I have to admit: Sarah has great taste in music.
The next couple of hours fade away as we all sway to her playlist, covering the peeling walls with dark crimson paint. With everyone's help, it hadn't taken nearly as long as I'd expected to sweep and wipe down the room's many surfaces, which now gleam almost like new. Lisa was more than happy to squeeze into the hard to reach spaces, and my mouth had nearly been stuck in a permanent "O" when Paul levitated in order to dust the trim near the towering ceiling.
But while the music and company has lifted my mood, there's still a stream of my thoughts that seem to permanently trail Death. I find myself constantly aware of where he is in the room, of whether he looks to be enjoying himself or not. It's exhausting, and makes it much harder to ignore him as I have been doing. Because right now, I don't trust myself to be near him, to avoid the desire that's become a living thing inside of me.
"You call this music?" Louis scoffs from his corner of the room. Earlier he'd pulled a chair over to the wall and sat down, pretending to help with the painting. Pretending, because he'd never actually dipped his brush into the paint bucket before passing it over the wall. To be honest, I'm just glad he'd decided to join us at all, even if his presence isn't much of a help.
Sarah gasps, affronted, and whirls around. "How dare you! Britney Spears is a queen."
"Royalty or not, I hardly see how that makes a difference," Louis tutters. "Blood status has no place in artistic integrity."
Suddenly, Lisa squeals in outrage and holds out her ballerina shirt, which Sarah had unknowingly flung fat drops of scarlet paint onto. "Lisa, oh god, I'm so sorry!" Sarah's brow bunches together, genuinely apologetic. Until Lisa's eyes narrow with mischief and she flings her own brush at Sarah, splattering paint onto her nose and eyelid. My next breath catches in my throat as I await Sarah's explosive reaction, and across the room I see Death tense up as well.
"Oh, little girl," Sarah growls dangerously. But there's a joyful light in her eyes that I don't recognize. "You're on."
All of a sudden, Sarah and Lisa are screaming, laughing, sprinting around the room and alighting themselves in the air in a paint fight for the ages. Both of them steadily become covered in paint, and despite the waste I find myself grinning.
"Hey, not on the notepad!" Paul complains from his spot on the couch, hunching over to shelter his intellectual property. "I'm having a breakthrough here!"
Sarah tackles Lisa and smears her paint-covered hands over the little girl's head, and I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. So hard, in fact, that I fail to notice that Death has snuck up behind me. That is, until I feel cold, sticky paint soak into my back. I gasp, spinning around to find him there, brush outstretched.
"Oops," he says, his upturned lips carving dimples into his cheeks.
"Oh, you're dead."
"That's not the threat you think it is." Death winks. "Not to–"
He's silenced by a glob of paint that I fling perfectly onto his forehead. I nearly fall over laughing, and then we both join Lisa and Sarah, chasing each other around the foyer in a paint fight to the death while Britney serenades us. I duck behind the sofa, sending a well-aimed volley of paint towards Death's chest and then...he disappears. Vanishes in thin air, and appears directly behind me. I whirl around.
"Not fair!" I complain.
"Being dead has its privileges." He smirks.
"Motherfucker," I growl, stalking towards him, unable to keep the grin off of my face.
And just as I draw back my arm to prepare for an attack that will bring him to his knees, there is a knock at the front door. A single knock that seemingly reverberates through the air a million times. Everyone freezes. Someone pauses the music on the tablet.
"Who is that?" I ask Death. He's standing unnervingly still, like an animal sensing a predator.
"Probably Mem," he says, but his body language isn't as reassuring as his tone. My heart thunders in my chest.
I silently follow him to the door, the rest of the spirits gathering together in the middle of the foyer. It's clear that they aren't used to company, and my mind starts to splinter. Could this be a new lost soul, looking for a place to stay? Is that even how this works? Who else would know about this house, or actively seek it out?
Before my mind gets too far ahead of itself, Death opens the door to reveal a middle-aged black woman that's almost too beautiful to be real. She has a shaved head and thick eyelashes that frame her yellow-gold eyes, and the flowing fabric of her dress shimmers with an ethereal hue that's impossible to pinpoint. I'm not sure how Death manages to speak in her presence, but despite the tense set of his shoulders he carries himself calmly, nodding his head respectfully.
"It's good to see you."
"Death," the woman says, stepping smoothly past us into the foyer, completely ignoring me. "I wish this were a joyous occasion." I blink. She knows who he is; she can step over the threshold.
I stare at Death, trying to fit all of my questions into my gaze, but he purposely doesn't meet my eyes, rushing to meet the newcomer. His hands are trembling. "Let me take that. Make yourself at home, please." He removes the woman's shawl, and she turns critical eyes on the crimson smears on the floor and furniture and the paint-splattered residents. I have a hard time discerning the expressions on their faces.
"Keeping things interesting, I see," she drawls. Lovely as she is, nothing seems to penetrate the coldness behind her eyes. I'm reminded of the unnatural stillness of Death in his Reaper form.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, stepping forward and reaching out a hand as Death hangs her shawl on the coat rack. "My name is Cara. I'm staying here for a few weeks while I renovate the house."
She stares right at me for several long moments, and my skin starts to crawl with awkwardness and the disconcerting feeling that I don't belong here at all. She doesn't take my hand. "You are alive. That is most odd."
"So I've been told," I mumble, utterly cowed. I send Death another quizzical look and he ignores me yet again.
"What brings you here?" He asks the woman, the muscles jumping in his jaw. I notice that he's positioned himself in front of his residents, as if shielding them from the visitor. Her eyes narrow the slightest bit and for a split second she glances towards me.
"Can we talk in private, Death?" Her mouth is a thin line, masking what I recognize to be fury. Death nods once, glancing reassuringly at his residents before leading the visitor into the kitchen and tightly shutting the door. They all deflate when the door snicks shut, as if they'd been holding their breath.
"Who the hell is she?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
"Bad news," Louis responds, shaking his head wearily. "I never see Death so nervous as when he's in her presence. It's not very often that she makes an appearance."
"But why is she here?" I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. I ask again, "Who is she?"
"We're not allowed to know," Sarah answers, grim. "All we've gathered is that she calls herself the Auditor."
"I don't get it." I raise my eyebrows. "Is Death committing tax fraud?"
"Not that kind of Auditor," Sarah scoffs. She twirls her nose ring, a nervous habit. "Although death and taxes are famously intertwined."
"We think that the Auditor checks in on Death to make sure that he's doing his duty. Passing along souls." Louis says, glancing knowingly at Sarah. "I don't think she's very fond of the fact that we're all living here."
"Why should that affect her?" I demand, surprised at how outraged I feel on Death's behalf.
Sarah shrugs. "That's the big question. And one that we'd rather not stick our noses into." She turns and grabs Lisa's hand. "Come on, sweetie. Let's clean up this mess, shall we?"
"Is Death in trouble?" The little girl asks, and Sarah reassures her that he's not. But I still stand in the middle of the room, feeling off balance. Does the Auditor work for the god-like force that Death called Love?
There's only one way to find out.
While the rest of the spirits busy themselves with cleaning up the paint stains on the floor and furniture, I cross over to the kitchen door and lean my ear against the old wood, doing my best to hear what I can of Death's conversation with the Auditor.
I hear Death's low rumble first. "–can't make a blanket statement like that. You know that's not fair."
"Are you trying to tell me what's fair?"
Death huffs. "Of course not. I'm just trying to explain that there's a rhyme and reason for all of this, as I've been attempting to tell you for years now."
"You have not yet convinced me. That is your failure, not mine."
"Is that what you've come all this way to tell me?"
"You know why I came, Death." A long moment of silence follows the Auditor's last statement, and I can just barely make out Death's response.
"She is of no concern to you."
"She is when she's throwing off the balance." She. Me. I waver, feeling lightheaded. The Auditor's voice is cold and unyielding. "You know what happens when the living taint the dead. She is affecting you, Death. She almost tethered that old man."
"Almost. But didn't," Death responds, and I swear I can see his clenched teeth through the door. "I have everything under control."
"Almost is dangerous enough," the Auditor says. Then she sighs. "It brings me no pleasure to punish you, Death. You have done your job well, for the most part. But you have a way of toeing the line, especially when it comes to your...what do you call them? Residents?" There's a twinge of disdain in her voice that causes my fists to clench. "There comes a time when all that matters is your duty. And if you cannot fulfill that duty, then I will be forced to terminate you."
I physically flinch away from the door. Terminate. What an awful word. It feels like a dagger stuck between my ribs. Whoever this being is – because she is almost certainly not human – she has the power to strip away Death from this world. Or, at least, she reports to someone who does.
I've heard enough.
I back away from the door and retreat to the foyer. Sarah watches me carefully, as if waiting for me to explode. But I don't. I keep my fear and guilt to myself, even as Death and the Auditor step out of the kitchen. His face is stone, his spine ramrod straight. It's hard to imagine that just hours ago, those frowning lips had been pressed so gingerly to my temple.
"Residents," Death addresses us, his voice oddly formal. Completely devoid of emotion. "This is the Auditor. She will be staying with us for a little while to assess our progress here. Please be welcoming to her. She is our guest."
With that, he turns away and heads for the doors that lead into the back garden. I can't stop myself; I spring into motion, following him through the halls and catching up with him just before he steps outside. "Wait, Death." He turns around, still a man of stone. Where is the tenderness in his eyes, the recognition that we are one and the same? I take a shuddering breath. "Have I done something wrong? Are you in trouble?"
Death lowers his head and opens his mouth. He closes it. Opens it again, finally saying, "I need to work. I suggest you do the same."
Before I can respond, he slips into the garden and slams the door behind him. I turn and lean against it, trembling all over, trying to wrap my mind around the Auditor's cold words. She believes that I am endangering the balance of things, making it harder for Death to pass on his lost souls.
Well, maybe I can convince her otherwise.
Suddenly struck with an insane idea, I return to the foyer. The Auditor is no longer there, but it's just as well. I join Paul on the couch, where he still scribbles notes onto his legal pad as if the recent shocking events haven't transpired at all. He looks at me warily.
"What do you want?"
I raise my eyebrows. "How are you feeling about that presentation, Paul?"