“Nick!” Reg staggered to his feet. Pins and needles rippled down his leaden legs with each cumbersome step. This was it, the end. Spent, powerless, physically unfit to take on a toddler much less a monster, the only option Reg had left was the nuclear one. It was time to go all in. “If you’re going to turn vengeful, now would be the time to do it, buddy!”

  There was no answer. Not from Nick, not from Tera, not even the monster paid Reg any mind. Laser-focused, it limped closer to Tera, claws opening and closing in anticipation.

  What on Earth was going on? Nick was in the apartment, the raised hairs on the back of Reg’s neck guaranteed it. And yet, the intrusive apparition, who never once hesitated to insert himself where he did not belong, was suddenly nowhere to be seen! It was ridiculous! Unheard of! Absolutely, positively, beyond the shadow of a doubt—

  Magic.

  You’re an idiot.

  Of course, it was magic—a protection charm, specifically. Similar to the one Reg had encountered back at Nick’s home, only travel-size. It was the reason Reg’s ability to shift planes had fallen flat on its face. The mimic was charmed against spirits. Given its method of survival, it probably had countless angry apparitions out for its blood.

  Break the charm, break the charm, break the charm! Reg repeated, afraid, perhaps, that if he didn’t continuously cycle the instructions, the thought would slip away, discarded by the dense fog settling behind his eyes. Break the charm! Save Tera!

  He forced his heavy legs into a run. Time was acting funny again. Reg didn’t know whether to blame his altered state or the remnants of the spell still coursing through his veins, but the world around him had slowed to crawl. His body was caught in slow motion, unlike his thoughts, which stampeded along at double their usual panicked speed.

  Break the charm! Save Tera!

  A third thought popped into Reg’s head as he desperately urged his legs to move faster. Don’t die!

  While the new addition was almost as important as the other two, it constituted little more than wishful thinking. Closing the gap between him and the monster was counterintuitive to survival. It was a move that all but guaranteed death. And yet, here Reg was, stubbornly, stupidly, inching closer like a three-legged turtle caught in cold molasses.

  With its glamour magic gone, the mimic stood bare, as wrinkly and exposed as the day it’d been born. Unsightly, yes, but at the very least its nakedness made the charm easier to locate. Reg spied a woven bracelet secured around the mimic’s wrist. The bracelet sported several dangle charms, some of which looked to be bone. Definitely bone, Reg realized as he closed the gap between them. One of the bones probably belonged to Nick himself.

  And to think, Reg had to touch it! Lovely. Great. Not disgusting at all!

  Reg’s slow-motion steps carried him the rest of the way. He reached out, curled his fingers around the woven cord, and pulled with all his might. The cord snapped, scattering the bits of bone across the bloodied rug. Time shifted back to its usual speed in the blink of an eye. Reg lost his footing. He fell forward just as the monster’s arm swung back around to catch him in its outstretched claws. Reg contorted his body mid-air to avoid being skewered alive. The razor-sharp claws ripped along his ribcage instead, tearing through fabric and flesh alike in a warm spray of blood.

  Reg hit the floor and rolled to a painful stop. Instinctively, he put a hand to the wound and felt the warm, sickly wetness saturating what was left of his shirt. His body objected to the pain and Reg pulled his fingers away almost as quickly, unnerved by the dark red smear coating his palm. An unearthly snarl reminded him that there were more pressing concerns to contend with.

  The mimic had forgotten all about Tera. Its attention was focused back on Reg where it belonged.

  Find the charm, check. Save Tera, check. Now if only don’t die could be pulled off as easily.

  The mimic swayed precariously on its feet. The tonic toad poison was in full effect and yet, still, the mimic powered through, unwilling to abandon the hunt. The monster drew its thin lips back, bared its needled teeth, and lurched forward, slashing and clawing with reckless abandon. It didn’t need to be accurate. A single swipe was all that was necessary to reduce Reg to a pile of bloody meat ribbons. Reg jumped to his feet, dodged, and then fell. He threw all of his momentum into his getaway roll, narrowly escaping a third encounter with the monster’s jagged claws.

  Reg may not have been a fighter, but he excelled at running from danger like no other. He zigged and zagged, dodged and ducked, leading the monster around the back of the couch. Amidst the stench of blood and sweat permeating from his own body, his nose detected the familiar notes of sulfur and burnt electricity in the distance. A yellow glow illuminated the hallway, growing brighter as Nick’s phantom shape came barreling down in a flash of rage and fury.

  Nick charged. Arms held wide, he barreled straight through his murderer. The mimic, lacking the ability to see into the spirit plane, had no way of knowing of course, and continued as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Curse this incorporeal form!” Nick glared at his translucent hands. His ominous yellow glow burned like a halo of fire around his ghostly spirit. “How am I supposed to kill that which cannot feel me?”

  “Nick, I need you to listen. Don’t overthink. Just do as I say.” Backing away, Reg struck the rear wall and sank to the floor, eyes locked on the approaching mimic. He placed the flat of his hand against the rug and poured his power into the room. The foul words rolling over the top of his tongue tasted of soot and regret. “All that anger raging inside of you? Use it.”

  Please work. Please work. Please work!

  Reg’s power rendered Nick visible. Visible was usually good enough when it came to manifestations, but not this time. Reg needed more. He channeled every ounce of spirit energy he had into the room, stretching his powers thinner than they’d ever gone before.

  The mimic jumped when the gargoyle’s towering form manifested beside it. It lowered its head and backed cautiously away, snarling.

  “Get angry, Nick!” Reg shouted.

  Nick’s sickly yellow aura changed from yellow to red. The air crackled and popped as heat flooded the room. Nick charged and this time, when he swung, his semi-solid fist made contact. The mimic stumbled backward from the blow. Panicked, it turned and ran for the front door, only to be grabbed and hurled against the wall.

  Reg flinched as the flimsy apartment walls shuddered in protest. His dwindling reserves were nearly tapped. He wouldn’t be able to hold the manifestation for long. And, judging from the ominous red glow and the thick sulfur particles clouding the air, Nick didn’t have much time either. A mere matter of seconds separated the gargoyle’s corrupting spirit from turning vengeful and then boom! Everything would go up in a flash of hellfire and brimstone. Reg, Tera, and the entire upper half of the apartment complex included.

  Reg staggered onto his feet, coughing and choking as the sulfur dust settled into his already weakened lungs. He limped around the couch, doing his best to stay out of the path of the two highly destructive fighters that rose and fell over each other without concern for the secondhand furniture. Reaching Tera, Reg bent down and heaved her limp body as far from the bay window as his dwindling strength would allow.

  The sensation of invisible spiders raced up and down Reg’s arm as static filled the room. It was now or never. Reg drew the hot, sulfur-laden air into his lungs and screamed to be heard over the surrounding commotion. “Nickabott Dare!”

  He was pleasantly surprised to see that, like unruly children everywhere, the use of Nick’s full name caught the spirit’s attention. Reg pointed at the living room window. “Take it outside, now!”

  Realizing what was about to happen, the mimic bolted only to be caught once more. Nick seized the thrashing monster in both arms and lifted its feet off the floor. The battered walls glowed fire red as the angry spirit sprinted across the upturned living room and dove headlong through the window. Glass erupted from the impact in a spray of glittering shrapnel. Shielding his eyes against the bitter whipping wind and broken window shards, Reg turned to protect Tera with his body but only got halfway before the strain overwhelmed him. He collapsed into a pitiful pile of disappointment beside her.

  Unable to move, all Reg could do was stare out the broken window and wait, hoping his powers held on a few seconds more. Nick’s corrupting form rose above the roofline. It cleared the tallest buildings, soaring up, up, up, before the pressure proved too much. Reg’s powers gave out the same moment Nick’s faraway form detonated into a cloud of fire and smoke. The resulting blast wave rocked the apartment on its foundation. Raw spirit energy tore through the broken window into the apartment, slamming cabinet doors open and shut in its wake. A combination of wet snow and smoke followed in its wake, carried in on the breeze.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The heat from Reg’s body faded. He stared up at the ceiling and watched as loose papers flitted about around him. Old paperwork, crumbled leaflets, and overdue bills littered what remained of his living room.

  Reg glanced at Tera from the corner of his eye. “Tera?”

  “Hey, Reg,” she greeted. Tera lifted her hands overhead, trying to catch the scraps of loose paper that floated by. “You seeing this? It’s like being inside a snow globe.”

  Still very, very poisoned, Reg concluded. But okay. Or would be at least, once help arrived. Reg caught the telltale wail of sirens in the distance.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Reg’s gaze moved back to the ceiling. It wasn’t how he’d envisioned the end, but it was oddly beautiful. A sense of peace flooded his veins. It banished the last lingers of pain until Reg’s cold body lost feeling altogether. Even the compulsive itch, the one that scratched relentlessly at the back of his mind all hours of the day, fell strangely still. It was a shame, really. Reg had never felt so balanced, with his human and otherworldly halves coexisting in harmony. Figures it happened on his way out.

  “Alright,” Reg said to the shadow patiently waiting in the corner. “I’m ready.”

  It was easier letting go knowing this was one adventure Tera wouldn’t be tagging along on.

  The reaper stepped into the light flooding in from the broken window. Its shadowy features rearranged as it drifted closer until it resembled something almost human-like. Reg squinted up at it, confused. “Why do you look like my old literature professor?”

  “Mortals respond better to a familiar presence,” the reaper replied.

  Reg wondered if that was supposed to be comforting. Alas, all the reaper’s answer did was spur additional questions. “Alright, fair. But why Ms. Perkins, specifically?”

  “Did you not have a secret crush on her?” The reaper looked down at him with a perfectly blank face, indifferent to the embarrassment that flushed all the way to the tips of Reg’s pointed ears. “I can pick something different if it would make you more comfortable.”

  “No, it’s fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Get what over with?”

  “The soul-collecting part! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Reg said. “I just spent the last of my life force channeling a vengeful spirit into a solid state of being. While saving the city, I might. I would appreciate it if you passed on that part to whomever’s in charge.”

  “Whoever.”

  “What?”

  “The correct pronoun is whoever.” The reaper continued to stare at Reg unblinkingly. “Perhaps you should have pursued a useless degree in drama, not classical literature. You might have ended up somewhere better than here.”

  “Who are you, my dad?” Reg rested his head back against the glass-littered floor with a groan. “Actually, you know what, don’t answer that. I’d rather not know where I came from. Let it be a surprise.”

  “Then it will be a surprise that will have to wait. I am not here for you.” The reaper’s unblinking gaze shifted to the open window. Wind, smoke, and snow buffeted in from the broken glass and swirled about the room, coating the upturned furniture in a frosty layer of dampness. “Not now that you’ve finally used your talents for something useful.”

  From down the hallway, lost somewhere in the scattered remnants of his upturned office, Reg heard his phone ring. He tuned it out, more concerned with what the reaper was telling him. He wasn’t dead, which was good. Great, in fact! And yet, he couldn’t help but get the feeling he’d just been insulted somehow. “Explain that last bit.”

  “Is it not obvious?” The reaper shook its head in disapproval. “The sense of peace you’re currently experiencing? That is not death, it is purpose. You may only be half reaper, but your soul longs for the same sense of order as the rest of us. It’s what drove you mad in your casework. It wasn’t the thrill of the hunt that compelled you but the innate need for resolution.”

  Reg’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Long enough to grow weary of watching you misapply your natural born talents over and over only to end in failure.”

  It might have been a joke before, but Reg suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling that he really was having a conversation with his father. The no-good biological one that had abandoned him at birth. That was one can of worms he was not about to pry open, however. He settled his head back down against the floor, muttering, “Rude.”

  Apparently, the reaper wasn’t finished. “And you will continue to fail until you accept the path you were meant to take.”

  Maybe it was the lack of blood talking or the fact that he was mere minutes away from passing out from exhaustion, but Reg still didn’t have any idea what this supposed purpose was. “And what path is that?”

  Reg watched as Ms. Perkins’s familiar face twisted into a scowl. “I am already breaking the rules of neutrality by speaking with you. Do not push me to break them more.”

  “Guess I’ll never know then,” Reg said wistfully. “Destined to fail over and over again because no one pointed me in the right direction. That’ll be hard to watch. For you, that is.”

  The reaper sighed. It was a heavy, reluctant sound. Finally, after a moment of concentrated thought, it settled on the clearest non-answer possible. “A reaper can only usher willing souls to the beyond. We cannot interfere. If a soul has unfinished business and chooses to stay, then there is nothing we can do about it. You, however, can.” It added, grudgingly, “And for the last thirty-two years, you’ve done absolutely nothing about it. Until recently, that is. Frankly, we were beginning to wonder if you were even capable at all.”

  It added, “Some of us had our doubts.”

  The picture was suddenly a lot clearer than before. Unfortunately for Reg, it wasn’t a picture he particularly liked. He resisted the urge to slam the back of his head against the floor. “You want me to do all the heavy lifting for you, is that it? Finish unfinished business so you and your kind can collect souls without issue? Sounds like all work with no pay. What do I get out of it?”

  It wasn’t that he objected to the heart idea. It was a good cause with an even better goal—for someone else. Not him. Reg would die happy never having to talk to another ghost again.

  “Not angering all of reaper kind should be enough motivation, one would think.”

  Yeah, except motivation didn’t pay the bills. Reg unclenched his jaw and his curled tongue against the roof of his mouth, prepared to unleash the entirety of his thoughts on the matter when an obnoxious white glow flooded the living room. It was agonizingly bright, forcing Reg to snap his eyes shut.

  “Oh, you are alive. Excellent.” A familial deep, velvety voice rumbled nearby. “Apologies for the mess, Reginald. I will help you reorganize.”

  “Nick?” Reg’s eyes eased back open. The white light wafting from Nick’s phantom form was slightly less obnoxious than it had been before. Not by much, though. It felt like hot pokers stabbing through Reg’s eye sockets into his brain. “You’re, uh…”

  He struggled to find the right word. Nick obviously wasn’t alive, but the gargoyle also wasn’t gone, either. Reg didn’t know what happened to a vengeful spirit after it self-destructed. He’d always assumed it ceased to exist. But this was different. Something well above Reg's paygrade. The raw spirit energy wafting from Nick made Reg’s skin want to slip off his skeleton and slink under the couch.

  The reaper changed forms into something Reg didn’t recognize. This time, it addressed Nick. “Your unfinished business has been concluded. Are you ready to move on?”

  Nick already had a stack of loose papers gathered in his gargantuan hands. He bent down and collected more. “It would be rude not to help tidy first. May I have thirty minutes?”

  “You have all the time in the world,” the reaper replied, returning to their corner.

  “Oh my gods, Nick. Stop touching things!” Reg begged. He considered asking how Nick was interacting with physical world considering, one, the gargoyle was no longer a vengeful spirit and, two, Reg’s own powers were kaput—but he suspected the only one who knew was the reaper. And if there was one thing reapers didn’t give, it was a straight answer. Reg pivoted to something more useful instead. “Look, if you want to be helpful, use your newfound spirit body and go get my phone. It’s in the office.”

  Nick waited, expectantly.

  “What?” Reg said.

  “I did not hear a ‘please’.”

  “Please,” Reg moaned, biting back everything else he desperately wanted to say.

  “Very well.” Nick deposited the stack of papers over the top of Reg before disappearing down the hallway.

  “And thank you, in case I die before you get to hear it,” Reg muttered, batting away the pile of loose papers obscuring his vision. He caught a sealed envelope between his fingers and, just as he was about to whip it across the room, noticed the name penned across the front. His arms sank back down, in sync with his heart. Reg had stashed Spencer’s letter away in a random drawer, content to let it sit until he either reached a decision or, the more likely option, forgot about it completely.

  Guilt wormed its way up and flooded his insides. He was holding someone’s last words in his hands. Through Reg’s own selfishness, the letter had gone undelivered. Spencer’s final words were forever unspoken. All too often it took something as extreme as death to express the sentiments that should have been said long ago. Something Reg was guilty of himself.

  What would his final words have been?

  “Your cellular telephone,” Nick announced as he reappeared with the item in hand. This time, he was generous enough to place it in Reg’s outstretched hand in lieu of dropping it unceremoniously onto his face.

  The darn thing was still ringing. Marco’s name flashed across the dark screen. Reg sent the call to voicemail with a swipe of his finger. Judging from the deafening squeal of the sirens below, the police had arrived. They were probably already halfway up the building. Reg could fill in Marco later. For now, there were more pressing matters to attend.

  He dialed a different number and waited as the line trilled, fervently praying the recipient would pick up.

  “Hello?” A groggy voice answered.

  “Hey, it’s me.” Reg didn’t waste time with small talk. “Can I talk to Lilly?”

  “Reg, are you drunk right now? You sound drunk.”

  “Look, just tell her Daddy loves her. And that he misses her. And just because he had to give her up doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

  There was a pause on the other end followed by a sigh. “I’m not home right now. I’ll tell her later.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise,” the voice groaned. “Tell you what, will you get off my case if I send a picture?”

  Reg didn’t even have time to answer before the phone clutched between his bloodied hands pinged. A weak smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Tera, look!” He tilted the screen for her to see. “Look how big Lilly’s gotten.”

  Tera was too preoccupied staring up at the ceiling to notice. The cell phone in her pocket buzzed loudly against the floor. Marco, probably, having given up on reaching Reg.

  Dare crouched down to see the phone screen. His heavy brow pulled lower. “That is a turtle.”

  “The most beautiful red-eared slider in the world,” Reg agreed, holding the phone to his chest.

  “You are a very strange little monster, Reginald Harrows.”

  “Dude,” the disembodied voice crackled back over the phone, muffled by Reg’s blood-stained shirt, “do I even want to know?”

  “No,” Reg assured him. “Look, in case you don’t hear from me for a while, thanks for taking care of Lilly for me.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You know you can see her whenever you want, right? Just call first.”

  Reg’s heavy eyelids eased shut as pounding footsteps moved down the shared walkway toward his door. Someone shouted and the next thing he knew, his front door was being kicked down in a shower of wooden splinters.

  “I’ll do that.” Reg felt Spencer’s letter slip from his fingers as his world faded to black.

  After he took care of some unfinished business first.