Milla
I was working like a beast. I had taken only a few projects with the move, but those clients got more than their money’s worth. I didn’t even care that I was basically giving them the five-digit products at entry-level pricing. Working kept me busy and kept me from thinking about him—Justice.
I wanted to blame it all on my gator and her desire for him. I really did, but the truth was, the human Milla wanted him just as badly, which made no sense since he hated my guts.
Which was another thing on the made-no-sense scale. I mean, sure, he has a scar from me and had a shit-ton of pain, but shifters bleed each other. It’s what we do, even those of us who are stuck in our skin. There was no reason for him to hold onto it as long as he had. Unless—maybe—I had injured him so severely he still had pain. The darn wood had been embedded deeply, but I assumed, under my dad’s strong reassurance, that it was no big deal, just an upgraded splinter. That and the near drowning, but, to be fair, I sucked in too much water as well, and there’s not much nastier than bayou water while still in skin. At least he was in gator form.
I shook the memory from my mind before sending an invoice to one of my clients, sure to add all she got for free so she didn’t expect a website of this caliber for such a low fee again, and turned off my computer. A long hot shower and a beer were in order. I didn’t have any beer, but I had a shower and a water heater cranked up full blast. And footie pj’s because nothing says comfy like footie pj’s.
Unfortunately, my footies were not unpacked, but, being stubborn, I wasn’t going to let that stop me. The living room was still filled with my meager possessions, something I swore I’d remedy with every day that passed by, but never seemed to make it to the top of my to-do list. It wasn’t long before I found what I was looking for and went down the hallway to get my steam on.
“Milla,” an unfamiliar voice called from behind me.
Turning around, I crouched in my defensive position, something my father had taught me since he knew my gator wasn’t going to protect me.
“Shit,” I mumbled as the eyes of the old woman met mine. Double shit. She wasn’t human. “What are you, and how do you know my name?” I asked with much more bravery than I felt. A nonhuman, non-shifter popping up in your house is never a good omen.
“I’m Marie, Tansy’s meemaw.” She smiled sweetly, but I could sense her power. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“This is your house.” And she was welcome to it.
“It was before I died.”
“You ain’t no ghost.” I kept my stance, daring her with my gaze to lie. What was she? Not a witch, for they tend to have no transparent bits. Not a ghoul because she still was able to speak in complete sentences. Crap. Why didn’t I pay more attention to father’s stories?
“I never said I was, but how do you know that?” She seemed more perplexed than nervous, and I allowed myself to give the appearance of relaxing the slightest bit, not that I wasn’t still ready to defend myself. “Even my Tansy thought I was, and she talks to the dead.”
Of course she did. I sensed she was more than. This town seemed to attract them, but medium made sense. The way she kept her eyes scanning a room and jumped at noises most humans would’ve missed or ignored.
“We’ll get back to the she-talks-to-the-dead bit later.” Because I needed to know all things. “What are you?”
“First, you need to know I am here as a personal favor and not on business.”
I swallowed deeply. That did not sound good. Not. At. All.
“I’m a reaper but not here for you.”
Not here for me was something, but fuck a reaper. Why wasn’t my gator freaking out because human Milla sure as shit was.
“A reaper.”
She nodded, leaning against the wall in a nonchalant pose one might hold while speaking of the weather.
“You’re a fucking reaper, in my house, which I guess you want back, so your house.” She could have it. Today. All of it including my footie jams and computers. No way was I going head-to-head with a reaper.
“I want to ask you to bring something to Tansy is all. The house is yours. Now tell me, how did you know I wasn’t a ghost?”
“Because I don’t see the dead, and I see you.”
“You feel the dead, though.” And just like that, she calmed me with her understanding tone and half smile. How had she known that? True, I didn’t see anything, but I sure as the day is long felt things, and never happy things. Not that I could do anything about it. It just gnawed at my insides until I left.
“I feel evil. Not the same thing.” I would so much rather feel ghosts.
“Potato potahto.” She smirked. If she didn’t have the ability to take me to the netherworld with a mere glance, I might like the woman. “So, will you?”
It took me a moment to remember what it was she was talking about.
“Bring something to Tansy?”
She nodded.
“Sure. I have time to stop by in the morning. Those king-nuts are worth the trip.” They were also going to be the downfall of my waistline with their yummy goodness.
“I was thinking you could bring it now.” She took a step closer, causing me to cringe and forcing myself to remember she was not here for me.
“Really?”
“Did you just whine to a reaper?”
Suck an egg, I had. I officially had no self-preservation.
“Fine. What do you need me to bring?”
“It’s in the attic.” She pointed to the trap door.
“I’ll grab the ladder.” I made my way to the hall closet and gathered the ladder that lived there. When I first moved in, I didn’t understand why it wasn’t in the garage where ladders lived. Then I discovered the inconvenience that was the attic, and it made sense. I’d looked up there once but had yet to explore it. It felt almost too personal, and I had meant to ask Tansy if she was sure she didn’t want the things stored there.
“So, is this going to be a thing, now?” I tried to sound like I was teasing, but I needed to know if I had somehow managed to become the reaper’s lackey.
“What? Bringing things to Tansy?”
“Doing your bidding,” I clarified as I climbed the ladder, pushing the tile up and out of the way.
“Naw. Sweets, I just feel like you need to deliver this today. Do you prefer I knock next time?”
Or not come back. Reaper visits sounded like something I was fine not having in my life.
“Knocking is always good. But, you know, if you are here for work, maybe forget the address.” I climbed to the top of the ladder, reaching up for the chain that turned on the light. The attic was a dusty mess.
“I like you.” Marie now sat on a box across the room, pointing down to a spot on the floor. “It’s right there.”
“Ditto,” I mumbled, the truth of that surprising me.