His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) by J. Eric Hance

interest.”
    I stopped in the middle of the room, turning to face him.
    “I choose Henry Michael Richards.”
    Elliott’s lips spread in his disturbing smile. “Any name but that.”
    I shook my head stubbornly, angry. “I’m not choosing anything else.”
    “Listen, Reaper…”
    A knock at the door, loud and insistent, interrupted Elliott mid-thought.
    We both froze in surprise, staring at the door.
    “No one knows we are here,” Elliott whispered softly.
    My tension rose another notch.
    I wasn’t ready for any more surprises.
    The knock came again. While it was still echoing ominously through the small apartment, there was a third knock.
    In a halting voice, I called out, “Who’s there?”
    “Dammit, son.” Joshua’s voice was unmistakable, even muffled by the door. “Let me in.”
    My heart began to race.
    The last time I’d seen the man, he hadn’t been a man at all. I’d been running from a monster, in a frenzied panic.
    That panic began to return.
    Only now, I had nowhere to run.

VI
    A Reaper by Any Other Name
    I stood still, in shock and fear.
    After several seconds, the door unlocked itself and swung inward.
    Joshua filled the doorway, but he was just a stooped old man again, using his cane for balance.
    I breathed a sigh of relief.
    He stepped in briskly, and the door swung shut and locked itself behind him.
    Elliott nodded to Joshua as he entered. “Joshua.”
    With a strained smile, he nodded to the cat in return. “Good morning, Elliott.” He then turned toward me, scowling. “Dying is no excuse for forgetting your manners, son.”
    I smiled uneasily. “It’s good to see you too, Joshua.”
    He grunted, shuffling past me to the couch, where he settled down heavily. “It’s been a long damn night, and I’m tired.”
    Elliott spread out over Joshua’s lap, and Joshua began to scratch absentmindedly behind the cat’s ears. The purr was as big as the cat himself; I could feel the vibrations through the floor halfway across the room.
    When Elliott spoke, the words were deep and gravelly, laden with the sound of his pleasure. “This is quite the unusual situation.”
    Joshua nodded. “Yes, it is. That’s why I went to see Atropos.”
    The purring ceased abruptly, the sudden silence almost deafening. Elliott slowly withdrew from Joshua’s lap to stand beside him, eyes wide. “You found her?”
    Joshua nodded again. “For once, yes.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “I think she wanted to be found.”
    “Wait,” I said, confused. “Who’s this Atropos?”
    Joshua stared at me long and hard, before finally sighing. “She’s my boss.”
    I stepped forward excitedly. “What did she say?”
    He shook his head. “She said I’m an old damn fool.” His voice was harsh and bitter. “She said I should mind my own damn business.” He stood angrily. “She said, ‘Henry Richards is a Reaper, like any damn other—treat him like any damn other.’”
    My momentary excitement popped like a bubble, leaving a giant void. Anger and frustration washed in like a flood to fill the sudden empty space.
    “So,” Joshua continued, “I’m here to teach you how to be a damn Reaper.”
    A terrifying image filled my mind’s eye—Joshua not as he stood before me now, but as a robed, skeletal specter of death. That might be him, but it was not me.
    It would never be me.
    “No,” I responded, soft but firm.
    Joshua crossed the space between us slowly, like a lithe animal stalking prey, moving now much differently than the stooped old man that had shuffled into the apartment. He cocked his head to one side, raising his ear to me, as if he hadn’t heard clearly.
    “What was that?” The voice sounded very dangerous.
    My own response sounded no less so. “Elliott told me the rules. I’ll keep it in my pants, and I’ll keep your secrets. But I will not be reaping any souls.”
    Joshua snorted, shaking his head. He turned toward the couch, where Elliott cringed under his stare. “Has