Scythe

"What the fuck is that? A half-blood deformed unicorn? Is this a joke, Hunt?"

Hunt grins, her half moon eyes sparkling with mischief.

"No, actually. That's Arrow, a level 5 Cupid. And the reason Ensie got caught in the first place."

My brows furrow on their own accord. This is Arrow? I somehow pictured her smaller. Shorter. I'd never met her in person, just received the one message she sent after obtaining my number (I'm still not sure how she did). She seemed very... odd. Her contact picture made her appear more petite than she is.

Her hair is also longer in this photograph. It reaches her calves, probably the longest I've ever seen. And it's disgustingly fuschia pink. And are those butterfly hearts in her hair? What the actual fuck?

"Hunt, is this some form of punishment? Did I fuck up somehow? Why are you doing this to me?"

Hunt gestures to the open folder, her grin still intact.

"No! You haven't even let me explain why she's here and you're already being a pain in my ass. She's here because the president of TMD sent her here in exchange for a few thousand extra credits. You know they don't work the way we do. They do whatever they want. And for fifteen grand I don't think I care enough to get in their way."

This time, I do frown. Why the hell should I pay? And with a cupid of all things? They're irritating and the most likely of all supernatural creatures to fail a driving test with their shit coordination skills.

"What does this have to do with me?"

Hunt rolls her eyes and sighs, her grin faltering. Her fingers drum along the edge of her desk.

"Look, the kid fucked up, okay? She's here to do some community service shadowing with one of my reapers and you're one of the best... "

I narrow my eyes. Since when does Hunt give a shit about community service? She's the face of consumerism and environmental destruction. What's the catch? In front of me, she wiggles, swatting her hand at me.

"Okay that, aaand you're also one of the only ones with a spare bedroom."

I snap my gaze to hers. So that's what she wants. No fucking way. And certainly not with the pink hostess snowball.

"Hunt, I know we're not friends. I'm not even going to pretend I like you--"

The woman in questions rolls her eyes again and takes a bite out of a sour strip candy she somehow materialized. She shakes her fist in my direction.

"You're doing a great job convincing me, excellent social skills Scythe."

I ignore the comment.

"But I have been an efficient employee. In fact, I'd say I'm your best. Last year alone I collected a quarter million more souls than the previous record. If I'm not a soul, why are you torturing me? Find some other reaper to do this shit. I'm not doing it."

I get up to leave, turning around only when Hunt slams the door shut with a clap.

"She trapped him in a mirror, you know."

"Who?"

I can feel her pointed stare before I see it.

"Listen, if you don't want the job, fine. I'll just find some other reaper and give them half the credits I'm getting from this whole ordeal. But you can't deny she's got some serious potential. That whole reflection delusion thing? Fucking creative. Not to mention gutsy, when you remember the whole Narcissist thing."

I know I'm going to regret agreeing to it. I can't lie, though. I got deep satisfaction from hearing about the dim-wit's fate. It seemed so poetic to me, trapping him in the delusion of his lover's reflection. And Patience? I couldn't muster up a single fuck.

"When does she get here?"

My voice comes out exhausted. Maybe I am. This past week has sucked the life out of me. No pun intended.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Um, no. I asked for a lavender sample, not periwinkle. Cool tones don't look good on me!"

The voice is grating enough to prick my finger. It's coming from inside the restroom stall. Two feet clad in chunky, pointy stilettos shuffle around before going still. I know she's not doing anything. I've been waiting outside the restroom door for fifteen minutes since she arrived from her flight.

She got off the plane chewing someone's ear off over the phone. She was the only passenger wearing pastels and shoes sharp enough to crack holes in the ground. Immediately, she headed for the restroom in search of privacy.

I knock on the restroom wall, calling out for her for the umpteenth time. An exhausted sigh is her response.

"Look, I've got to go, okay? Some asshole won't stop harassing me. Please send me the samples by the end of the business month. The lavender ones, please. I've already sent them back twice. I don't want to do it again."

Then, silence. At least, until she slams open the stall door and turns to face me, cheeks flushed with irritation and eyes narrowed. She's about to part her lips in a sharp remark, no doubt, when recognition surfaces.

Her brows go up.

"Death?"

I turn around, walking out the hallway. Slow enough to catch her struggle with gaining walking speed but too quick for her to catch up to me. It's not enough to deter her from speaking, however.

"Hellooo? I just asked you a question. Are you death?"

The click of her heels with every hurried step she takes starts irritating me, too. Why does she bother asking if she knew enough to draw that conclusion? I ignore her and continue walking at a brisk pace. I don't have all day to wait for her to continue yapping away. People don't stop dying just because her nail appointment was cancelled or someone gave her the wrong hair dye.

"Ughhh."

I can hear her whine from far behind me.

"Can you, just, like, wait for me a second? I'm not as fast as you."

My retort is quick and harsh.

"If you spent less time verbally abusing underpaid employees you might have had the time to invest in more appropriate footwear to keep up a brisker pace."

The grating click clack of her bloody shoes come to a sudden stop, prompting me to stop as well and turn. And stare.

And sacred angel choirs above do I stare. The woman may have a voice created to make ears bleed and shoes fashioned to deform bone and muscle, but by the boiling lakes of fire is she striking.

She may be concealed by hideous pink furs, but her features cannot be clouded. Her hair is pitch obsidian, eyes a vibrant color I've only ever seen on poisonous earthly animals. I blink, willing my lips to close.

Before I crossed onto the great beyond and became a grim reaper, I recall being little and holding a small, colorful creature I'd found hidden in the forest floor. Holding it for as long as I did resulted in prolonged stay at the local hospital.

It serves the much needed reminder that no matter how beautiful, some creatures are not to be messed with.

I swallow, willing the universe to serve Hunt her much needed dose of Karma for pairing me with disaster on heels. I'm tempted —for only a millisecond— to thank her, but the desire quickly dissipates once I remember the girl's shrill voice and place of origin.

The girl in question stares at me unabashedly, looking me up and down. Thick black lashes are glued to her eyes, showcasing lids painted a soft violet. The edges are adorned with tiny diamonds.

Her brows go up.

"You're even better looking in person."

For some reason, her words don't put me at ease. I'm sure they were meant to flatter, but they only confirm my belief the girl is chaos incarnate. Even worse, the look in her eyes as she assesses me spark with something I can't place. Something beyond my reach. And the foreignness of it makes anxiousness coil from the pit of my stomach, sending a wave of nausea up my throat.

"Listen, I don't know what you're doing, but the only reason I'm here is because my pain in the ass boss is greedy as fuck and bored with doing nothing all day."

The girl in front of me looks at me unfazed, in fact, her eyes grow twice their size with curiosity. Their lavender surfaces glow bright with an honest to god —happy— twinkle.

"You're like a real life Mr.Darcy!" She sighs, clasping her hands together and lifting them to her cheek. Her little squeal catches the attention of other supernaturals passing by.

Oh fuck me.