Chapter 17: Chapter 17

S Ø R E N

SAVANNAH COULD NOT stop apologising to the bodyguard whose arm she had twisted.

He was over it fairly quickly, but she insisted that she had done it unconsciously —as though she had not even known she had been doing it. It was as if something had taken her over in that moment.

Søren thought about it as they were led to a previously unnoticed black limousine outside of the apartment building; when they were driven to a five star restaurant called Le Noir; and when they used one of the Boss’ many personal portals to Purgatory —that happened to be in the men’s bathroom. Savannah squirmed and was hesitant to go inside, but she eventually got through it after Søren shoved her in with her eyes shut.

After going through, they stepped directly inside of a building. Unlike her Trainer, Savannah did not look as though she minded that they did not get to see the exterior of Purgatory, and walked perkily alongside the Boss as though she had been here before. It seemed that the elimination of a death sentence had cheered her right up.

Søren frowned, narrowing his eyes at her as they walked unaccompanied down the halls of the office building. She did not notice for a while and continued to ask question after question while Death’s patience dwindled.

When the god finally told her to give it a rest, she reluctantly turned around and caught Søren staring into space.

She fell back in step with him and punched his arm, snapping the Trainer out of his thoughts. “Quit staring at me,” she teased.

“I wasn’t really staring at you,” Søren chuckled half-heartedly, swinging his crossbow back and forth between them. “Rather, through you. I was thinking about something, and you just happened to be standing in the spot on which my eyes decided to stay glued.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, tilting her head to the side. She then undid her falling out ponytail, letting her hair fall around her shoulders.

Søren then glanced at the Boss, wondering what the god and redheaded Reaper had been talking about throughout the journey. “…So what’s the deal with him?” the Trainer asked.

She followed his gaze and looked at Death marching along with clenched fists. “He knows my father,” she said quietly. “That’s why he has the same necklace as me. He says my father gave it to him for safe keeping.”

“Why were they glowing though?” Søren whispered, leaning closer towards her so that they could not be so easily heard.

She opened her mouth to say something, but their conversation was cut off by the Boss suddenly clapping his hands to gain their attention.

“All right, this is my office,” he said, stepping aside to reveal a door marked ‘Head Office’. “You are not ever to be allowed inside without my permission and or presence.”

He gave them both a stern look, and the two Grim Reapers nodded —but as soon as he turned around, Savannah stuck out her tongue and winked at Søren when he elbowed her.

The Trainer drew a deep breath as they entered a dark, musty office decorated with skulls; white and black roses; and accents of dark red.

In one corner, a tall glass case displayed a large, ebony, diamond encrusted scythe —very sharp, and very reflective. Søren shivered when he saw his own reflection in the obsidian, clear and defined. He frowned at it as well as the skulls that decorated the base of the case, before feeling a chill run down his spine. He wondered if the skulls were real and human.

“They’re supposed to be ironic,” the Boss said as if he could read Søren’s mind, before taking a seat in a chair behind a dark Oakwood desk.

Søren shrugged and offered a fake understanding nod. Savannah’s eyes roamed every detail, and she too shuddered at the scythe display.

“So…” she started, coming to a stop in front of the desk. Søren stood next to her, holding his crossbow over his shoulder. “Are you going to explain everything now?”

The Boss sighed and waved his hand. A glass of bloodred wine appeared and settled in his open hand. “…I am going to be frank with you. There are things that I cannot tell you. There are things that you are not allowed to know about. But what I can tell you, is that these necklaces were supposed to be a way of communication between you and your father.

“Your mother didn’t want anything to do with him after she found out the truth about him, so he gave one to you earlier than he had planned; and the other one was intended for himself. They are meant to glow when anything significant happens. They glowed before because of the close proximity,” he ended, nodding at Savannah’s chest.

“It didn’t glow when I died,” the redhead pointed out.

“No,” he agreed, “—but it did when you Turned. When you reaped your first soul, as well. And…when you reaped your boyfriend,” he added.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Savannah corrected him, through clenched teeth.

“Whatever,” the god clicked his tongue. “The point is, you reaped a soul when it was not yet supposed to. That is why his soul was red. So, congratulations you imbecile —he can never rest in peace now.”

“I…didn’t know that at the time,” she argued truthfully. “Besides. I don’t think he deserves to rest in peace.”

“That is not for you to decide,” Death murmured, a shadow passing over his face as he glared at her.

“If you knew what he had done —” Savannah started, before she growled in frustration. “You don’t understand. He had been lying to me.”

Søren understood.

He had been lied to as well; misled and made a fool of. At least Savannah would not have to watch Aaron grow older and be with someone else.

“Okay, look.” The Boss sighed as he stood up, bringing his wine with him. “Mortals and immortals alike cheat on each other all of the time. It is not some great, magical, inexplicable phenomenon. It’s flawed nature —likely on our part. But it is no reason to murder someone.”

“Can we please stop using that word?” Søren then spoke up, finding that he was growing uncomfortable with the way it was being thrown around. He knew that he had in fact used it himself, but he had also come to realise the impression it had on Savannah.

It would not help in moulding her into an efficient and notable Grim Reaper.

“Well, why not say it as it is…?” the Boss scoffed, almost mockingly. The Reapers did not respond. “Fine. What do you suggest that we use?”

Søren shrugged. “…Homicide?”

Savannah gave him a look, indicating that he was not exactly helping.

“Homicide,” Death repeated. “…Is it not still killing?”

Søren wanted to argue that homicide was a milder term, and therefore more sensitive to the deceased as well as being sparing to Savannah’s feelings.

“Excuse me, are you going to charge us or not?” the redhead spoke up. “Why did you even bring us here —what’s so important?”

“…I’m not going to charge you very severely,” Death sighed, his brows knitting. “You will both stay here until you have dusted every single last book in my library and placed them all in alphabetical order; and also according to size, date, and relevance to my preferences. You will find the list for that at the door.” Then he paused, a smirk indicating that it was not as easy as it sounded. “…I own a very extensive library, by the way. Oh! And Savannah,” he then went on, snapping his fingers. An old-fashioned maid outfit complete with a frilly apron, appeared on a plastic hanger. “This is for you. You can’t take it off until the job is done.”

He snapped his fingers again, and in a red smoky burst, Savannah was suddenly kitted out in the maid outfit. Søren stifled a burst of laughter, glancing aside, and Savannah shot him a look of offence.

“Where the hell did my clothes go?” she hissed at Death.

“They will come back when you are done.”

“What,” she spat, “the hell? What is this —some sort of kink?”

“Gods no,” he immediately responded, looking thoroughly repulsed by the suggestion. “It is a punishment.”

“What kind of punishment —”

“I am not finished,” the god cut her off by raising an index finger. She reluctantly let him continue. “Now, I will be keeping a very close eye on you from now on —just to make sure that you do not do any additional stupid things. Oh, I also need to take a look at that sword of yours,” he continued, sitting back down in the chair. “It is not enough that you proved that it is yours earlier. I need to run my own tests.”

“And when will I have it back?” the Reaper asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Death twisted his mouth in thought. “Eh…tomorrow —or never.”

“What?” Søren exclaimed, knowing how unfair the proposal was.

“You can’t really just take my reaping weapon,” Savannah added. “I thought that it belonged to me forever.”

“That will not matter if I find even the slightest thing out of place. What I need to do won’t take just a few hours. I have to inspect it thoroughly —which means that you should be grateful that I even suggested tomorrow as a possibility,” the Boss scoffed, resting his chin in his free hand.

Søren found nothing to say.

The god was truly desensitised; death taken form.

Savannah however, had plenty of words to express her outrage at the injustice. “Yeah —right before you suggested never.”

“Really wish I could help more…” Death murmured, rocking the wine glass in his hand. Søren studied the way his muscles were all flexed; how stiff he was in his chair despite his indifferent expression, as if he were not quite as relaxed as he appeared.

The performance was growing obvious.

“As if,” Savannah spat, throwing her sword onto the floor. A loud metallic clang rang out, and it bounced twice before sliding to a standstill.

“How dare you!” the Boss cried. “You cannot go throwing things down in hissy fits. That is imported marble.”

The trainee Reaper glared at him in disbelief, before pushing past Søren and stomping out of the ajar door.

She slammed it behind her, for emphasis. The Trainer glanced back at the god with a grimace, before turning to go after her.

“…She should be beyond grateful, you know,” Death said, making the older Reaper pause. “The fact that I did not fire nor reap her on the spot speaks volumes that she refuses to hear.”

Søren pressed his lips into a line, unsure of whether or not he should even respond. “I’ll…talk to her,” he then sighed. He turned to leave again, but the Boss called him back. The Reaper raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“My advice to you, Søren,” he started, saying his name as though it was a poisonous swear word, “is to keep your distance from Savannah —lest you want to find yourself without a job.”

Søren frowned, feeling that something was amiss. “What do you mean? I’m her Trainer —I have to stay close.”

The Boss snorted and took a sip of wine. “Oh, it’s a good thing that you are so slow witted and naïve,” he chuckled. “A Trainer is all you will ever be to her, understand? Nothing more than friends.”

Søren’s brain then finally caught up, and he scoffed. “No way,” he said, “I don’t even really like her as a friend, let alone anything more.”

Death’s expression then hardened. “…What, are you saying that suddenly she is no longer good enough for you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Søren assured him. “Look, if you’re asking me to back off because you like her, then I can totally do that.”

The Trainer was not going to judge or call out the god of death —or any deity for that matter —for taking an interest in whomsoever he pleased.

Death suddenly choked, spluttering wine everywhere as his bronze eyes widened. He shuddered, disgusted.

“…First of all: she is far too young, especially given her permanent age. Even I have limits. Secondly, there is no way I would ever be attracted to someone like her. And lastly, I don’t support incest.”

Søren paused and frowned at him in confusion. “…Incest?”

The Boss froze, and then muttered something obscene under his breath in Greek. “…Well, I suppose it will be fine if you know about it. I did not want to tell anyone —not yet anyway,” he admitted, avoiding Søren’s gaze. “Savannah…she is my half-sister,” and he shivered as he said it, and looked as though he were about to throw up. “We…have the same father. That is why I also have a duplicate of the necklace. He gave it to me so I could look after it —and not by choice.”

The Trainer’s brows rose in intrigue rather than surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Søren asked.

Did she not deserve to know she was related to the Boss —to Death himself?

The god sighed and rounded the desk, before sitting on it in an intimidating pose; leaned forward and legs apart. “If I told her the truth, she could work out that her father is a god. She has wild, childish power, Søren,” he warned, “—it would be far too dangerous for her to know just how much, when she can barely control it herself.”

Søren nodded uncertainly, taking it in. He could not see either of them in each other —he was cold, brooding and dark; she was bright and bubbly and impulsive. Their eyes were similar to an extent —but otherwise the Reaper never would have guessed that the two were in any way related.

“If you tell her,” the god’s voice said, and was suddenly a lot closer —and so was he; standing right in front of Søren so he could see the miniature clocks in Death’s eyes, causing him to jump back in surprise.

“I will not hesitate to feed you to Cerberus,” the deity promised. “He has grown rather tired of dinosaur bones.”

Søren gulped, and hastily nodded, believing every word.

For his own sake, and for the safety of the world from Savannah’s unknown quantity of power.

“Now go and get started on that punishment,” Death ordered, waving a hand dismissively and turning back towards the desk.

“Yes, sir,” Søren responded as he backed away. He gestured that his lips were sealed, before ducking around the corner and walking quickly towards a hall whose signage appeared to lead to the library.

The Trainer suddenly stumbled into two large gilt doors, face first. He groaned and slowly looked upwards, to see a sign that read ‘Library: The Entire Worlds’ Information and Creative Centre’.

He pulled the doors open.

The Boss had been serious when he said that he owned an extensive library. Books lined every available slither of the walls, leaving only the white wooden brackets just below the ceiling. Ladders stood against the shelves every few meters —the fancy sliding ones with wheels on the bottom. Søren could not see an end all the way down to the left of him, nor to the right.

And there appeared to be hundreds of twists and turns ahead and around those bends, similar to a labyrinth.

He drew a breath. Normally, this would have been absolute heaven. But under the circumstances, he might as well have been in Tartarus.

“Took you long enough,” Savannah muttered, turning around from facing a shelf and giving him a look. The maid outfit was a little less creepy and more amusing to Søren now that he knew the Boss was her half-brother.

He tried to keep a straight face, but she could tell that he wanted to laugh. She stomped her foot and glared at him, with her hands on her hips. Søren averted his gaze and looked at the numerous books, whistling softly. The redhead huffed and then returned to wielding a black and white feather duster —before coughing and spluttering as dust flew everywhere.

“Does he ever actually come in here?” she wheezed, doubling up and clutching at her stomach.

Søren walked up to where she was and ran a finger along the spines of the books. Dust flew out at him too, and more coughing ensued. “…I don’t think he’s been in here…for years.”

Savannah huffed and rubbed her nose, trying to get rid of some of the dust. “What held you up? I thought you were right behind —”

“—We weren’t talking about anything,” Søren blurted out.

“…me,” she finished, narrowing her eyes and looking at him sideways. He then frowned in an effort to avoid further suspicion. “Oh…kay?”

The Trainer ran a hand through his hair. “…I mean, he didn’t say anything of significance. Just…to keep an eye on you,” he settled for, folding his arms to assert his false adamance.

Savannah did not look as though she believed him.

“Why is that the new rule for me?” she said through her teeth. “I get it —what I did was wrong, and I should’ve listened to you. But why the heck am I now being treated like a child —”

“Because you are one,” Søren raised his voice over hers.

She withdrew, as though he had just slapped her, and her face loosened into a frown. She did not understand.

“You’re only eighteen years and nearly two weeks old —you’re still a child,” Søren explained. “The mundane world taught you that you’ll have all these weird and wonderful entitlements when you turn eighteen, but guess what? Now that you’ve Turned, you’re basically eight. So, grow a pair and suck it up, Savannah —because no matter what you thought you knew when you were alive; you. Know. Nothing. Now.”

Søren’s jaw clenched as he maintained a look of indifference. He did not feel bad for being so harsh.

She was beginning to piss him off —and as much as he hated to admit it, it was because her attitude had been one that he had had when he started out.

This is stupid, he had thought. Why do I have to take orders from someone I don’t even get to see? Death is such a coward.

Savannah blinked, startled by her Trainer’s words, before a layer of tears glistened in the bottom of her eyes. They spilled, one by one, onto her skin and down her cheeks. He watched them fall and he saw the hurt in her eyes.

He turned away.

Søren could not handle it when people cried. He had convinced himself that it was a beg for sympathy —and feeling sorry for someone was not a good thing to feel. Especially when trying to correct them.

He walked over to the door and grabbed the other feather duster, and the rolled-up list that hung on the other side.

“…You’re right,” came a hoarse whisper. He glanced backwards out of the corner of his eyes and waited for her to say more.

“I am a child,” she said clearly. “And I’m sorry for behaving like one all this time. I know that what happened with Aaron was immature on my part. My temper was out of control. I understand why you’d say all that, but I’m trying,” she insisted. “…I’m just a Turned Reaper who doesn’t know any better. But I’ll cooperate and learn. I swear. I’m sorry —I really am.”

Søren paused, before turning back around to face her. He brought the list and feather duster over, before leaning against the shelves with his elbow and facing her. She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“When I Turned, I thought that I had turned into a ghost,” he told her. She frowned and looked up at him curiously. She seemed to be wondering why he was telling her this. He was not entirely sure either. “No seriously —I jumped right through three walls before crashing into the last one and sticking there like a fly on flypaper.”

She then let out a soft laugh, before covering her mouth apologetically.

“…I died in a shooting in 1836,” Søren lowered his voice.

“Oh my God, Søren, you’re so old!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Like…a hundred and eighty-three,” she concluded after several seconds, pouting thoughtfully. “Well, if you count from when you died.”

“Actually, a hundred and ninety-eight counting the years I was mortal,” he corrected her. “I died a month after my sixteenth birthday.”

“Oh,” she softened. She then bit her lip, thinking for a moment. “…You don’t have to go on —I’m sorry.”

Søren could not help chuckling, much to her surprise. “I wasn’t going to go on.” Then he sighed and stood up straight. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even born yet.”

“Touché,” she said sheepishly, “It kind of slipped out naturally. Whenever someone talks about death, you usually apologise —even if it hasn’t got remotely anything to do with you.”

Søren shrugged. “I figured,” he yawned, raking through his hair. “All right. Now let’s get started on this punishment.”

Savannah blew a raspberry and slouched but reached for her feather duster all the same. But she was smiling, and occasionally turning to stick her tongue out at him playfully.