Page 42 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“I do not know.”

“You don’t know,” she repeated. “You’re not curious? Never had a regional team meeting? No group chat?”

Not sharing information with Geri was as dangerous as spilling all his secrets. She could sense the holes in his answers and the spots of missing information. It was not maliciousness on his part. It was for her own protection. Soon she would connect the pieces and arrive at the correct conclusion.

He should not have shared his version of The Handbook with her. Now she was emboldened to ask uncomfortably relevant questions.

“It is not a set amount and I do not receive a daily population report,” he said. “It fluctuates, as I have told you. If more are needed, they are brought into being. Therefore, the necessary amount of reapers is always present.”

“Did the handbook tell you that?”

“No. When I gained consciousness, I understood that I was one of many and a necessary component.”

“And you never wanted to gather all the reapers together and compare notes?”

When he was younger, yes. He quickly learned that nothing good happened when two or more reapers gathered in one location.

“That is an inefficient use of my time,” he answered. “All the information I need to know is contained within the handbook.”

That was a bald-faced lie. There were many things—vital things—not covered in the handbook and seeking out those answers only led to trouble. It was better to focus on his duties and concern himself with the many unknowable facets of the universe.

GERI

Bazel was in a mood.

Fine. Let him. She was certainly in a mood.

The phone buzzed.

Time of Death is now calculated at 12:12 pm.

Great, now she had to hang around for another twelve minutes. Being expected to run around the city wouldn’t be so bad if the entity setting the schedule respected her time. She had no idea how this could possibly work when she went back to the office next week.

“We have another delay,” she said, slipping the phone back in her pocket.

“It can happen. Fate is not always punctual.”

“So what I want to know is how I’m expected to provide coverage for the entire city. I’m only one person. I don’t teleport or fly.”

“I do not fly.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you take the bus.” The thought of Bazel lurking on the bus, standing in the aisle, one hand holding onto the back of a seat and a massive scythe in the other, made her smirk.

He pulled his shoulder back and stood a bit taller, yet the hood and robe still managed to hide his features. “To answer the next question you will inevitably ask— which technically makes this many questions, not a few— most souls are able to cross the veil on their own. A reap is mostly necessary for deaths that are violent or unexpected.”

That aligned with the reap yesterday.

Geri checked the time again, mainly to stress herself out. “Look, I don’t see how this is possible when I go back to work next week. Is there anyone around who can help cover?”

“Absolutely not. Your reaps are your own.”

“Oh, fate can be late,” she repeated in a mocking tone, “but I can’t get a little help? I’m on my own?”

“It is not allowed, as stated in the handbook.”

Yeah, she read that bit in her copy of the handbook. She suspected that Bazel’s copy said something different.

“But why not? Does it matter who opens the veil?” she asked.