“Wait a minute. You said we, not you. Why is that? Were you human at some point?”

“I was born, I lived, and I died.”

“When was that?”

“A long time ago.”

Blythe noticed the sun was still setting behind her; its glare continued to hold half the room in twilight. In fact, it hadn’t faded in the slightest since Bellamy had appeared, as if he’d stopped time itself for this encounter.

“Interesting. Like I said, I used to teach history. So, which period are you from?”

His turn to shift position. “I would prefer not to say. It’s no longer important.”

“Okay. But you do remember it, right? Your life?”

“In a way.”

“And this soul collecting thing is what—an indefinite assignment?”

He didn’t reply. And that was all she could get out of him regarding his nature and his past. Presumably, the Grim Reaper’s contract of employment contained a nondisclosure clause. Either that or Bellamy just wasn’t used to opening up. After all, therapists might be a little hard to come by in the Soul Creditors’ Union.

But the longer they talked, well into the night, mostly about Blythe’s teaching days and her family, especially her children, the more she missed Rose. Time for sleep was time wasted when she only had three days to play with. And chatting with Death while waiting to die was a tad…counter-productive.

“When do you expect her?” Bellamy asked as Blythe glanced at her favorite photo for the umpteenth time. This time, she picked up on an edge in his voice, a kind of enthusiasm. It struck her as strange, given his job, but she realized it had been there all along. But not all the time. No, it was whenever he spoke of Rose.

“Do I have to share everything?” she replied.

“Not everything.”

“Then why so interested?”

“Like I said, I’m an interested—”

“Observer, yes. I got that part. If you must know, she’ll probably be here shortly after breakfast. Rose doesn’t do early unless it’s fashionable to be late.”

“Meaning what?”

“That she was born a rebel. Somebody in authority says jump, most people will ask how high. Rose, on the other hand, will ask him what he’s high on, then tell him to jump.”

He twitched a smile. “Did that disappoint you? To have a daughter turn out that way?”

“Are you kidding? It’s my favorite thing about her. It makes her who she is.”

“Do you mind if I try it, then?”

“What? Telling her to jump?”

“Yes. It was amusing how you told it just now.”

Blythe quirked an eyebrow. “Knock yourself out, pal. You might not be so amused when you get her reply.”

“You sound defensive.”

“You’re the Grim Reaper.”

His inscrutable gaze bore into her, as though he was trying to extract her thoughts about him. “Call me Bellamy.”