Page 23 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

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“What in holy hell?”

Chan’s words break the overwhelming silence of the kitchen as Death sits calmly in our midst. An ominous bolt of lightning lights the dark sky outside the window and a moment later, a loud rumble of thunder shakes the glass in its frame.

I open my mouth to speak but Danny beats me to it.

“You’re real?” he blurts out.

I turn to Danny in surprise. “Wait, what? You know who he is?”

“I had a weird dream about him.” Danny studies Death thoughtfully. “We were drinking tequila in a bar somewhere in Mexico.”

I turn back to Death with a frown. “Why did he get tequila in Mexico, and I got tea in bone china at a stuffy restaurant in Mayfair?”

He doesn’t answer; instead, his gaze slides over every dip and curve of Chan’s body. I mean, it’s not as if that flesh-coloured body stocking hides a damn thing.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the question needed here, Tris.” Chan returns Death’s gaze with an almost defiant one of her own. “Shouldn’t you be asking who he is and how he appeared in your kitchen?”

I glance over to Harrison, who stares at Death with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Yeah, I’m pretty certain Harrison knows who—and more importantly, what—he is. My gaze tracks over to Sam, who watches the scene unfold with an expression of avid interest.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico,” I mutter sulkily under my breath.

“Tristan,” Dusty whispers, “is that who I think it is?”

I release a slow breath. My head hurts and I just want to crawl back into bed with Danny and pretend none of this is happening. My stomach is churning at the sight of Death sitting in my kitchen but, of course, that could just be because I’m hungry. But for him to just appear, especially in front of all the others? It doesn’t bode well.

“Everyone, this is Death. Death, meet Harrison, Sam, Dusty, and Chan.” I point to each one of them in turn. “Apparently, you already know Danny.”

Harrison looks even paler than usual if that’s possible, and even Sam’s eyes widen in surprise at the introduction. Dusty stands quietly in the corner of the kitchen, close to Chan. It’s unusual. I’ve never known Dusty to be at a loss for words, but she looks worried. I turn my gaze back to Death, who still hasn’t spoken a word, and find his attention once more fixed on Chan, his eyes flaring with interest.

“Death?” Chan’s gaze flicks to me as her brows rise in disbelief. “What, the Death? Like the Grim Reaper?”

“Apparently.” I shrug.

“Apparently?” Death turns his head toward me and gives a disgruntled snort. “Apparently? I have existed since before the dawn of time. I have always been and always will be. I have collected countless souls, have seen time and reality beyond anything your underdeveloped human minds can comprehend. Do none of you know how to show deference?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” I resist rolling my eyes, barely. “What do you want us to call you? Mr Death?”

He sighs loudly. “Mortals.” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the screaming. There was a time when I only had to appear before one of your kind and they would be frozen with terror. The mere mention of my name was enough to incite the deepest dread. In fact, I…”

His voice trails off and I follow his intense blue gaze to where it rests on Chan. She’s unhooking the chin strap of her sequined and feathered skull cap, and I swear, she looks like she’s in slow motion. She slides it off and shakes her long, shiny, black hair free so it spills elegantly down her back.

She looks up to find everyone staring at her. “What?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“You know, Death… may I call you Death?” she says conversationally, setting the huge head piece down on the counter and covering nearly half my kitchen in feathers. “If you want all the little humans to be afraid of you, you might want to dress the part. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole appearing in the dark and the bolt of lightning were nice touches, but –”

“Chan, I don’t think–” I begin, but she carries on as if I haven’t spoken.

“I’m just saying, Mr ‘don’t you mortals know how to show deference,’ that we’re pretty simple creatures with our underdeveloped brains and all,” she says, her tone drier than the desert. “Our primal drives can be diluted down to the three F’s.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Harrison murmurs to Sam under his breath.

“Fight, flight, or fuck.” Chan shrugs. “Right now, you don’t exactly look threatening. If you show up looking the way you do, the last thing on anyone’s mind will probably be to run away from you. They’re far more likely to want to hump you. For future reference, you might want to try the whole death shroud and scythe thing. Maybe a skull face, skeleton hands.” She wiggles her fingers.

“Jesus, Chan,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my face.