There was a universally accepted image of Death, and I was not a stranger to it.

A cloaked skeletal figure atop a pale horse, the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, and a creature of pure darkness. With a scythe in his bone and claw fingers, he cut down the living and stole their life's essence for himself, driving them to the underworld as he saw fit. Death was a terrible, monstrous master who held dominion over mortal souls.

I wasn't looking forward to this job interview.

Dead though I might have been, I still had some sense of self-preservation. As Leon marched me back through the endless corridors, I had to wonder if it was too late to go to the waiting room after all. Perhaps even Hell wouldn't be so bad by comparison. It would be warm, and I was sure I'd find a lot of interesting, if not morally questionable, people to talk to.

While the afterlife appeared to be little more than a string of train lines and underground tunnels which connected various offices to one another, it pleasantly surprised me when we arrived at our new destination. We entered a decadently old-fashioned station with wooden walls and flickering gas lanterns hanging from the arched tunnel ceiling. The sweeping grand staircase conveyed us to a Gothic building, which was a macabre change from the dull magnolia office in which we'd found Clark.

The corridors were panelled similarly with dark wood and large, arched doors reinforced with black iron broke up the space. Numbers and names were embossed into them with gold leaf which glinted and winked under the soft glow of brass oil lanterns. Leon led the way through the labyrinthian manor until we entered a cavernous hallway. On one side were arched leaded windows which looked out upon impenetrable darkness, and on the other hung gilded frames filled with oil paintings of grotesque images. People twisted in horror and agony, cities were aflame, and monstrous demonic entities clawing as though attempting to break free from their portraits to wreak havoc upon the world. I hurried my pace and pinched Leon's suit jacket between my fingers like a frightened child. If it bothered him, he didn't say as much.

At the end of the hall was a pair of towering arched doors. They were easily twelve feet high and, amongst the same wrought iron reinforcements as the rest in the building, there was an enormous black iron skull square in the middle which stared down at us with hollow eyes. Having learned his lesson back in Jane's office, Leon raised his hand to knock. I darted ahead and placed myself in the narrow gap between him and the door, our chests crushed together as I splayed out my arms to prevent him from alerting his boss to our presence.

"One minute," I said. "I don't know if I want to do this."

"Changed your mind?" Leon lowered his hand. "Thought you might."

"I'm just composing myself," I corrected. "I mean, this is the Death, right?"

"Obviously."

"Scythe, cloak, skeleton... The whole shebang?"

Leon's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Look, he knows you're coming and I don't exactly want to keep him waiting. But if you want to run back to Clark, then tell me now, because this is your last chance. Whatever you pick, do it fast, because I'm tired of playing at being your babysitter."

I hesitated. There was nothing wrong with retreating or changing your mind. It was everyone's right to do that, but neither option appealed to me. I mean, if I ran back to Clark then I was facing hundreds of years of waiting for someone to hear my case and, from the way my caseworker had phrased things, it didn't sound like that was my best bet. It was just that I couldn't see speaking to Death as a brilliant choice, either. Surely, he wasn't going to just hand me a job. Not when I'd just died, had little to no work experience, and no one else seemed to know what to do with me. He'd probably send me straight to a waiting room or just smite me where I stood.

Did Death smite?

It seemed that I would have the opportunity to ask. Tired of waiting for me to decide, Leon reached around me and turned the handle without bothering to knock and announce us. I didn't know what to expect from Death's domain. Chains hanging from the walls, maybe. Implements of torture, possibly even blood spatter and cobwebs.

Instead, we walked into a clinically tidy modern space. Honestly, it reminded me of a dentist's office. The floor had a plush cream carpet, which felt wonderful beneath my cold, bare feet. The walls were painted white and lined with bookshelves and glass-fronted display cabinets lined with miniature ceramic figurines of historical figures. A water cooler bubbled idly in the corner, just beyond a large white desk which occupied more space than seemed necessary. Behind it was a high-backed executive chair, also white, and an enormous scythe was mounted on the wall behind it.

Behind the desk, a figure was hunched over. His cloak and hood obscured most of his features from us, but from the ends of his sleeve, a skeletal hand moved a figurine of Elizabeth the First across his papers. In a high-pitched voice, he spoke on her behalf, "No, please, it cannot be my time yet!"

The figure dropped back to his normal voice to reply to his toy. "Sorry, Liz. Time's up. I'll see that you get a nice suite."

Elizabeth the First appeared pleased with this promise. More than pleased, in fact. He spoke for her again, "Oh, you're so powerful and manly! I think I –"

Leon cleared his throat loudly.

Elizabeth was abruptly discarded by Death mid-romantic confession and clattered against the desk. The cloaked figure straightened his back and rose from his seat. As he reached his full intimidating height, the hood dropped away to reveal an off-white skull, cracked, and pitted with age. As his head turned unnaturally stiffly, his bones clicked loudly, and soon we were under his hollow, soulless gaze. I darted behind Leon in a panic. This creature was impossible. Nothing should be able to stand or even exist without organs, skin, or muscles. Yet, Death defied all scientific reason to loom over us. As I looked down at the bottom of his cloak, I noticed he had not one, but many shadows and they all stretched out long and dark in all directions in defiance of the light sources in the room.

"Will you ever learn to knock?" Death's voice reverberated through the room and gave the effect that ten people had spoken all at once. The surrounding air quaked, and I felt it in my very bones.

"I would have if I thought I was interrupting anything," Leon shot back.

Death couldn't find grounds to argue. He turned his attention to me instead. "Are you the young lady I was informed of? The interviewee?"

"Yes!" My voice was an octave higher than it should have been. I swallowed hard, trying to recall how to speak and think like a vaguely normal person before I tried again. "Yes, I'm Mackenzie Bowen."

"Please, sit," he gestured to a free chair with his spindly bone fingers.

I could've sworn the chair hadn't existed when we'd first entered the room, yet a small white plastic chair sat innocuously in place, ready to accommodate any guests of Death. I stepped out from behind Leon, my gaze still affixed upon the skeleton as I headed towards the offered seat.

I didn't make it far. Leon's hand dropped heavily against my shoulder to hold me in place. In a stern tone, he announced, "Sir, I must protest this arrangement."

"Must you?" Death asked. "Why?"

"Look at her! She's a child and an inexperienced one at that. She'd be much better off in a waiting room where she can't get into any trouble."

I resented the child comment when Leon didn't seem all that much older than me. He might have meant that I wasn't as mature as him or something. Given he acted like a miserable old man, I was okay with that.

"And that's your expert opinion, is it?" Death asked. "That she ought to spend aeons sitting on her backside rather than being productive and aiding the souls of the departed?"

"Yes." Leon wouldn't be swayed by Death's attempts at reasoning that I was of some use.

"Mackenzie, please take a seat," Death insisted.

I shrugged off Leon's hand and hurried to the plastic chair. It wasn't the most comfortable in the world, but it was better than the one in Clark's office. Moreover, the way Death made my legs shake wasn't so obvious when I sat down. I'd been to interviews before. Informal ones, that is. Although I hadn't made it to my big interview because I'd died, I'd watched a lot of videos about how to make a good impression on a prospective employer. I mean, those people probably hadn't made those videos thinking that the employer in question would be Death, but I assumed I could apply a few of the things I'd learned. I squared my shoulders, raised my head, and folded my hands neatly in my lap.

"This is ridiculous," Leon muttered.

"Yes, thank you for your insight, Leon. You may leave and wait outside."

"Sir, her lack of background alone should—"

"You of all people shouldn't lecture on background," Death countered. The creature returned to his seat behind the desk and took a slip of lightly curled paper from his drawer. He confessed, "The information is sparse, I admit."

"Sparse? It doesn't exist!"

Death turned his head to stare at Leon. He might have glared. It was difficult to tell without skin. Or eyebrows. Or eyes.

"Can she fight?" Leon continued. "Can she run? I had to drag her across that park!"

"I daresay she was simply confused. You can run, can't you, Mackenzie?"

"When I have to," I said confidently. "Could've outrun the dog thingy if he'd told me what was going on."

"It was trying to kill you. You didn't need to know much else," Leon scoffed. "Boss, come on! She's –"

"Enough!" The room all but quivered in fear under the resonance of Death's voice. With a sweep of his hand, Leon was knocked off his feet by an invisible force and pinned to the ceiling with a cry of pain. I tensed, not wanting to receive a similar punishment should I do something my potential employer didn't approve of. Death cleared his throat softly, which, given his lack of a throat, was impressive. As if nothing had happened, he continued, "I prefer Reapers work in pairs. You probably noticed that there's some competition for souls after a person dies."

"The dog thing – uh – Hell Hound, right?" I tried to ignore Leon as he struggled fruitlessly to free himself.

"That would be it. They're the emissaries for Hell. They work relentlessly to drag the souls of the innocent down to the pit before we can reach them."

"Why?"

"He with the most souls has the most power, or so it's said. But they are dangerous and have weapons they'd use against Reapers to claim their prize. That is why two Reapers work together and look out for one another in the field."

"But Leon doesn't –"

"He did. Jack was... Well, Jack won't be returning to the afterlife any time soon. As tragic as the turn of events is, it means we have a position which requires a candidate to fill it urgently."

"Me?" I asked. "With Leon?"

"I confess, it's not an ideal arrangement. Despite his outward appearance – and his personality, I must add – he's good at his job. I trust he will take care of you."

"The way he took care of Jack, you mean?"

Death sighed. "It was a tragic turn of events. Jack had no tolerance for Leon. Few do. If you can exercise a little more patience and common sense, there's no reason for you to find yourself in danger. Stay by his side, learn from him, and protect the souls in your charge."

I paused for just a moment to consider it. With people dying every second all over the world, I supposed I didn't have a lot of time to make my decision. They needed Leon back at work, and detaining him wouldn't make me look good to Death.

What was I to do?

An eternity on my backside in a waiting room or an eternity with Leon.

Both fates seemed as terrible as each other.

"Do I get a scythe?" I asked.

Death leaned back in his seat. "Welcome to the team, Mackenzie Bowen."