Page 38 of Written In Flesh

“What’s the Gate?” My head tilts with my question, my shoulders feeling tense. Something in the recess of my mind niggles at me, but the thought is chased away as soon as it was formed.

“The Gate at the cemetery. It’s our job as reapers to guard it. Well, there’s more to it, but we can’t talk about it here.” He looks around before sliding his gaze back to me. “Meet me there at nine o’clock.”

“And I should trust you, why?” My spine straightens, contemplating his offer. It could be real. Or it could be another way to embarrass or demean me by the brothers and their friends.

Heath moves past me, his shoulders moving up and down in an elaborate shrug. “Do or don’t, Skully. You were the one who needed the favor. It’s up to you.”

My mouth slams shut, and I clutch my jacket around me. Heath turns and keeps moving, walking away from me without even a glance back. He’s right. Whether I trust him or not, I need to figure out what the job is that my dad thinks I need to be part of. If only to get him off my back, so I can continue in peace on this campus. Besides, I would take time with Heath over time spent with Madden any day. This might not be that bad, if it’s with the goofy, only slightly serious, little brother instead. Maybe we’ll have time for a round of Mario Kart on his Switch even. I stop in my tracks on the stairs; my hand frozen on the door handle. My lips pull in a frown, and my gaze instantly shoots to what can still be seen of Heath’s retreating figure. Where did that thought come from?

A low rolling fog moves in from the ocean beyond the cemetery, adding to the already spooky aesthetic. My eyes roam the space, taking in the various shapes and sizes of the stone headings peeking over the fog in perfect rows and lines. The sharp edges of near leafless trees line the perimeter. Only the very faint glow from the half-moon lights my path as I keep walking toward the front of the black iron gate. A red Ducati motorbike sits there, Heath’s tall frame leaning against it. My feet crunch on some rock and his head lifts, his eyes roaming over me from my feet to the top of my head. There’s no heat in his gaze, just a protectiveness I don’t understand.

“Thought maybe you were too chicken to make it,” he jokes, a small smile cracking his lips.

I shrug off the comment and glance from him to the cemetery. “I didn’t know exactly what I was in for. I almost did stay at home.”

“Your father would have been pissed,” Heath points out, his eyes assessing me.

My brow rises slightly. “I don’t really care about what my dad thinks. Him giving me orders doesn’t make him a parent either.”

Heath flicks his eyes over me again, and he sighs loudly this time. “Do you remember doing this before?”

“Did I do this before?” I glance around, trying to see if anything sparks, if there’s any familiarity at all. Heath’s eyes stay glued to my face watching me while nothing happens. Being here brings back zero memories. “What are we doing here?”

“Our job as reapers is to guard the Gate. This gate in particular. We’re the protectors of the Haven. Nothing bad comes out of this gate, and we monitor everything that goes in, particularly everything evil and bad.”

“So everyone buried here is evil?” My gaze roams over the hundreds of headstones, my lips parting.

Heath scoffs, and it sounds more like a laugh. “No. This cemetery is filled with everyone who’s lived and died here in River Falls for a few hundred years. During the day it’s like any other cemetery in the world. But at night, it becomes the plane between the Haven and the Shade. Some nights will be quiet; other nights there will be other presences. Death brings the souls we’re meant to make sure never reemerge out of the Gate.”

“How does death do that?” I glance back at him and see the slight tilt of his lips.

“Death is as real as you or me. I’ve never seen him or her; I’m not really sure what they are. Some of the reapers have seen Death though.” He shrugs, as if this information hasn’t blown my mind. Not that I didn’t know Death came for souls, but up until now I only knew how angels worked. How Azriel did his job.

“Death gives some souls to the angels. Who brings the evil ones here?” I ask and watch as Heath’s shoulders tense.

“You’ve met an angel?”

His question seems innocent enough, but then I remember I’m not on good terms with him. I don’t trust any of them really. And I don’t have my memories to fall back on. My silence stretches on into enough of an answer that eventually he drops his head and sighs.

“Right. Well to answer your question, one of Death’s hellhounds will bring the evil soul in.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes still on the ground. Hell hound

We stand here in silence for a few more minutes, each of us watching the cemetery. Unlike Heath, I have no idea what it is I’m even looking for. I keep waiting for some spark or a figure to appear. Nothing happens and my magic never even rises to the surface. There’s a content feeling in me, but that’s about it.

“So we just sit and wait?”

Heath side glances at me before sliding his cell phone back into his pocket. “Ah, pretty much. Trust me, princess, you don’t want there to be activity. That’s when the real shit happens, and since you don’t remember this life, it’s a good thing tonight is quiet. Gavin never should have even told you to be here.”

Now, he has my attention. Turning to face him, my hip resting against the seat of his bike, I lean forward. “And how does a reaper handle—-”

My voice breaks off when there’s a wave in the space, the air bending and the next second Aero is standing there. His emerald green eyes bounce back and forth between me and Heath. Disbelief, shock, and then humor dance in his gaze before he trains his eyes on Heath alone. “Oh, you are so fucked.”

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