the portfolios of the elderly couple to her pocket of her long black coat as she keened her ears to the near-silent approach of her new companions. Her knuckles turned white with the grip she maintained on her umbrella. She was ready.

“Seize her,” a woman’s voice suddenly commanded.

Brigit whirled quickly and swung the umbrella in time to connect with the forehead of a spirit that had leapt at her. The force of the blow pushed him back a few steps as his companion came rushing by him only to be met with a fist between the eyes. Brigit ducked as the first spirit recovered his footing and took a swing at her as his friend stumbled back. Quickly, she flipped the umbrella in her hand and caught his ankle with the crook of the handle, yanking it as she outstretched her arm and clothes-lined the clumsy second spirit. Both spirits landed on their backs with loud grunts as Brigit stepped away and eyed them cautiously.

She waited with calm silence, watching as they scrambled to their feet. They were barely old enough to be deemed ‘men’; yet, they were too old to be declared ‘boys’. She didn’t know whether to laugh at them or continue teaching them a lesson.

They had finally returned to their feet when Brigit heard the slow sound of a hiss across the cobblestone behind her. She turned in time to see the long tail of the leather whip slowly snaking across the stones as it was being drawn back for a strike. Without second thought, she stepped out and caught the tip of it under the toe of her black boot before raising her dark eyes to the face of its mistress.

She was a full head taller than Brigit, with eyes just as dark. A deep scowl was planted firmly on her ruddy face as she glared at Brigit over a hawkishly thin nose. By the manner of costume the tall woman wore, Brigit guessed her to be Roma – a Gypsy.

“Who are you?” Brigit demanded harshly.

The two young males behind her wisely remained where they stood. They were waiting for the showdown about to unfold between their mistress and the female Reaper.

“I am Madame Zapatos, Head Reaper,” the Roma woman snapped haughtily. “Who are you?” She demanded as she continued to tug on the end of her whip in an attempt to free it from under Brigit’s boot. Brigit made no move to accommodate her.

“Brigit Malone, assistant to John Blackwick,” Brigit replied calmly. The response drew a disbelieving snort from Madame Zapatos. “What’s the meaning of all this? Why did you attack me?”

“You are trespassing,” Madame Zapatos growled.

“Says who?” Brigit demanded. “I didn’t realize Spain was private property.”

“You have passed a soul that should have been handled by our office and you brought a soul over that did not belong here,” Madame Zapatos snarled. “Both are offenses to the territory rules.”

Brigit glared into the other woman’s dark eyes. Someone, it seemed to her, was having control issues. For half a second, Brigit thought about saying as much but quickly decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood for another pissing match. It had been such a good day up to that point. There was no need to ruin it with a playground scuffle…

“Rules, huh?" Brigit finally said as she raised the toe of her boot and released the end of her counterpart’s whip. “I’ll have to ask John Blackwick about that,” she said.

“You can do so at my office,” Madame Zapatos decreed as she yanked the whip further out of Brigit’s reach. “You have no right to be here,” the Roma woman scolded. “This territory is my responsibility. You should have approached me before taking this matter into your own hands.”

“Madame Zapatos,” Brigit responded calmly. “Do you believe in True Love?”

The tall Gypsy woman stopped all movement and glared at Brigit coldly as the question settled in on her mind. Her dark eyes locked with Brigit’s, attempting to assess the smaller woman’s intentions quickly. It didn’t appear to be a trick question, but the Spanish head Reaper wasn’t about to take the time to second guess her first impressions of the beautiful American Reaper. Second guessing, Madame Zapatos had learned at the instant of her own death, led to failure. Failure led to dire consequences.

“Take her,” Madame Zapatos commanded of her two companions again.

The two young men stepped forward and seized Brigit by each arm. The two female Reapers continued to stare each other down as Brigit was instantly relieved of her black umbrella. Despite the deadly and serious look on her counterpart’s face, Brigit couldn’t help but to slowly smile…

###

Excerpt: Reapers, Inc.-

Dark Souls

Gabriel turned and silently stared out the window of the subway car. This wasn’t his normal mode of transportation; but today, he was concerned about a distressed soul and riding the train to maintain his watch over her. His grey eyes scanned the scenery as if flew by below. The city, even in its most dilapidated neighborhoods, was still interesting to see.

A burst of light shot up past the window, causing him to instantly flinch away from the glass. The fireball kept pace with the train as it sped along the elevated tracks, as if it were taunting Gabriel to determine its true nature. The angel stepped close to the glass again and stared hard. Suddenly, the fireball exploded and began to take shape in mid-air. He watched in dumbfounded confusion as the shape became more and more familiar. Confusion turned to concern as the recognized the energy that laced itself together to form the image of evil that had once walked the earth as a mortal. Concern turned to alarm as his grey eyes happened to look down at the large lot the train passed over and saw the opened door standing alone in the middle of it. As his eyes snapped back to the broad smile of the demon that was free falling back to the earth below, the angel saw other balls of flame begin to explode in the air and take shape before falling into their own descents.

“This can’t be good,” Gabriel muttered as the train continued on its course, taking him further and further away from the scene. “This can’t be good at all…”

The Author

B.L. Newport was born with a strong belief and sensitivity in the supernatural side of life. After growing up in the small Northwest Arkansas town of Siloam Springs, she has lived in New York City and Las Vegas, Nevada. During these journeys, B.L. has discovered the joys of hard work, good friends and good coffee. She resides in Denver, Colorado with her soulmate, Rochelle.

To the Reader:

Thank you for giving “Reapers, Inc. – Rogue Reaper” a go. If you read the first book, “Reapers, Inc. – Brigit’s Cross”, I doubly thank you. If you have enjoyed the stories enough to recommend them it your friends, then, Thank you, thank you, thank you – and as always, Happy Reading.

Connect with me online! Twitter: http://twitter.com/BLNewport

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BLNewport