And then the most unexpected thing happens. The Reaper laughs. It's more of a chuckle, really. Like the ghost of a laugh. But oh my God. It's low and luxurious. It's rich and warm, like hot chocolate spiced with chili. It's like whispering secrets over glasses of brandy next to a fire. A little bit dangerous. A little bit reckless. And I want to hear more.

I clean myself up with my napkin, watching the fleeting smile dissolve from Ashen's face as he takes on the task of putting an obscene amount of butter on another roll.

"Is he your mate?" he asks.

I nearly choke on the air itself. I have an intense urge to shout out WHAT THE FUCK as loud as I can. I manage to press my teeth together until my jaw aches as I write my reply.

Are you serious? Andy Cartwright? You're asking if Andy Cartwright is my 'mate'? 

"Yes, the human. The police detective. The one that gave you the unsightly rubber plant."

It's a Japanese peace lily. 

"It's still unsightly. It looks like it belongs in a dentist's office."

I offer a faint smile and a shrug, not glancing up from my notebook as I write.

Agreed. It is not the most attractive plant. But the thought was nice. And no, he is not my 'mate'.  

"But he does want to mate with you."

Fuck my life, I think as I press my fingertips to my forehead. I take a deep breath, sit back in my chair, and pick up my butter knife. I flip it between my fingers as I consider stabbing the Reaper in the hand. When I glance up, I catch the dim spark of amusement in his eyes, hidden like a light beneath sheafs of dark paper.

He's fucking with you, I think to myself. Fuck back.

The Reaper is expecting I will tell him to shove his head back up his ass where it belongs. But that is not what I write. I send a silent prayer of thanks to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion for having my back with WAP.

Yes, I believe he does. Although, we don't call it mating. That's very last century of you, Reaper. No, he wants to park his big Mack truck right in my little garage.

I send my note across the table and the light dies in his eyes. He tries not to glare at me as a smile stalks across my face. I take my journal back.

In case it's unclear, Reaper, he wants to make it cream, make me scream.  

There is a tiny flame growing in his pupils.

He intends to bring a bucket and a mop... would you like me describe what for? I can keep going if you like. 

That one is the final straw for the Reaper. He lays his large hand across the paper and pulls it toward him with a fiery gleam in his eyes. We sit in blissfully awkward silence for the meal he doesn't finish, and my mediocre coffee suddenly tastes a lot less bitter.

The Reaper doesn't speak for the rest of the car ride. I spend most of the time working on a new design in my journal. The lyrics to WAP spiral outward from the drawing of a bucket and a mop. I show it to Ashen and he glares at the road as though it's a soul to be reaped.

When we arrive at Ediye's house, she's already standing on her porch waiting for us. I had texted her that we were coming and what the Reaper wanted to know, hoping that she would pull together some potential apothecaries to investigate. The less time she has to spend with Ashen, the better. Preferably no time at all.

We get out of the car and enter the gate of her garden, following the winding flagstone path through beds of herbs and exotic flowers. Ediye waits on her porch like a bastion between the world and the sanctuary of her home. She has a folded piece of paper in her hand, and she extends it toward us as we ascend the first three steps of her porch. The message is clear. We will not be entering her domain.

"This is your most likely option," Ediye says. She hands the paper to me, but her eyes cast a slow sweep of the Reaper, starting first with his cognac irises, then lingering on the tattoos that creep up from beneath the collar of his shirt, down the length of his body and back up again. She meets my gaze with a look that says: you are so fucked, vampire.

"Thank you, witch. Your assistance has been noted," the Reaper says.

Ediye eyes him, crossing her arms. I know she'd rather not be noted at all. She shifts her gaze to me. "Where is he taking you?"

His 'corridor', I write, holding it up for her to see.

Ediye's onyx eyes go wide. "The Shadow Realm?" she asks. Her voice shimmers with incredulity. I shake my head and point to my note. Ediye puffs a frustrated breath. "Yes, his corridor... the one that leads to the Shadow Realm... the Shadow Realm of the Reapers... for fucksakes Lu."

We look at one another for a long moment before cutting our combined glares to the Reaper, who is stoic and unmoving. Ediye takes a step from her porch, staring down at him in challenge. He does not balk, naturally. He could kill her in the time it would take her to blink. My heart swells in appreciation for my badass friend, who I know on the inside must be roiling with fear but who will never show it.

"She does not belong in your realm, Reaper," Ediye says.

Ashen does not look away. "I know. I have no choice," he says, and his voice is softer than I expect.

"It is dangerous for her there. You have a duty to keep her safe."

"I know."

"This," Ediye says as she yanks the journal from my hands. She flips through some of the pages and snorts a laugh as she comes upon my masterpiece of ASSHOLE. She holds it up in front of his face and points to it. "This is not all she is." She jabs a finger to his chest on the exact spot where his wound is still healing. "This? What she did for you? This is Lu."

He shifts the briefest glance to me before meeting Ediye's eyes once more. "I will bring her back unharmed."

"You'd better, or I will come for you, Reaper. I don't care who you are or how many souls you've taken. There will be no House in your Realm that will be able to hide you. Not from me."

I snatch the journal away and clasp Ediye in a brief but fierce hug, then I sign I love you. I turn away before I can see her reply stalking to the car with my head down and my glassy eyes trained on the silver flagstones. Sometimes having just one person left to stand for you reminds you how many you've lost.

As I sit in the car and wait for Ashen, I unfold Ediye's note.

Ammon Hassan, Wakalat al-Makwa, Khan el-Khalili.

There's a gold necklace taped inside, a hexagonal charm of lapis lazuli shining at me from beneath the cellophane. I pull it free of the note and cast my thumb across the blank space that it leaves behind. Hidden ink appears in the same shade of blue as the stone.

He's not the only one that can find you. Whisper Ninmen Eslal to the charm, I will come.

The Reaper enters the car and I fold the note as the ink disappears. He watches as I put the necklace on. As my hands are behind my neck he reaches across the console and pulls the note from where it rests on my lap. The skin of my thigh hums with gooseflesh even though he didn't touch me. The gesture is so simple yet feels intimate. I feel vulnerable, but unafraid. But I think I should.

"Khan el-Khalili. Cairo," Ashen says as he reads the note. His voice is quiet and low. He looks into the distance, his gaze angled away from me. Tension feathers along his jaw.

For just a moment, I wonder if he can feel anything he shouldn't, or if that's only ever just me.

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