DEATH LOUNGED ON HIS GREAT BONE CHAIR, his chin resting on a fist. He watched the Reapers of California and Texas arrange themselves on two equally grand chairs across from his desk. He’d taken a break from work to meet with two of the most powerful members of RUSA. The skull chandelier hanging from the ceiling over them brightened at a lazy gesture from his almost delicate hand. A part of him didn’t want to resume working. If he could continue chatting the day away, he would. Maybe I should, he considered. But after a fleeting second, he saw no merit in dropping everything, regardless of how he felt.
“Welcome, dearest children,” he said.
“Master,” Thomas and Travis said in unison.
“It’s always good to see the both of you. Work can get dull without these pleasant visits.”
Travis slouched into his chair and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles.
Tomas slapped the other Reaper’s shoulder. “Show some respect, Travis.”
Death raised a hand, stalling Travis’s efforts. “Leave him be, Tomas. Travis is welcome to relax. We may have business to attend to, but this is not at all a formal meeting. Please, follow Travis in his demeanor. You could use a break.”
To his credit, Tomas continued to sit up with shoulders squared. “Thank you, Master. But I prefer to show respect.” He flicked an irritated glance at Travis as he said the last word.
Travis shrugged. “No skin off my back. I removed the hat, didn’t I? Number One,” he drawled.
“And stop calling me that!”
A smile blossomed on Death’s glorious composure. Seeing Tomas ruffled tickled him. The usually stern and serious Reaper had a softer side, one that only manifested during moments like Travis baiting him.
“I regret that I’ve placed you both in this position.” Death’s sigh could bend mighty oaks. “Our younger Reapers don’t seem to have the same common sense as their older siblings. One is too power hungry for her own good and the other allowed himself to get so weak that he practically drained souls down to nothing. What am I to do?”
“Master, please—” Tomas frowned “—don’t put extra worry onto your shoulders. That’s what you have us for.”
“I appreciate your concern, Tomas, Travis—” he nodded at the Texan Reaper who’d lost his relaxed demeanor “—but it is the role of a father to lose sleep over his children. What am I here for if not to fret?”
“But you’re more important than any one of us combined, Master,” Travis said. “You have bigger things on your mind. Please, let us handle Janika and Nikolas. They don’t have to be your burden.”
“Anyway,” Death breathed out. “What do you have to report, Tomas?”
The Reaper of California gathered his thoughts like sheets of paper in a file. “Nikolas is back to peak health. I’ve reprimanded him for draining the souls. He can be an impertinent pup from time to time, but he values his role as Reaper of Georgia.” Pride puffed his chest. “I’ve told him about the probation. He assures me that it won’t happen again.”
“And you trust his word?” Death raised an eyebrow.
“With my life,” Tomas answered as if his words had been set in stone long ago.
“And I trust you, Tomas. Let’s just hope that no one gets hurt in the end.” Death paused, reflecting on his own words. Then he faced his second most powerful Reaper. “Travis, how is Janika? I know she can be a handful.”
Travis coughed into a fist, which suspiciously sounded like a cuss word. “Among other things, Master. But nothing I can’t handle. She’s like a Bronco ripe to be broken. All she needs is an experienced rider with sharp spurs to show her what it means to be obedient.”
Lines rose over the planes of Tomas’s face. “Why does everything that comes out of your mouth sound dirty?”
“Oh, stop looking like you’ve just sucked on a sour lemon, Number One.” Travis entwined his fingers over his stomach. “You’re the one with your head in the gutter.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Master,” Travis interrupted before Tomas could say anything else, “I believe Janika just wants attention. She has bite, and can certainly put up a fight, but she’s not malicious.”
Death inclined his head. “Is that assessment based on your personal experience?”
Travis flushed. “Aww, Master, you didn’t have to put it that way.”
Roaring laughter rolled out of Tomas. He slapped the armrest of his chair. Both Death and Travis stared at him.
“You seem happier than usual, Tomas? Something I should know?”
The Reaper in question sobered as if he hadn’t laughed at all. “I believe our young Reapers will be fine, Master. Janika can’t possibly get into the kind of trouble Travis cooked up in his day.”
“Can we drop this conversation, please,” Travis said.
“Do you remember the Civil War?” Death smiled affectionately at the Texan who’d managed to turn redder than he already was.
“Nothing like his Old West days,” Thomas finally let himself unwind. “Remember the blue chaps he wore…they looked so ridiculous on him.”
Death’s golden laughter, a gift from the choir of heaven, resonated from his chest to the farthest reaches of his realm.