Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross (22 page)

“We’ll come to that when we return,” Brigit
said quietly.

Suddenly, she felt tired. They had been
working non-stop for two days, unable to return to the office to
refresh their assignments – or so that she could check on Seamus
Flannery. Her mind had been divided into too many directions
throughout their travels. On the one hand, she was focused on their
assignments and the assessment of Belinda Yaris – wondering if she
had made a good choice in offering a position to the Goth girl with
an endless supply of pertinent questions. On the other hand, she
found herself worrying that she should have done more for Seamus in
his mangled state and the subsequent illness that Brigit knew would
beset itself upon him. Behind all that, she wondered how she would
explain it all to John when he returned. Running delicately between
all these thoughts was the deep missing of Maggie.

“Are we done?” Belinda asked when she finally
glanced up at Brigit. She had been scanning the pages of the field
guide for any item she might have missed during the initial
reading. Her mentor, Belinda noted, suddenly looked tired.

“For now,” Brigit responded when she had
finished massaging her temples. A phantom sensation had arisen in
her head, reminiscent of the migraines she would occasionally
suffer when the stress of a hectic work day would finally take its
toll. “ I need a break. How about you?”

“Oh, I could go for days. I feel great,”
Belinda chirped with a smile. “Where are we going now?”

“Back to the office. There’s something there
I need to check on, and, seeing that you possess a fountain of
energy, you can set to work on recording the completed
assignments,” Brigit determined.

“My
first
task, goodie,” Belinda said
cheerfully as she fell in beside her mentor. Brigit sighed, but
kept her silence. She hoped for the time being that her apprentice
would follow the set example and be quiet as well.

Belinda sighed happily as she tried to keep
in step with Brigit. She was stoked about the new turn her ‘life’
had taken. She had watched Brigit like a hawk, observing every
nuance of her teacher, every small movement the dark woman made
through the completion of each assignment. Belinda had found
herself in awe when Brigit had fought with the dark spirits. The
woman seemed to maintain a perfect sense of calm composure during
the fight, her eyes never leaving the focus of her attention. Once,
Belinda had asked a question in the middle of such a confrontation.
The sudden asking had broken Brigit’s concentration which resulted
in the sudden death-hold of a monster Brigit was trying to cross
over. Luckily, Brigit had quickly managed to regain her train of
thought and, somehow, remove herself from harm’s retched grasp.
Belinda made the decision to save her questions until the
assignment was complete after that.

As she walked beside Brigit, Belinda began to
assess her own skills. She had never been a fighter. If anything,
she had always been able to talk her way out of a confrontation.
Except on that day when she had ceased to be a mortal and became
trapped on the subway. Talking had done nothing for her that day…
Yet, as she pondered all that she had observed Brigit doing,
Belinda was sure she would still not be one to fight. Deep down,
she hoped there would be something else for her within the firm
that she would be better suited for because fighting and
confrontation was definitely not one of her strengths.

Together, they walked along avenues and
boulevards of the city. Along the way, Belinda would occasionally
notice the waiting spirits. Some would spot the Reapers and run to
hide, obviously afraid of the idea of being crossed over. Others
would simply stare at them with various expressions of
indifference, boredom, anxious questioning or simply endless
patience.

“There are so many of them,” Belinda noted
out loud.

“The fruits of Death are constantly
blooming,” Brigit replied quietly. “Can you tell the difference
between a living soul and a waiting soul?”

“I think so,” Belinda mused.

“How are they different?”

“Is this a quiz?”

“Yes,” Brigit replied solemnly.

Taking a deep breath, Belinda launched into
her theory that the difference between a living soul and a waiting
soul had to do with the aura that surrounded them. The living were
vibrant, creating waves of rippling energy as they moved from place
to place. The waiting soul’s energy seemed stagnate, confined to
the space immediately around them. Brigit only smiled as she
listened. It was the same theory that she had formed during her own
beginnings as a Reaper.

“Why are you smiling? Did I say something
funny? Am I wrong?” Belinda questioned immediately when she spied
her mentor’s expression.

“No, you are correct,” Brigit answered. “I’m
proud of you for being so observant.”

Belinda fell silent again as they continued
walking. The wonderment of her new level of existence fascinated
and elated her. In the back of her mind, though, she couldn’t help
but think that it all would have made a really good story.

When they entered 666 ½ Bleecker Street,
Belinda felt her spirit surge higher with its elation. The dark
wood surrounding them and the eerie gargoyles peering down from the
ceiling delighted her. It was every Goth girl’s fantasy to be in a
place so seemingly medieval. Belinda nearly made herself dizzy as
she spun around and around to take it all in.

Brigit had not noticed her apprentice’s
sudden stop to marvel at the dark architecture. Instead, she had
immediately gone into Seamus’ office – noting that the door was
open though she clearly remembered the closure of it upon her
departure. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat with the fear
that John had already returned and discovered the ill Irishman. The
skipping of the beat, however, was merely another phantom
sensation. Brigit was aware that she had not heard, nor felt, her
own heartbeat in almost a year.

Seamus Flannery was sleeping in exactly the
same place she had left him. The blanket she had placed over him,
though, had fallen to the floor. Quietly, Brigit picked it up and
gently covered him again. His skin burned a bright pink and Brigit
guessed a high fever was running its course through him. She was
about to touch his forehead when she heard a gasp behind her.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Belinda standing in the doorway,
her mouth open in shock.

“Is he okay?” Belinda whispered.

“He’s very sick at the moment,”

“Who is he? Is this your boss, Mr.
Blackwick?”

“No, this is Seamus Flannery. Mr. Blackwick
isn’t due back for another day or so,” Brigit replied, looking down
as Seamus grimaced in obvious pain.

“Will he be okay?” Belinda asked, coming
closer so she too could have a better look at the burning pink
red-headed man sleeping on the sofa.

“Eventually, yes. I think he will be back to
his normal self. In the meantime, we shouldn’t disturb him. Here,
take that black book on his desk,” Brigit gestured toward the large
leather bound tome sitting on the desk against the wall. She heard
the young woman grunt with the weight of it.

“What is this?” Belinda asked as Brigit
turned and began to usher her from the room.

“It’s the record book of completed
assignments. Mr. Flannery has been keeping his records up to date.
I intend to continue his efforts. Here, you can use this room,”
Brigit guided the girl across the hall and opened the frosted glass
door before them.

It was a sparsely decorated office,
containing only a small desk and a row of empty bookshelves. Both
women stood just inside the doorway taking in the dreariness of the
room.

“My own office,” Belinda finally uttered.
“Sweet,”

“I’ll speak to John about some more furniture
for you. Perhaps a sofa life Mr. Flannery has?” Brigit promised
with a sigh.

“It’s fine the way it is,” Belinda assured
her mentor as she crossed the small room and set the black book
heavily on the writing desk. “What exactly am I supposed to do
again?”

As the question sank in on Brigit, she
hastily pulled the completed files from her coat pocket and
extended them toward the young woman.

“You write their names and dates,” Brigit
quickly instructed. “I know it’s not the kind of writing you
aspired to during your life,” she offered almost as an apology.

“Hey, it’s writing. I’ll figure it out,”
Belinda replied with a confidant smile. Brigit nodded in weary
agreement as she watched the young woman shrug the coffin purse
from her shoulder and drape its strap over the back of the wooden
chair. Next, she watched as Belinda searched the desk drawer for a
writing utensil.

When the search yielded a sharpened black
quill and a small pot of ink from somewhere in the furthest depths
of the drawer, Belinda smiled an even broader smile and opened the
book. Eagerly, she seated herself and scanned the previous entries
before poising herself to begin her new task. As she dipped the nib
of the quill into the ink pot, Belinda noted a feeling of relief
creeping through her senses. She had worried that she would not be
able to rise to the occasion of reaping souls. Now, she was doing
something she knew she could do in her sleep: Writing. Perhaps, she
thought, this was the way out without having to give up the
opportunity of remaining after all. She wasn’t ready to cross over
just yet and this was the chance to keep that at bay for as long as
she could.

“Belinda, I’m going to step out for a bit,”
Brigit’s voice broke the young woman’s rampant thoughts. “I’ll lock
the main door, just so you’re aware. Do me the favor of checking on
Mr. Flannery in a little while?”

“Sure, oh-great-one,” Belinda chimed as she
picked up a file and began to carefully copy the name emblazoned on
the cover.

“Stop that,” Brigit groaned as she left the
small room.

“
Yes, oh-great-one
…” Belinda intoned
with a devilish smile on her face.

Seamus had heard them enter. His fever burned
so fiercely, though, that he had been unable to open his eyes if
only to silently accuse Brigit Malone of her inactions that had led
to his present state. Through the roar of the inferno in his head,
Seamus had heard the second female’s voice. She sounded young, he
thought. That was good, he thought further. The young were
impressionable. The young could be molded and manipulated to one’s
advantage. When his next moment of lucidity arrived, Seamus
determined he would reach out and make a good impression on the
younger female. After all, charm was never in short supply for
Seamus Flannery.

John turned the key in the door to 666 ½
Bleecker Street and smiled. It was good to see that Brigit and
Seamus were keeping with the policy of locking up when they went
out. He had hoped that all had gone smoothly for them during his
absence these past couple of days. He had every ounce of faith that
Brigit’s silence meant that she was managing the North American
office easily. When he had stopped into the Bleecker Street Café,
Giuseppe had indicated that he had not seen either of the Reapers
since John’s leaving. That was good as well, John thought as he
closed the main door behind him. Their absence from the café meant
that they were keeping themselves properly busy.

His trip had been a success. Only one soul
had declined his offer to be a Reaper, but John had anticipated
more. So, one refusal was not so bad in his book. The others had
understood the concept of their new occupations quickly and John
had felt confidant in leaving them long enough for a quick check in
with Brigit and Seamus. Once that was done, he intended to return
to Rome to complete the re-establishment of what he hoped to be one
of many European offices.

It had felt good to be back on European soil,
all be it in a country where his grasp of the language was as rusty
as a hundred year old coffin’s nails.. John had managed, however,
and the first hurtle had been overcome.

John stopped suddenly in his advancement
toward his office. He had passed by Seamus Flannery’s office, aware
that the door was open. From the corner of his eye, however, he had
glimpsed the flaming red hair of the Irishman on the sofa. Suddenly
alarmed that the other man might be sleeping during business hours,
John took a step backward and peered into the office. The sight he
found alarmed him all the more.

“
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
!” John
muttered as he rushed to Seamus’ side. “What the hell has happened
here?” he asked to no one in particular. He pressed his palm
against Seamus’ forehead. The heat that met his fingertips caused
him to quickly jerk his hand away from the scorching skin.

“She left me,” Seamus groaned miserably.

“How long have you been like this?” John
inquired as he lifted the blanket covering the sick Reaper.

The wounds he discovered peeking out from the
tears in Seamus’ leather jacket and underlying t-shirt incensed him
all the more. The meat in the gash between the two ribs had began a
slow mend, but John could see that it had been a deep wound to
begin with – possibly all the way to the man’s lung. Seamus had
returned to his silent suffering. John gently returned the cover
and stood. Brigit had some long and serious explaining to do.

John turned to exit the office and stopped
short again. The sight of the young woman sitting at the writing
desk in the office across the hall startled him. The fact that her
bright blue eyes were train on him made it all the more
unnerving.

“Who might you be?” he asked when he had
regained a slight piece of his normally professional composure. He
was angry, to be sure; but it wasn’t this stranger’s fault. Not
yet, anyway…

“Belinda Yaris, sir,” the young woman offered
meekly.