Death drops their arms and tilts their hood to the side momentarily as if considering me before sighing deeply. “Aw, man… not with the puppy dog pout. That’s shady shadows.” They huff out a breath, blowing a raspberry of frustration into the air before continuing, “Okay, I’ll bite. But the name is Seth, knock it off with that ‘Death’ crap, huh? It’s demeaning.”
“Seth? Your name is Seth? Just… Seth? Really?" I’m still reeling from my encounter with Trissa and this bizarre interaction is not helping me get a grip on reality.
“Well if you want to get technical it’s Sephtis, but only my superiors call me that.” Seth’s orbs are moving slightly over my head, as if they’re taking a good look around my attic for the first time.
“What’s it mean?”
Seth coughs and I wince, even against my ghostly ears the cacophony of sounds that make up their cough is overwhelming.Seth’s eyes dart to the side and they mumble something I can’t make out.
“What? I didn’t –”
“It’s Persian for ‘eternal death’, okay? So, alright, yeah maybe my name means death, but it’s not actually Death.” They stare at me, as if daring me to say something. I hold the eye contact trying sincerely to think of a way to turn this conversation around. The problem is, I haven’t actually spoken to anyone in so long that I have no idea what to say.
So I just nod my head slowly and agree, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Seth sounds confused by my non-confrontational response and their shoulders which had been creeping higher in agitation suddenly deflate. “Okay. Good.”
“But wait—superiors? Are… is there more than one grim reaper?”
Seth sighs, “Yes, I didn’t just poof into existence. We’re a whole species, like any other paranormal creature. Orcs, shifters, vampires, trolls, psychopomps,” I can feel my eyes widen with each creature listed off.
“What’s a psychopomp?” My voice is barely there, but Seth must hear it.
“Me. Reapers. We’re actually called psychopomps, but no one outside of the paranormal community really knows that anymore.”
I can feel their orbs settle on me again and they stare a moment longer before they shuffle a little and sigh deeply, “Look, let’s just start over now that you’re actually willing to talk to me, okay? We got off on the wrong foot, which is impressive since I haven’t even gotten a chance to use mine around you.”
I look down at the swirling shadow where feet would normally be and blink. For an otherworldly being who severs souls for a living, Seth is actually pretty funny, irreverently so.
I smirk and nod my head in agreement. “I’m Cian. As you know, I died at twenty-four, and have been stuck in my house for fifty years. I'm also known to be kind of a dick right after dying.”
Seth’s orbs crinkle at the corners in mirth and they chuckle, “Nice to meet you, this time.” I roll my eyes before they continue, “I’m Seth. Pronouns are he/him but I can rock the frocked coat of ambiguity thanks to the shadows and wayward souls. I’ve been a practicing Reaper for fifty-three years and you’re the only witch-bound I’ve ever met.”
I nod my head, not that I really care about what’s under the cloak, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel more at ease talking with a guy about my… issues. Especially considering how insane it sounds that I…finishedfor the first time since being a ghost, in my pants, without ever actually being touched provocatively. The world has changed so much since I’ve been dead, I almost wouldn’t believe it if Sherry (the married FedEx fucker) hadn’t watch so much reality TV. I shake away my errant thoughts and glance back at Seth.
“Thanks. I didn’t want to assume, I mean… between the cloak, shadows, and all the different voices…” My own voice trails off and I feel embarrassment settle in my gut. I haven’t interacted with anyone in so long I don’t even know what’s socially acceptable anymore. Although, even if I did, who knows if it’d be the same in Reaper culture. My years of solitude have been heavy with loneliness, but now more than ever it feels like a crushing weight trying to sabotage me. I find that I’m actually craving for this to go right, not just to get some answers, but also because maybe I could have a friend again. I glance back at Seth and hold my breath.
Thankfully he doesn’t seem concerned or bothered as he shrugs, “Yeah, I get that a lot. Here, let me just…” a flash of blue light shines in front of him quickly and the little blue orbs that had been floating in and out of his shadows coalesce intotwo groups and shoot into his pulsing blue eye orbs. They flash brighter for a moment before returning to normal.
I take a step back in shock and look up at him for an explanation of what the fuck that was.
When he speaks again, it’s with a singular deep voice that reminds me of sandpaper with its raspy tone. “Sorry, it’s the souls. They’re kind of obsessed with me.” He shrugs jokingly and explains, “when they’re all out like that it messes with my voice projection.”
I nod my head in awe at the fact that I had just unknowingly been so close to so many souls.
“Plus, the whispery echoing bits? They think it’s hilarious to copy me. I don’t really mind, but I tend to forget it makes for uncomfortable conversations, seeing as I don’t usually actually have many conversations while I’m in this form…” His eyes bow in consternation, “You’re… actually the only person I’ve ever met more than once like this.” His hands gesture down his figure, my eyes trailing with curiosity. What does he look like normally, if this isn’t it?
Seth clears his throat and starts again, “Anyway, a witch-bound is just that… a soul that’s been bound to a witch through blood magic. Seeing as you would have had to participate in the ritual it’s just kind of hard to imagine you really didn’t know…” Seth’s eyes trace over my head, once again looking at the attic around us. “But… wait, it’s been fifty years, man. Why are you still just a soul?”
A shock like lightning runs through me and I shudder. I can almost feel the sweat on my palms again and a weight sits in my stomach like lead.Leona. Images of that night come swirling back, like a maelstrom in the choppy depths of my core. “How… Wha-what am I supposed to be?”
Seth’s orbs are perfect circles of shock and I watch as a gloved hand lifts to rub at the back of his hood. “After the witch-bounddies the soul stays in an ‘in-between’ until the rest of the ritual is completed and you solidify as a phantom. I’ve… I’ve never heard of it not being completed. The blood magic used to form the soul bond is pretty heavy stuff and no witch would just mess around with that kind of stuff for funsies.”
What have you done, Lee?I swallow down the sick feeling clogging my throat and croak out, “What happens if it’s never completed? Aft-after I died you said you couldn’t help me.” I feel my panic rising and I pant against the onslaught of it.
Seth sighs sadly and shakes his head, “I can’t reap the soul of a witch-bound because it’s already been harvested. Without the final part of the ritual, nothing happens. You’ll never become a fully formed phantom— which mostly sucks because you’ll never be able to master corporeal phasing or any other phantom shit. You’ll be stuck within whatever boundaries were set by the witch who cast the spell… which I’m guessing for you is this house. You can’t even cross over… your soul is bound to that witch and will only respond to her blood.”
A bitter laugh escapes my throat and I roll my eyes toward the heavens, the likes of which I’ll apparently never see. “I haven’t seen Leona since the night she gave me that damn key and had me do a ritual she definitely did not tell me would dothisto me! I…I died the day after.”
