Chapter Five
Sikras
THE CLOAKED FIGUREloomed before Sikras, the canvas of her hood partially obscuring the locks of dark hair flowing from her fleshless skull. As the embodiment of every truism, the Grim Reaper showcased no individualistic fashion sense, utterly absent of flare in her tattered gray robes.
Sikras had seen his fair share of skeletons throughout the years and, damned if underneath all that flesh and muscle, they didn’t all look the same. Still, he knew her immediately. He should have, given how much she insisted on visiting over the last four years.
“Death.” Sikras spread his arms and grinned. “Ole Grim. Thánatos. Reaper of—”
“Stop that.”
“Of course.” Sikras pretended to clamp his mouth shut. “Anything for an old friend.”
“Typically,” the reaper muttered, “when people make that gesture, theyactuallystop talking.”
“Death is here?” Excitement spiked in Benjamin’s voice as he scrambled from under the bed, a dusty lute in his hand. “Dammit. Will she let me see her this time? Or hear her at the very least? I’m tired of feeling like a third wheel.”
“No.” The clack of bone-on-bone sounded as Death dragged her hand down her face. “Speaking withyouis trying enough. Were the Cat’s Eye not woven with your soul, I would spare myself the torment that is your company.”
Sikras leaned into this scythe, his bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout. “Sorry, Benjamin, Death’s crabby today. I’ll play middleman though. So, Death”—he grinned—“to what do we owe the pleasure?”
“You know why I’m here. When will you end Mr. Reese’s suffering and allow him the luxury of rest? Honestly, you can’t keep checking souls out of Enos as you please. It’s the afterlife, Mr. Nikabod, not a damned library.”
Spinning on his heels, Sikras regarded Benjamin with a wink. “Death said you’re looking particularly well this evening.”
“Did she? Tell that darling woman I saidthank you. I’m sure she’s looking extra fine this evening as well.”
Sikras flashed Death what he had hoped was a wry smirk. “Did you catch all that?”
“Every time.Everytime I come, I hope some divine intervention has blessed you with an epiphany, but no.” Irritation sparked in the reaper’s echoing voice. “I can tell by your chirpy tone and delusive smirk that you’ve learned nothing. Have you no respect for the balance between life and death?”
Sikras arched a brow. “Really? You’re asking a necromancer that question?”
“What question?” Ben asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Sikras said with a casual wave of his hand. “Death was wondering if I could do anything to make your stay outside of Enos more comfortable. I must say, Benjamin, I think she’s very fond of you. You still have a way with the ladies.”
Benjamin’s free hand flopped over the empty space where his heart used to be. “That is so sweet. If she’s asking, I’m still waiting for some clothes. Four years later and walking around without pants has yet to feel natural in any way.”
“I’m sure all those women you courted in your time would beg to differ, but we’ll find you pants nevertheless.” Sikras faced Death, a cupped hand near his lips to carry his stage whisper. “Hard to find a tailor for the poor fellow. Thin hips, you see.”
A haunting groan left the reaper’s jaws. “Were it that I could die to spare me from this conversation.”
