“Had I just begged for an audience with Death?”

“I’m sick of white walls and endings. The only thing that doesn’t end in this place is me. I don’t end. I just go on, and on, swinging that scythe glued to my hand. There’s no rhythm to the strokes. Few see death coming, and even those who do see death don’t see me. Because there is no me. Not anymore. Always the reaper, never the reaped. Soon that won’t bother me. Soon I won’t care. Emotional death follows physical death at a different pace for each reaper. I’ve put it off for more than two years, but it’s inevitable.”

“I was fine with that. The very idea of Death knowing my name made my skin crawl. Even if this particular Death was only one of many, and almost too pretty to look at.”

“That's because Tod never brings anything but death and bad advice," I snapped. "That's not true." Tod tried to grin, "Sometimes I bring pizza.”

“Hey." Tod squeezed my hand to draw me out of my thoughts. "I think death looks good on you.”

“Emma and I had both died twice, and for me, that second one actually stuck. Now I was a "resurrected American," better known, in colloquial terms, as life-challenged. Or undead. Or the living dead. But I'm not a zombie. I'm just a little less alive than your average high school junior.”

“And I met Madeline's necromancer. His name's Luca." "A death detector?" Tod made a face. "That's creepy." "It gets weirder. He's dating Sophie." "On purpose?”