While I still thought it was optimistic to call Clark's closet an office, I was grateful for the cosy space. It felt far more welcoming without Leon looming angrily over us, and the warm mug of tea clasped between my fingers was the greatest pleasure I'd experienced since my untimely death. Even if food and drink weren't necessary for Reapers, I couldn't imagine abstaining entirely for as long as I was stuck in this purgatory.

As I sipped quietly on the scalding liquid, I swung my feet idly beneath the chair and watched Clark stamp and sign documents. When he was done, he rolled the papers and stuffed them into capsules. The pneumatic tube greedily accepted them and spirited the tubes away to who knew where. I didn't feel that it was my place to ask, although I was sorely tempted. I was also tempted to stick my hand in the tube to see what would happen, but I figured I should be a mature adult and resist the urge.

My gaze was drawn to the décor or lack thereof. I'd been to my Dad's office a few times and he'd always had photographs around his desk, framed certificates and qualifications on the wall, and other personal items that helped him feel at home. Clark had nothing of the kind. I didn't know if it was because there weren't photographs in the afterlife, even though I'd seen a fair few portraits, or if he simply didn't care enough to furnish the place with personal items. I mean, it might well have been that he simply didn't have the space. Whatever the reason, there was nothing in the room that gave a single hint as to the person Clark was. Nothing except the piles of papers stacked precariously atop filing cabinets and in corners. If I hadn't already visited the study where I'd left Leon, I'd have thought that Clark's antique wooden desk was a personal flourish, but it seemed that was just par for the course in the afterlife.

"What are you signing?" I asked.

Clark jumped. I figured he'd forgotten I was there; he'd been so absorbed in his work that he wouldn't have noticed a herd of elephants stampeding down the corridor outside, never mind the blonde Reaper sipping tea on the other side of his desk. He shuffled the papers until they were neatly stacked, losing whatever it was he'd been reading in the process. Probably so that I couldn't read something confidential. Honestly, I wasn't super interested in learning all the fine details of the afterlife. I only cared about moving on or going back, and only Clark could help me figure things out.

"Various documents."

"About my case?"

"Yes and no. I offer my support to other caseworkers when I have time. Checking appeal statements before hearings, proofreading the contractual agreements for new heavenly emissaries, the usual things."

I wasn't sure that any of those things could be considered usual, but very little about our respective situations was. I mean, it was probably all standard procedure for Clark in his role. Still, it seemed a little weird that he was helping others when he was meant to be completely focused on my situation. From the way he'd reacted when I'd first appeared in his office, I'd deduced that my case warranted urgent attention, yet he had time to read contracts for his colleagues instead of getting me out of my Reaper job.

"Shouldn't you be working my case? Or, like, cases for your other clients?"

"I don't have other clients."

Oh, that's reassuring.

Either Clark was some special case worker and wanted to totally focus his time on me or as was more likely given the size of his office and his usual state of disorganisation, no one else wanted to hire him. I didn't have a great deal of hope for my fate if it was the latter. I wanted to believe that Jane wouldn't have foisted me off on someone who didn't know what they were doing, but I'd only met the woman twice and it wasn't like she owed me anything. Sure, she'd been nice to me when I'd first shown up in her office but that didn't mean she was about to do me a favour and assign me a decent case worker. Hell, she might have sent me to Clark just to spite Leon so that he'd be stuck with me.

"Trust me, I'm giving your case all my attention," he said. "I'm not going to let you end up in Hell."

Even if he was useless, at least he was earnest. Clark's smile was so warm and confident that I almost believed he could single-handedly change the minds of whoever might decide my fate. Almost. At least it appeared that he would try his best, and I supposed that was the best I was going to get. Leon certainly didn't seem like he was going to do much to help. Sure, he'd saved me from a Hell Hound, but he'd also been threatened by Death to keep me alive, so he was probably serving his own interests when he did that.

I peered down into my tea. The porcelain had cooled but the residual heat had turned my pale fingers a pinkish red. Unable to stand further prolonged, awkward silences, I asked, "What are you, anyway? I mean... Are you a ghost or something?"

"Case workers are low-level Angels. Very low-level. You wouldn't see them on a Wikipedia chart, let's put it that way."

Now, I was all for casual pop-culture references in my stories, but if Clark really was an Angel, then there was no way he had access to Wikipedia. I mean, that was a mortal website. Jane had a computer in her office, but I didn't think it had a strong enough wi-fi signal that it could transcend realms and send her down some kind of true crime rabbit hole during her lunch break.

"How do you know about Wikipedia?"

"Some Angels visit Earth. They let us know about all the latest advancements. Apparently, there's an online distributor of cat videos. I didn't know feline escapades were so fascinating, but it seems you humans can't get enough."

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "It's because they're cute."

Clark thought on this for a moment. "Yes, that makes sense. Anyway, I hope that answers your question."

It'd answered one question, but there were others. I mean, here I was talking to a real Angel. One of the creatures from legends. From biblical lore. I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to prod for a little more information. I didn't know when I'd get another chance. If I did get back to Earth, it'd be a Hell of a story to recount to my sister, too.

"Have you got wings?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Can I see?"

"No. Angel's wings are intimate. Besides, I hardly have the space in here to stretch them out."

"Psh, you're no fun," I complained childishly. I perked up when an idea struck. "Can I apply to be an Angel instead of a Reaper?"

"You don't apply for the position of an Angel. We're created by The Architect. You'd probably call them God, I suppose. You, humans, have many creative terms for them."

I'd never been particularly religious. Crazy to believe seeing as I was talking to an Angel like it was the most natural and ordinary thing in the world. I mean, that was the kind of thing that'd make you question all your convictions. Still, I was an open-minded person. I mean, I had to be to take all this in stride. I hadn't seen this Architect myself, nor had I come face-to-face with a set of pearly gates or anything else. I was happy to be a sceptic a little longer, if only so that the author of this story could take their time winning me around to the idea of wider religious concepts for the sake of my character journey.

"Technically speaking, wasn't everyone created by some supreme being?"

Clark took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The evolution and creation of man is a long and convoluted story. You can probably tell from the many different religious scriptures on Earth that history has various versions. The only person who knows the truth of it all is The Architect, and you have more chances of being struck by lightning in this office than getting an audience with them to ask about a career change."

I pouted. "Fine. I'll stay a stupid Reaper."

"Being a Reaper isn't stupid," Clark said sternly. "It's incredibly important that souls are directed to their proper place after they leave their Earth-bound vessels. Don't let your dislike of Leon make you lose sight of that."

I set down the empty mug on the desk and leaned forwards. "Tell me something... when people die – like when I died – are we actually dead, or what?"

And the award for the most convoluted sentence goes to...

"Dying does imply being dead."

"But we're solid, right? Leon was shot, I was kissed, and right now we're talking and drinking tea. I don't feel like a ghost or anything. I mean, I have a heartbeat and blood. We can sleep and dream if we want to. I figured we'd be more... I don't know... like zombies, or something."

"Zombies aren't real."

"You know what I mean," I persisted. "What is death if you're alive?"

"We're not alive, Mackenzie. At least, you're not. I've never been alive or dead. No, we're not alive as far as Earth is concerned. We just exist on another plane. Everything that exists on that same plane is as real to us as things on the Earth plane were when we lived there. Make sense?"

"No," I said flatly. "You lost me around planes."

"Imagine a ghost."

"Okay."

I could do that. A big old white sheet with eye holes cut in it. Maybe some rattling chains. A few ghostly wails and a big old castle for them to float around it to their heart's content. Easy.

"When you were alive and you heard ghost stories, did you hear of ghosts passing through objects as if the ghosts were made of air?" Clark asked.

"Well, obviously. That's like ghost one-oh-one," I scoffed.

"Good. Now, to you, that ghost was the one made of air. To the ghost, you were made of air. To you, every person you met was as alive and solid as you. To the ghost, all the other ghosts were solid and real, and the living were the ones who were like air. If there's another plane beyond ours, then they'll feel the same about us. We'll be air, and everything on their plane will be solid and real." Clark rattled off like it was scientific and not a conveniently filled plot hole. "Planes stand like books on a shelf. Like alternate realities existing in the same place in the universe and on the same planet, but never letting their individual, contained stories cross paths. The things that exist on our plane with us are as real and dangerous as anything we lived with on Earth. You're dead to the people you knew, but you're very alive to everyone here."

"Uh... okay... Thanks, I think?"

If anything, Clark had left me even more confused than he might have done if he'd just told me that's how things were, and I needed to deal with it. I guessed I understood a little. All the living people saw the things that were living. All the dead people saw the things that were dead. Because I was dead, the living things couldn't hurt me, but the dead things could.

They could also kiss me, and I made a mental note to avoid doing that ever again.

Satisfied that my silence meant I didn't have further questions, Clark announced, "Now, I think you've been hiding in my office long enough. You should go back and see if Death and Leon need to talk to you about your adventure."

I groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. I'll be in touch when I have news about the trial."

From what Leon had said, I'd deduced that it could be some time. I thanked Clark for the tea before I left, knowing full well that I could never convince Leon to put a kettle into the staff room. He probably didn't even like tea.

Truly, he was a monster.