Page 113 of Finders Reapers

Rome scoffed, the sound muffled by the interior of his glass. “It is more complicated than that.”

“Shethreatenedyou, Rome.” My voice broke. “You.”

“I am not infallible.” He slanted a look my way.

I turned to the side, brushing my head against my shoulder to hide the tear that ran down my face. It wasn’t about me, and I didn’t want to make Rome feel that he had to comfort me.

“So, Sasha knows about the investigation, and she is planning on going to Mr. Bub if you don’t do as she says?” I cleared my throat.

Rome shrugged and put down his glass.

A beat passed.

“How long has this been going on?” I asked. “Have you told Charon?”

His eye twitched, and he stood up. His stool creaked against the slate tile floor. “This is not your business.”

“Rome,” I warned. “She has to stop.”

“You have to stop.” He retorted snidely.

“Ir’srape,”I pleaded.

“It's not.”

“It is.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, pushing his fingers through his hair as he began to pace. “You want to know why she can lead me around like I am a bird on a string? Why I do as she says?”

“Because of Mr. Bub?” My brow creased.

Rome laughed bitterly. “Because Sasha was in reception when I died. She knows that I died in my boyfriend's arms, and I was too weak to protect him from the crush of the crowd. He died as well. We go through the office together.”

“You’re gay?” I asked hesitantly, my stomach twisted.

Rome shrugged. “I don’t know. I like everyone. It does not matter what genitals they have.” He waved a hand to dismiss my question. “But, Sasha knows. To be with another man in Russia is a crime. Especially when I was alive. It was shameful and punished violently.”

“You’re not in Russia anymore, Rome,” I stepped around the counter. “Why does it matter if she knows you had a boyfriend?”

Rome tugged his hair before he turned to me, stricken. “Sasha might be a soul, with enough magic to allow her to be solid within the walls of that office, but she holds sway. She can tell any Reaper, any demon, to find my mother in St Petersburg and to tell her that I was, as you Americans call it, aFaggot.”

I inhaled sharply. “Americans don’t say that word. Bigots say that word.”

Rome laughed dryly. “Sasha said that word.”

“Well, Sasha is a bigot,” I replied haughtily.

Rome sunk down until his butt touched the floor and his knees were bent in front of him. He put his head in his hands. “What do I do? Sasha is going to tell everyone.”

I knelt down and placed my hand on my knee. He looked up at me, and I saw that his lashes were dotted with tears.

It was easy for me to say that it was ‘no big deal’: and that the world had changed—that Sasha’s threat and her hold on him were weaker than they had been back when Rome died in the nineties, but all of that diminished the genuine pain and emotional cage that he was trapped in. I couldn’t tell him that his sexuality was no big deal because it was to him.

Instead, I settled for the truth, and I planted my bum next to Rome’s, mimicking his position until the length of my leg touched his.

“If some random person came up to your mom on the street and told her that her son that died over thirty years ago was gay, do you think she would believe them?” I asked gently.

Rome inhaled shakily and took his time to answer.