deaths.
“This clause,” Thanatos said, breaking my reverie. “I don’t believe it will apply to me.”
“Which clause?” I knew which clause. It was the same one every god thought didn’t apply to them.
“Section six, subsection six, paragraph six.”
He didn’t read it out loud. He didn’t have to. I had it memorized.
“Yes,” I said. “In the unlikely event that you die while vacationing in Ordinary, your power will be transferred, within seven days, to one mortal who will go on to become the god of death.”
“Me, dead.” His mouth almost lifted toward a smile.
For the first time, I glimpsed a spark of something that might actually be humor kindling in his eyes.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused.
“For you, maybe,” I said. “For me, it would just be a ton of paperwork, and a lot of legwork to find a mortal suitable and willing to take on your power.”
“Must they be willing?”
“One hundred percent.”
He nodded with what he might have intended to be sympathy but which only looked like gallows glee. “I am sure I will not need to inconvenience you with such a thing, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney,” I said. “If you’re coming to town you’ll need to follow human conventions in language too. I prefer to be addressed by my given name.”
“I am aware of that. I read section twelve. But I believe those rules only apply once I have signed and am residing in your town, is that correct?”
I stifled a sigh. He was going to be a stickler for details. Of course. But outwardly, I gave him the old Reed family smile. “That’s how it works.”
“Shall we sign?”
Well. That was quick.
I fished a ballpoint pen from Joe-Boy’s mechanic shop out of my pocket and handed it to him.
He took it, careful not to let his fingers so much as brush mine, which was good. This near, his fingers gave off a chill as if they were made of dry ice.
He clicked the end of the pen with his thumb, stacked the pages so that the last was on top, and pressed the edges cleanly together.
Then he signed on the line with a flourish. As soon as he lifted the pen there was a sort of shift in the air. The temperature rose ever so slightly, the lights seemed to burn brighter.
He clicked the pen again, placed it precisely in the center of the contract, and pushed the pages across the table toward me.
Cold black eyes watched me with the silence of all the world’s graves.
I picked up the pen—which, surprisingly, wasn’t cold—and glanced at his signature. Amazing, scrolling piece of art. Beautiful, really.
I set my own name—clean, no-nonsense, and easily legible—beneath his.
The temperature rose just a bit more and I could hear the music over the shop speakers I hadn’t realized had faded. Being around Thanatos had a heck of an insulating effect on the world.
“That’s it,” I said. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Ordinary, Oregon. I do hope you’ll enjoy your vacation stay. Remember, you’ll need to choose a name you wish people to address you by. Using one that is more common among mortals makes it easier on all of us.”
“I should prefer Than,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “That’ll work. I’ll drive back to town. You can come at any time you wish, but need to stop directly at the police station so I can take care of your personal effects.”
“My power?”
“Your power. And as a quick reminder, you will follow the three basic laws: Get a job or otherwise be a contributing member of the community. Don’t kill anyone or harm through intent or neglect. And most importantly: do not procreate.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, but compared to any other sign of amusement he’d shown, it was practically a belly laugh.
“I understand each of these requirements, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney. Do you have any other questions?”
“Endless. But I do enjoy a good surprise.”
I wasn’t sure how it was that everything he said came out so sinister
“This clause,” Thanatos said, breaking my reverie. “I don’t believe it will apply to me.”
“Which clause?” I knew which clause. It was the same one every god thought didn’t apply to them.
“Section six, subsection six, paragraph six.”
He didn’t read it out loud. He didn’t have to. I had it memorized.
“Yes,” I said. “In the unlikely event that you die while vacationing in Ordinary, your power will be transferred, within seven days, to one mortal who will go on to become the god of death.”
“Me, dead.” His mouth almost lifted toward a smile.
For the first time, I glimpsed a spark of something that might actually be humor kindling in his eyes.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused.
“For you, maybe,” I said. “For me, it would just be a ton of paperwork, and a lot of legwork to find a mortal suitable and willing to take on your power.”
“Must they be willing?”
“One hundred percent.”
He nodded with what he might have intended to be sympathy but which only looked like gallows glee. “I am sure I will not need to inconvenience you with such a thing, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney,” I said. “If you’re coming to town you’ll need to follow human conventions in language too. I prefer to be addressed by my given name.”
“I am aware of that. I read section twelve. But I believe those rules only apply once I have signed and am residing in your town, is that correct?”
I stifled a sigh. He was going to be a stickler for details. Of course. But outwardly, I gave him the old Reed family smile. “That’s how it works.”
“Shall we sign?”
Well. That was quick.
I fished a ballpoint pen from Joe-Boy’s mechanic shop out of my pocket and handed it to him.
He took it, careful not to let his fingers so much as brush mine, which was good. This near, his fingers gave off a chill as if they were made of dry ice.
He clicked the end of the pen with his thumb, stacked the pages so that the last was on top, and pressed the edges cleanly together.
Then he signed on the line with a flourish. As soon as he lifted the pen there was a sort of shift in the air. The temperature rose ever so slightly, the lights seemed to burn brighter.
He clicked the pen again, placed it precisely in the center of the contract, and pushed the pages across the table toward me.
Cold black eyes watched me with the silence of all the world’s graves.
I picked up the pen—which, surprisingly, wasn’t cold—and glanced at his signature. Amazing, scrolling piece of art. Beautiful, really.
I set my own name—clean, no-nonsense, and easily legible—beneath his.
The temperature rose just a bit more and I could hear the music over the shop speakers I hadn’t realized had faded. Being around Thanatos had a heck of an insulating effect on the world.
“That’s it,” I said. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Ordinary, Oregon. I do hope you’ll enjoy your vacation stay. Remember, you’ll need to choose a name you wish people to address you by. Using one that is more common among mortals makes it easier on all of us.”
“I should prefer Than,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “That’ll work. I’ll drive back to town. You can come at any time you wish, but need to stop directly at the police station so I can take care of your personal effects.”
“My power?”
“Your power. And as a quick reminder, you will follow the three basic laws: Get a job or otherwise be a contributing member of the community. Don’t kill anyone or harm through intent or neglect. And most importantly: do not procreate.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, but compared to any other sign of amusement he’d shown, it was practically a belly laugh.
“I understand each of these requirements, Reed Daughter.”
“Delaney. Do you have any other questions?”
“Endless. But I do enjoy a good surprise.”
I wasn’t sure how it was that everything he said came out so sinister
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