Page 2 of Death and Divination
“Come on. Come on!” The witch pleaded as she checked a monitor. Her lips trembled, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Come on!” The magic swirling around the witch widened. Brightened. “He’ll make it. He’s going to make it.”
I tilted my head and regarded her with a puzzled frown. No. I was here to collect a soul—this soul. Hewasn’tgoing to make it. Edging closer, I saw that the witch’s lips were tight, trembling. I saw the shadows under her high cheekbones, saw the long thin fingers that pressed the bag with sure rhythm. Then, suddenly, she looked up and her eyes met mine.
Shocking blue eyes. In a pale face that looked as if it were chiseled from marble, her eyes were a clear cerulean blue. I felt something inside me stir, come to life. And in response, I felt something die.
“He’ll make it,” the woman said as if she were speaking directly to me. Magic snapped and crackled like electricity. “He’ll make it.”
Could she see me? How could she see me? Not that it mattered. All that mattered was the blue of her eyes, the full softness of her lips, the icy perfection of her skin, the inky darkness of her hair. Looking at her, I felt as if I were seeing the completed circle, the cold darkness of death and the bright brutal spark of color that was life.
It sounds so cliché, but I shook in my boots. Gripping my scythe, I fought the urge to reach out and touch her.
“Pulse is stable!” the other mortal announced. The man on the stretcher, the man who was supposed to be dead, stirred.
Crap. How embarrassing. He should have died when we were down on the ground. He should have died five minutes ago. He should have died, but I’d been too busy gawking at this beautiful witch, and now it was too late.
Too late for me, anyway.
The witch checked the IV bag, then looked directly into my eyes. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Whatare you?”
She couldseeme. What should have been a disconcerting realization instead made me unreasonably happy.
“Who are you talking to?” the other mortal asked.
She ignored him. “What are you?” This time she reached out and placed a hand on my chest. It felt as if the heat of her burned right through my robes to a physical form I was not supposed to have.
“I’m Death,” I told her, reluctantly easing away from the warmth of her hand.
Then I left, failing to reap the soul I’d been sent to collect, praying to the unknown force that gave me purpose that I would have the occasion to see her again.
