Free When Death Loved an Angel by Cheree Alsop

stopped him at the door. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
    He hesitated before looking back at her. “What?”
    “Your name,” she pressed. “You asked for mine, now you have to tell me yours.”
    He debated about what to say. Death had many names and none of them were pleasant. He gave up trying to pick one and settled for the most obvious. “My name is Death.” He watched carefully for her reaction.
    “Do you have a last name?” she asked as casually has if he had said his name was Bob.
    He shook his head. “I think Death is enough.”
    She shrugged. “I guess so. Goodbye, Death.”
    “Goodbye, Kenzie Mills.”
    She waved and he walked through the door.

***
     
    “It’s been quiet here.”
    “Sorry.” Death felt guilty for his outburst. Returning to the hospital in his human form had taken more courage than he wanted to admit. He sat on the chair with his head bowed. He felt Nyra’s presence, her silence, the compassion that shone in her eyes, the love she felt for Gregan. The thought clenched his heart, causing it to beat hard enough to hurt. He shifted slightly in the seat to ease the discomfort.
    “What do you do when you’re not here?”
    Nyra’s voice made him lift his head as much as her question. He could listen to her voice forever. His veins sang with it, and when he was out doing Death’s work, he heard her voice in his head, disapproving of his job. He cracked a small smile. “I’m an exterminator.”
    “For mice and stuff?” At his evasive shrug, she smiled. “That sounds nice.”
    “It’s gotten a lot harder,” he said honestly. He met her beautiful green gaze. “Sometimes it’s hard to kill things.”
    She thought about his answer. “I guess someone’s got to do it, or the world would be overrun.”
    A laugh caught in his throat and turned into a cough. He looked up at her, wondering how she would feel if she really knew what she said. He settled back in the chair and laced his fingers in front of him, vowing to pay better attention to them in case his time living faded faster than he planned because of the names on his arm.
    “Nyra, do you like being an angel?”
    She laughed, a musical sound like raindrops on a pond. It warmed the air. “Yes,” she said. “I definitely I like it.”
    “I guess who wouldn’t enjoy being an angel?” Death mused.
    She gave him a curious look. “Do you enjoy being an exterminator?”
    He considered the question seriously. “I used to,” he said, studying his hands. “But not anymore.”
    “Why not do something else?” she asked.
    He fought back a wry smile. His gaze met hers with unsettling intensity. “I would if I could, but I’m sort of stuck with it.”
    “At least you have other things you can do when you’re not exterminating.”
    Was that a wistful hint to her voice? Death’s gaze sharpened, but Nyra bowed her head to look at Gregan. Her golden hair hid her expression from view. “I come here,” he said.
    She looked up at Death. “You’re a good brother. I’m sure it would mean a lo t to Gregan to know you’re by his side.”
    “I’m sure,” Death mumbled. At her look, he searched for an explanation, settling on, “We haven’t been exactly close.”
    “It seems like that stuff doesn’t matter in situations like these. All that matters is that you’re here now.”
    “You are, too,” Death said. “You’re fighting for his life against Death. What’s that like?”
    “He’s different than I thought he’d be,” she admitted.
    “Scarier?” he asked, one side of him hoping it was true. The other side wished with all of his heart that she would say she didn’t fear him like everyone else.
    She avoided appeasing either hope. “Just, well, different.” She crossed to the window.
    Death felt his fingers begin to slip. He wanted to stay. It was such a different experience having a normal conversation instead of one laced with fear and pleading. He wished he could talk to Nyra forever. His time of