Chapter Four

Leaning back in his desk chair, Anderson laced his fingers behind his head, closing his eyes with a look of resignation. "Do you know what the fates are, Milo?"

He'd evidently rolled up his shirt sleeves during his impromptu hallway meeting, and the beautifully-muscled forearm porn he was flashing me had my brain flickering on and off like a stubborn fluorescent light. "The…what? The fates? Like…double double toil and trouble?"

My answer prompted a smirk, and the sight sent my libido sparkling like a bug zapper in summer. Oof. Yes please.

"That's Macbeth , Milo, though you got the trio right. The fates were three sacred women in ancient Greece, goddess-like figures, that wove, measured, and cut the life-threads of everything that lived."

He straightened and plucked up the folder he'd been studying, sliding his index finger up into the seam to open it towards me. Papers were fastened to either side, like a medical chart, full of writing in a language I didn't recognize. In the center, a golden, glowing cord dangled like a bookmark. Anderson opened his eyes, now lit up in the same unearthly shade of luminescent gray as my second folder. "The third and final of those women, she who represented the inevitable and cut the threads, was my mother."

I laughed nervously. What else could I do, with that kind of declaration? Yeah, he was hot as hell, but my new boss was completely off his rocker. I didn't know what kind of LED lighting and custom contacts he was rocking to make this whole weird show work, but I was over it. I patted the side of the couch until my fingers closed on my briefcase handle, getting to my feet. "Well, uh, Anderson, I appreciate your time, but I need a real job with a real paycheck, and Weaver Inc. really doesn't seem like the right place for me."

"Sit down, Milo Argus. You are exactly where you need to be." The command in Anderson's tone reverberated in a strange way, like music playing underwater, and my knees buckled against my will, dumping me back on the couch unceremoniously. I gaped at him, trying to move feet that were now stubbornly glued to the carpet.

Anderson looked up again with a sigh, standing up and moving in front of his desk to sit on the edge. "Milo, your taxi driver wasn't human. He works for Weaver, plucking souls from the Styx and quietly diverting them in the rare cases my brothers and I spot potential . You died, Milo. That pressing interview was your intake coordinator for the afterlife. Think about it, do you remember any details at all, or just an overwhelming sense of urgency? That's by design, like in a dream where you desperately have to achieve something you can't define."

I scowled, opening my mouth to protest the insanity, but realized he was right. I had no idea what the interview was for, only that it was very important that I get to it. In fact, now that I was concentrating on it, there were a lot of fuzzy details that should not have been fuzzy. It was like I'd been drunk the last week or so, the mental edges of everything indefinite and evasive.

Anderson's voice gentled as he closed the space between us, still keeping a respectful distance. "And do you remember the last time you actually read something, or noticed a specific time on a clock? Did your phone stop working when it shouldn't have?"

I chewed lightly on my lower lip, uncertainty creeping in. "Y-yeah. My phone died this morning and I'm sure I charged it. Like I'm sure I charged it. And the last things I remembered reading were the sign in the bodega and the name of your company, on the front of the building." I rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the carpet while my brain spun its wheels. It was impossible, right?

"The downside of diverting souls is that you skip the intake process, the explanations and careful acclimations of new death. I'm sorry for that, I can imagine it's very disorienting, and I wish there was an easier way, I really do. Unfortunately, it's necessary in cases like yours." Anderson gingerly sat on the couch beside me, his nearby warmth a welcome anchor for my unmoored mind. "But I'm here. I'm going to help you navigate this, because your skills are priceless. You're an Argus, and I need you."

I turned, frowning at him, more angry at the situation than at him, but without a convenient target to take it out on. "And what the hell does that mean ? I heard the guy in the hall say that too. Am I like some fancy breed of horse or something?" I sounded downright petulant, but I was pissed . I couldn't be dead, I had shit to do. Shoes to buy. Bills to pay. Houseplants to water.

"Your bloodline has a specific gift for helping us store and sort life-thread cords appropriately, you can see a celestial order where we see only immediate tasks." He pointed at each of the filing cabinets, left to right. "Cameron handles new life, Lawson handles lifespan, and I handle…the rest." He smiled, a profound sadness in his eyes that sent a pang through my heart.

My memory flashed with the bright pink glow, and the golden one, and then the quiet dignity of the gray that emanated from Anderson's eyes. My boss was, effectively, death, and that was one hell of a job title to shoulder. I lowered my voice to a whisper, the inevitable question uncomfortably direct. "So you kill people? Does that mean you can bring them back?"

He closed his eyes, pain tightening his mouth before it softened into a defeated smile. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Milo. I know why you need to ask, but I hope you also know why I have to say no."

I nodded, tangling my fingers with one another between my knees as the weight of my death, and my new situation, really settled into place. For some reason, Anderson's directness tamped down the hysteria that would normally froth up in a situation like this. I knew in the marrow of my bones, if those even still existed, that he was telling me the truth.

"So I…belong to you?" The moment the words tripped off my tongue, I winced internally. I sounded like an angsty boyfriend, not an employee, and if my unexpected new gig spared me from the finality of death, I needed to get my shit straight. Well, maybe not straight . I wasn't great at feigning that, if junior prom had been any indication.

Anderson chuckled, breaking the aching tension of the news. He turned his wrist to me, and my inner forearm slut made an unholy sound in my throat that I tried to cover with a cough. Two thick fingers drew up a very expensive-looking watch wristband to reveal two braided cords wrapped around his wrist like bracelets. One was a solid gray, the exact hue of his filing cabinet, but the other flickered between every shade of gray I could imagine, interspersed with moving, glittering orbs that sleepily blinked like eyes.

"Not exactly. We're connected, to put it simply. This is my cord, because even beings of my caliber have one. But this one—" His index finger delicately stroked across the width of the color-changing band, and euphoria swirled through my body, making me gasp. "—is yours. You were always fated to be my assistant, Milo. I've been patiently waiting for you since my brother Cameron first drew your cord 25 years ago."

He stroked his thumb across the glittering braid with a fond look, practically murmuring. "I've worn it every day since, because I knew I'd never have to cut it. And now here you are, with me, where you belong."

I tentatively reached out and touched his offered wrist, fingers dancing away from my cord to trace the edges of his , smiling when his eyes closed in bliss. "Only your assistant , Anderson? Then why did I hear the man in the hall call me a companion ? You haven't lied to me yet, so don't start now."