Page 72 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
He was a being of his word.
That was what he told himself, at least.
Almost as ifshehad the power to wink into existence, Nella slid into the seat across from him, radiant, wearing a silken white dress and the emerald ring he’d left beside her washbasin.
“You look lovely, Nella. Quite expensive,” Death said, taking in her attire and her disposition. When he’d last seen her, she’d been shattered and hollowed by the loss of her child. A child he’d been responsible for because of these wretched, brutal humans. He was beginning to think he’d never see her smile again, but something in Nella glittered brighter than the beads of her dress.
Death motioned to the waiter for a glass of champagne, as he had already guessed she’d be in a celebratory mood.
“I appreciate the compliment,” she said. “I believe New York agrees with me. It appears you may need some of what the city offers yourself.”
Death glanced at his pale, pallid hands. This was not the most handsome form, with thinning brown hair, poor sight, and jumbled front teeth.
It was fitting, though. The rough look of the man matched how Death felt. “This one was stabbed to death by his partner for embezzlement.” He shrugged indifferently, when deep down he wanted to argue. “But, humans, what can you say?”
Nella fixed him with a gaze. “Seems a poor choice by twoindividualhumans.”
“Still fighting for the underdog.”
“I’m still fighting for what’sright.” Nella picked up her glass from the stem, pearls of condensation dripping down. “Have you come around to my way of thinking yet?”
“Using my words? Nice try, Nella. But it’s true, my work hasn’t gotten any easier or better. If anything, it’s become more difficult.” Death shook his head and tried to shake off the clinging thoughts of the souls he’d reaped. He did not like the feeling. Nor the feeling that he could not look away from her. “I must say—you’re radiant. Is it love again?”
“Living all these years, I’ve discovered there are innumerable ways to define love. Each time it’s different. And it does help to pass the time,” she said neutrally.
“Ah yes, time.” Death sighed and swirled his glass, downing the drink quickly, the loose feeling intensifying. “It certainly passes, doesn’t it? Almost a hundred thirty-six years, by my count. Quite the history between you and me.”
“Are you feeling nostalgic?”
Death glanced at her and then away. In reality, he was. But it was more than nostalgia. Despite all he’d thrown at her, she still had the capacity for joy. Even though they were at odds, he was awestruck by her. The way she found strength despite the challenges. One might call it inspiring.
“I suppose. But we digress.” He set his glass down, preparing himself. He already knew what she’d say, but their game necessitated this meeting. Like actors on a stage, they both had their parts. Someday soon, one of them would have to break. He’d always been sure it’d be her.
“What did you bring today?” he said expectantly. “A poem? Another book, perhaps? I’ve read your articles inThe New York Globe. Fair effort.”
“Am I that predictable?” She motioned to another waiter for—what? “I thought I’d bring something a bit more visual.”
Five women entered the dining room upon her signal, draped exquisitely in silks, satins, and crepes. As they strutted, they sent the room into a tizzy. The women circled the room twice. Pearls, gems, and beads danced in the chandelier’s light before they exited the way they came. The last one held up a single card, handing it to the head waiter as she left.
Pandemonium ensued as two gentlemen jumped up, jockeying for the view, while several women fanned themselves. The murmurs became a roar as gossip flowed about the dresses and where they were from.
Nella smiled, the impact clear.
Death swished his snifter in his decrepit hand. While the dresses were visually appealing, he didn’t think anything she could’ve brought would’ve lifted his spirits. Then another waiter came forward with a box holding one dress.
“Here is the best one. It’s the first one that Adam made for me.” Nella gently removed the dress from its wrapping.
Death stroked the fabric, the uncomfortable feeling floating up again. “Charming, Nella,” he said softly. “Creating something as fine as this must have taken a skilled hand.”
Something as beautiful as this would not last forever.
A new thought slithered in the tumult of his mind:But does it have to?He knew fabric would fade. The threads would disintegrate, eventually leaving the glorious garment for rags.But is it better? Better to have a beautiful thing for even a short while rather than not at all?
“The tailor is an artist,” she said proudly. “The creation of beautiful things, once reserved for the elite of society, can be made and had by all. This is innovation. One of the key traits of humans.”
“Innovation?” he said, frowning. “Perhaps. I remember when humans wore nothing. Naked as they were born. What you call innovation, I see as the binding of people into particular roles in society.”
“I disagree. Clothes can become your armor or your passport into a different realm. You can choose who you are.”
