A Reaper Called James

Well, hello again! So glad you stopped by. Today’s post is something a bit different I hope you enjoy it. I’ve been debating for some time now on whether or not to post a small excerpt from my writing. I’ve been working hard on my urban fantasy series The Reaper Chronicles and book one, The Reaper’s Bride, is pretty well finished. YAY!

I wanted to share a little bit of book one because I’m in the midst of rewriting book two and it’s exhausting and stressful all at once. At least sharing this will be fun! (I hope.)

Here we go…. The Reaper Chronicles – The Reaper’s Bride (book one)



James was into death.

Not in some creepy, sadistic way. His interests were purely professional. To say he lived and breathed death was more than just a cliché. Death was etched upon his DNA, like words to a writer or music to a musician. After all, he was the Reaper. Profession aside, he did find a certain amount of satisfaction from working with the recently deceased. The dead looked to him with awe and respect; now who wouldn’t enjoy that?

But like most things, satisfaction came at a price. His price came heavily draped in paperwork and logistics; mind numbing tasks that bored him enough to hire an assistant for those jobs he could offload.

His phone beeped with another list of deaths. In that moment, he wished he were somewhere else. His left index finger cramped as he scrolled through and sorted names into groups by location. It could be worse. He remembered the not-so-distant past when he used to do it the hard way: frequent trips to the Deities and sifting through stacks of paper until his fingertips were smudgy black with ink. It was like being finger printed on a daily basis. Technology was a huge timesaver for James, a lot less traveling and hand washing.

By the third beep he knew he had a problem, something he’d been trying to ignore. He was getting overwhelmed … again. There would be no way around it. He’d need to do the one thing he despised more than paperwork; he’d have to interview Recruits. James shivered at the prospect and swore under his breath. It wasn’t an easy task. Recruiting required one to be meticulous. Sifting through all the freaks until he found that one applicant who wouldn’t screw things up was tiresome.

James hated it.

He sat back in his black leather chair and let out a dry sigh that didn’t sound quite right. He flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles loudly, humming a nameless tune softly to himself. Where to start?

He could check online, of course, but that was usually where the freaks hid. He’d done it before with moderate success, but he wasn’t in the mood for some Emo kid with pathetic black clothes and a perpetual somber look. He couldn’t deal with their shit anymore. A few clubs downtown catered to those with a taste for the supernatural, mostly Vamps and Weres, but he didn’t have the energy to cruise them. Those types tended to jump in without thought, then spend most of their time whinging on about how emotionally exhausting the work was. They just wanted to party and have fun. Reaping was “too real life” for them. No, he’d have to do it the old fashion way. He’d have to scout at funerals. It was the only way to find a suitable candidate. Their recent loss connected them to the afterlife much more than others. And if he got lucky – and he often did – their grief left them soft and pliable, easily shaped into a quality Reaper.

It was settled then, tomorrow he’d nab himself a new Recruit.


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