Page 75 of A Grim Reaper’s Guide to Living Twice

“But you have read it,” said Jack. “Haven’t you?”

Greta’s pale eyes shifted away. “Some of it.”

“Then you know that if nothing changes, S.C.Y.T.H.E. will end up defunct and you’ll be out of a job again.”

A sharp exhale. “What do you want with that information?”

“We’re dealing with a glitch here, right?” said Jack. “Glitches can be repaired.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Not even a little,” Jack admitted. “But I promised someone I’d try.”

“I’m sure there are others trying. Why would you be any different?”

“Let’s just say I know enough about death at this point to know that when it functions well, it can be pretty scary. But if it stops functioning? If something goes wrong?” Margaret sent a small shudder through their shared body. “That’s terrifying. I don’t want anyone facing that. I don’t think you do either.”

Greta’s gaze kept evading his.

“Plus going back on the job hunt without your stepdad’s pull would really suck,” Jack said. He could feel the hit landing. Greta flinched.

“Low blow, Ms. Chen.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Jack. “Worrying about the balance of life and death makes me a little irritable.”

A heavy sigh. Greta slipped her lanyard over her head, offering up her key card.

“Section 301 D should have what you’re looking for,” she said. “Ignore the boxes in the corner; the previous archivist clearly never got around to filing them and I haven’t had a chance myself just yet.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, looking down at the key card. It still had Gerard’s name on it.

Section 301 D was as musty and uninspiring as Jack remembered it. He grabbed a few books from the shelves and lowered himself to the floor to read through them. This position wouldn’t be sustainable for long; elderly bodies were not made for floor sitting, but nothing could be removed from the small room at the back of the archives, and Jack was already breaking enough rules—and forcing Greta to break them with him—to risk adding another to the list.

Before long, his lower back was aflame and there were more open books and files around him than he could possibly read in a day. Greta was going to have to get used to his company down there. The information he’d already uncovered sent his head spinning, concepts he’d never heard of in his time as a Collections Agent filling documents as though they’d become commonplace: essences that were never processed, souls refusing to leave their bodies after death, the population of ghosts expanding at an alarming rate. Even the verified existence of a Blind Spot, which had once been thought to be a myth but had recently been discovered in three separate locations across North America alone.

Jack reeled, the aches in his body paling next to the horror of what he was reading. Death really was broken, and souls were paying the price. Jack looked down at the gentle slopes and sags of the body he’d called home since he died. Possession was supposed to be impossible, and yet here he was, sharing a fleshy shell with a stranger. This glitch had enabled his extended afterlife. Which meant fixing it might be enough to evict him from the last thing holding him to this plane of existence. Jack shut the file in his lap and moved on to the next, a plume of dust scattering into the air with the action. He couldn’t worry about his own soul now. At the moment, his soul was safe, tucked away in Margaret’s body alongside her own increasingly active spirit. The same couldn’t be said for anyone else entering the afterlife these days, and that was what Jack would focus on for the time being.