Page 27 of Potions and Proposals
“What are you wearing?” Peter asked with a grin.
His ash-blond hair had grown out since he’d last made an appearance, and he was wearing a green hoodie and black jeans. Usually, Grim Reapers were meant to keep their hair short andalways wear their black robes, but his brother had a way of charming people into letting him bend the rules. All Mathersons did.
“Clothes. What are you doing here?” Benedict asked, waving Peter away from his desk.
“Nice to see you too.” Peter raised his eyebrow, moving around him. His long, black coat signified that he was on the job, even if it wasn’t strictly Reaper uniform.
Benedict had forgotten how much he’d grown. The brothers were nearly the same height now, whereas in Benedict’s mind Peter was still the sixteen-year-old who barely reached his shoulders.
“Peter, I don’t have time for whatever you’re up to.” His work would be building up thanks to all the morning’s disturbances, and he didn’t want his brother delaying him further with his mischief.
“I’m up to nothing,” Peter protested.
That would be a first, Benedict thought.
“You missed the anniversary of my death last week. Thought I’d pop in and make sure you were okay.”
Peter had aged since his death to look like he was in his early twenties, but on the day of his anniversary he appeared as his sixteen-year-old self, who’d died in his favourite football jersey. Benedict found it too painful to see him that way; even if he wanted to honour the day of Peter’s passing, it wasn’t as if he was gone. Thanks to his job as a Grim, Peter maintained his physical form despite not being part of this world or the next.
“I was busy. I didn’t have time to stop by the grave,” Benedict lied, hating the pathetic excuse as it left his lips. “And you don’t leave me alone long enough for me to miss you.”
Peter placed a hand mockingly over his heart. “Ouch. Way to make your baby brother feel loved.”
“Which poor soul are you haunting this time?” Benedict asked, giving him a quick hug.
“No one in particular – and technically Grim Reapers aren’t ghosts, so we can’t haunt anyone,” Peter reminded him, picking up the guest ledger from the desk and flicking through the names.
Benedict’s chest tightened. He didn’t have time to deal with an in-house death right now.“Stay away from the guests! You frightened that elderly couple of magless to death last time.” He wished the Grims wouldn’t take souls at the Manor. People tended not to think about dying in hotels, but it happened more than many assumed. “The clean-up and paperwork always add to my never-ending to-do list.”
“It was their time! It’s not like I enjoy the job. I did give them an extra week to enjoy their last vacation. The least I could do was let them have some fun here before I collected. A promise is a promise, though; I won’t work on the premises again.” Peter crossed his heart.
“If you aren’t here to collect a soul, then to what do I owe the pleasure?” Benedict asked, ducking through the archway that divided the living space from his bedroom and taking a new suit from his wardrobe. Another black shirt, too, but this time he decided to forget the tie.
Peter leant against the archway, peeling a banana. He also liked to steal food. “Other than to enjoy your company, I heard from Lucinda’s dearly departed uncle Gregory that you and she are to be bound. I swear, if I had a heart to stop, hearing those words would’ve done it. I had to come and hear it for myself.”
He studied his brother’s reaction as he tossed the peel over his shoulder. The dead don’t tend to care about the mess they leave behind.
Benedict pulled at his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. “Word travels fast in the spiritual realm,” he mused, not wishing to discuss it.
“He’s my mentor in all things Grim. Gregory was so shocked by what Grams had told him, I don’t blame him for not being able to keep it to himself,” Peter said, his mouth full.
“So you came to me to confirm it?”
“You caught me. He wanted to make sure Grams wasn’t winding him up. I couldn’t say no; I’d still be stuck in the soul-sorting department if he hadn’t helped me get promoted early.”
Benedict was grateful to Gregory Hawthorne for helping his brother return to them and being there for Peter after his early passing, but he’d still have preferred for his brother not to have become a Grim at all. Even if it would have meant never seeing him again. It was a hard life, taking souls, and there was no leaving the job once accepted.
“It seems we can’t escape Hawthornes even in the afterlife,” he muttered.
Peter chuckled and plonked himself on the couch. “Since when have you ever wanted to escape a Hawthorne? My whole life – well, former life – you always found a way to torment poor Lucy. She was so nice to us when Dad passed. She held my hand at the funeral, and Grams stopped Mum from going after the killers. We would’ve been orphans if they hadn’t interceded.”
“It’s Lucinda,” Benedict corrected him. Peter was right about the Hawthornes’ help during one of the worst stages of his life. It hadn’t been improved by his brother’s death only months later.
“Everyone calls her Lucy except you. What did you call her? Sunflower?” Peter narrowed his hazel eyes. He looked nothing like a Matherson, with their usual striking blue eyes and black hair. He’d always been the light to their dark. However, his dabbling in dark magic had cost him his life. “It was a type of seed…”
Benedict finished styling his hair, ignoring him.
“Pumpkin! That’s it!” Peter snapped his fingers, beaming in triumph. “You’ve always had an odd fascination with her. I mean, who didn’t? Beautiful and smart. If only I were five years older, and not forbidden from having relations with the living. Any man who gets to go home to her every night…” Peter whistled.
