“How have you managed to live like this for so long?” Jane said irritably, dropping the latest stack—sorry, mountain—of papers on her desk across from Death.
“I haven’t,” Death said.
Jane paused long enough to frown at them. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” Death said, shrugging their bony shoulders.
Jane picked up the first paper from her pile, scanned it briefly, then waved at one of her newest aides. “Another plague memo. Please file it under ‘Spanish Flu.’” Her aide nodded and made to do as asked, but Jane called out, “Has the Replication Division managed to make a good batch of coffee yet, Kay?”
Kay’s spectral face scrunched up. He was freshly recruited from Purgatory—the place that should have been the afterlife—and hadn’t quite managed to remember what a body was yet. He said, “It was so bitter that even I could taste it.”
Jane sighed. “Would you please have them try again? I’m going to be at this a while.”
Kay left. Death said, “You know the caffeine—”
“Yes, I’m aware, thank you.” Jane looked at the next sheet, scanned it briefly, then added it to the pile under Sacrifice, sub-categorized as volcano. “The memory of it helps me focus.”
“How fascinating.”
“What?”
“Though your body is gone, its memory lingers. Even Kay has still managed to maintain a vaguely humanoid shape, despite the centuries spent in Purgatory. It’s a testament to the tenacity of your species. You’re marvelous, truly.”
Jane raised a critical eyebrow at Death. Death tilted their head with an innocent air. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, mister. I’m still ticked.”
Death sighed. Impressive, considering his lack of lungs. “Again, I’m sorry that I haven’t kept things organized. I should have brought in help several centuries ago.”
“Sorry isn’t enough. I’ve been going through these papers with you non-stop for three weeks. I haven’t slept. I haven’t bathed!”
“You don’t—”
“I know I don’t,” Jane said, heaving in a deep, ragged breath. Impressive, considering she didn’t have lungs, either. “I don’t even want to think about the number of new cases that have piled up while we’ve been going through these.”
“Actually, not all that many,” Death said, holding up a new paper. “The new Reaper Corps is improving. Harry in particular seems to have thrown himself into the work with an impressive vigor. His numbers are admirable.”
“The honeymoon stage tends to do that to people,” Jane muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Jane moved on to the next paper, then froze. Her brows slowly knit together the more she read. “Death?”
“Mmm?”
“Um…” Jane tapped her finger on the table. “This Certificate of Life is missing an expiry stamp.”
“Check carefully. I’m dreadful with replacing the ink on those things.”
Jane scanned the document, then slowly shook her head. “No, I’m certain. There’s no stamp.”
“It’s there,” Death said, waving her off. “You must be imagining you’re tired again. Maybe that coffee really will help.”
Jane rolled her eyes, stood up, then slapped the paper on Death’s desk. “Look.”
Death stared at her with their hollow sockets. She didn’t look away. Slowly, they turned down to study the paper she had dramatically placed in front of them, picking it up gently in their skeletal fingers. “Hypatia of Alexandria… It says here she died in a mob of Christians. That used to happen a lot.”
“Keep going.”
Death shook their head, growing more and more incredulous. “Joan of Arc? Isabella Bird? Jane, what is this?”
“You missed one,” Jane said.
Death paused for a long while. “I missed one…” They shot up from their desk. “I missed one!”
“I told you. You put this off for far too long. No wonder something fell through the cracks.”
“We have to fix this! Who is she now? What life is she living?”
“Betty White.”
“Betty White!”
“Yep.”
“We need to go at once! Come, Jane! Hurry!” Death practically ran out of the office, manifesting their scythe as they did.
Jane lingered, glancing at the next paper on the stack. She frowned and picked it up, eyeballing the name on that one, too. It looked similar to Betty’s.
Aristophanes. St. Germain. John Keats.
Keanu Reeves.
“Meh. He can stay another forty years.” Jane shrugged and tossed the paper back, then turned and followed Death out the door.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
