Rebel Reaper — Ann Gimpel

Come fly with me. Catchy, huh? It works for airplanes. Maybe it will work for the dead once I launch my own Reaping business. Except my new tagline will be, come die with me.

Back when my life was simpler, I thought all I had to do was hold gateways for the dead to pass through. Silly me, I actually enjoyed Reaping. Almost like a drug or fine, old whiskey, it made me high, filled me with delight, and left me glowing with the rightness of providing a last bit of compassion.

Good little Reaper that I am, I never examined any of it too deeply, just crafted portals, exactly as Death trained me. Ha! She neglected to mention I command way more magic than she'd let on in Reaper school.

Death smiled pretty to my face, and then lied to me. Used me.

Me and all the other Reapers.

I can't not Reap. It's hardwired into me. But I can tell Death I quit.

Big words. I have no idea if I've got the guts to follow through, or what Death would do about open insubordination.

I've always liked to live on the wild side, though, so I guess I'm about to find out.