7. Arit

Chapter seven

Arit

G ods dammit!

In all my long years I’ve never been irritated or frustrated at being called; it is what I’m here to do, after all. And I wouldn’t ever blame anyone for calling me when I didn’t want to go, but I haven’t ever not wanted to go more than in this moment.

Watching Nixon walk away after our conversation is like a thunderous kick to the gut. Not only is Rai still standing here watching the play-by-play, but now I feel terrible for having to leave Nixon hanging while my next charge is in desperate need of my attention.

I turn sharply toward Rai, a surge of something unpleasant boiling in my core. “Follow me.”

Without a word, we mount to the sky, and I dash off, mere seconds passing as I arrive on the scene of a terrible and tragic car crash. There’s another reaper across the street, Cas, I believe, and a third, Ohl, sitting on the side of the overturned bus. As is sometimes the case, there are incidents that require multiple reapers, and the smoking engines, twisted metal, and shattered glass speak of that need today.

Like specters from the mist, one by one, we collect our charges, good or ill, and lead them onward to whatever end awaits.

This time, young Penny is in my care. Her soul is light and full of energy, happy despite the way things ended for her. Rai waits while I weave a portal, the process seamless. As is often the case with young children, I’m not at all surprised to find myself in the sky. Pale pinks, laughing lavenders, and blushing peaches, the clouds are soft and perfectly fluffy.

In the distance, figures emerge with arms outstretched, and Penny runs joyously forward, giggling and skipping, singing songs of youthful delights. Hugs and kisses are passed around, and as I watch, flowers of every color sprout up, a rainbow emerges, and a unicorn runs along nearby.

These moments are bittersweet for me. While I’m happy for Penny and pleased to see what she has created, I can’t help but wonder who she might have become if given the proper chance. I also feel remorse over my own actions, for taking the frustrations I had at being called into my initial encounter with Penny. She will never know that I was cross and crisp at coming to her aid, but I will. And that is a pill I’ll have to swallow.

But such things as Fate are not in my wheelhouse, and I must trust that She has something else in store for young Penny, and perhaps even for myself.

Returning from my portal calm and recharged, I find Rai where I left her. Together we ride toward the Brooklyn Bridge. We perch on the side, our feet dangling over the edge, and stare out at the view of the East River.

It’s only a few minutes before Rai breaks our peaceful silence. “He can see you.” A statement then, not a question.

“So it would seem.”

“How long?”

“Yesterday. I went to attend to his needs, only, he managed to save himself at the very last second. I was surprised but not shocked. Yesterday was the eighteenth time I’ve been called to carry him.”

Rai sucks in a sharp breath. “Eighteen? Gods. He looks perfectly innocent. Perhaps if it were wartimes or he was a stuntman or something… Not employed by the university. And so young. Arit, do you have any idea what it means?”

“That he can see me?” Rai nods. “No.” But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been tossing around my own ideas for the last several hours.

“Hmm. He obviously has no idea who you are.” She turns her head to look at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Though he did seem to like what he saw.”

Even though her words make my stomach swoop because I know what she’s saying is true, I feign annoyance instead. “Would you focus on the real situation here? Whether Nixon found me attractive or not—”

“He did.”

“Is not the point of our conversation. What we’re trying to determine is why he can see me. Why I’ve been called to carry him so many times. And why he always seems to escape my coming.”

“Do you recognize him?”

“Of course. I just told you—”

“Not that.” She waves my comment away. “Do you recognize his soul? Have you encountered it before?”

And that’s the thing. I know we’ve all encountered souls multiple times before since some souls have unfinished business, and only Fate can decide when a soul should rest. But Nixon’s soul? Yeah, I’ve encountered it before.

“Yes,” I reply, taking a centering breath. “It’s the one soul I’ve encountered more than any other soul I’ve carried. I would recognize it anywhere. In any lifetime. In any era.”

Rai stares at me like I’ve spoken gibberish. “Really?”

I nod and look out over the water. “Four thousand, two hundred, forty-two. Give or take.”

“What?!”

“That’s the approximate number of times I’ve carried Nixon’s soul.”

“Gods in the cosmos.” Rai’s eyes are the size of saucers. “I’m not even going to comment on the fact that you’ve been keeping track because of course you would, but what in Fate’s name does that mean? And you know it means something, so don’t even lie to me. You’re far too old and brilliant not to have your own theory worked out.”

I huff a small laugh, something I realize I do far too little of. If Nixon made me laugh in less than three minutes and forty-nine seconds, I’m apparently not beyond hope. “I do, but I’m sure the situation is just coincidence. Or my theory is wishful thinking. Our kind don’t get involved with humans. We observe. We wait. We’re separate.”

“But that’s not what your brain is telling you. And I hate to point out the obvious here, but you’re already involved with a human. Or did you forget that Nixon can see you? And that he shook your hand less than an hour ago.”

Now that is something I’m not likely to forget. Not only was his skin warm and soft, but I’d longed for the feel of another hand in mine for millennia. I know reapers are not human. I know we’re here to ferry the souls of Fate. I know we’re autonomous. But that hasn’t stopped me from wanting.

And my theory that Nixon is somehow meant for me? That I recognize him for a reason? Quite possibly preposterous. Why, after thousands of lifetimes, would this one be any different? Why did Nixon only see me for the first time yesterday? And why would I feel a connection to him, a fine palpable buzz that simmered through me when his hand finally met mine?

“No, I didn’t forget that.”

“So? You think he’s somehow connected to you? Like he’s the yin to your yang? Or that the whole thing is a fluke? Because I’ve got to say, I’ve never heard of a human being able to see a reaper with a mask.”

I know what she means. Rai is relatively young by reaper standards, possibly somewhere around the low three hundred thousands, but that’s plenty of time for her to have seen—or not seen—the type of situation I’ve got going on with Nixon. And for me? A reaper nearing six million? No. I’ve never heard of it either.

But still, as we chat some more and toss around ideas, Khan eventually finds us, and we all agree to ask around and meet up in a day or two with our findings.

In the meantime, I have souls to carry, other reapers to query, and a man with freckles who is calling my name.