Chapter 1

In many cultures, Death is represented by a human figure who carries gardening tools, though the exact implement differs between each culture and country. If Death carries a pruning saw in Escrustia, a rake in Nytolix or a watering can according to the mythology of Phooget, each is equally symbolic of Death’s role as the harvester of souls.

The truth, of course, is that death cannot exist without life, and life exists best when all the factors are balanced. Nothing balances the factors like aerated soil, well-pruned branches, and a sprinkle of fresh water.

Like any dedicated horticulturist, Death comes for us all and generally cannot be avoided. Metaphorically, it is the same as spotting an ex-paramour across the room at a party, leaving you lurking by the kitchen for the rest of the evening while they have a great time dancing in front of the stereo all night with the one person who seems remotely interesting.

I sipped my drink and peered around the kitchen door into the darkened living room. My escape route was blocked by people who enjoyed nothing more than having a few drinks with old friends, while making new ones by dancing with them.

The only thing that could possibly make my evening more intolerable, was currently dancing with an interesting woman in front of the stereo.

“I’m guessing,” a man said in my ear while he weaved drunk­enly half a beat behind the music.

“What?” I said, without breaking my surveillance of the living room.

“I’m Lyal Guessing. This is my friend’s party.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” I moved closer to the kitchen door, calc­ulating the quickest way out of the apartment.

“I’m guessing you’re in need of a drink.” Lyal gave a thin laugh. He let it taper out through his nose, giving me plenty of time to join in. If I wanted. Anytime now…

“Gus, could you do me a favour?”

“Lyal,” he corrected.

“Lyal,” I agreed. “Could you do me a favour?”

Lyal nodded with the deliberate focus of the happily drunk.

“Go away.”

“Right. Yes…okay.” Lyal nodded and turned to his left.

Finding his way blocked by a couple making out, he twisted right and blinked at the fridge. The awkwardness of his entrap­ment elicited another sinus-flute chuckle.

“Gestating gerbils,” I muttered as the dancing couple paused for breath and he gestured towards the kitchen, where there were drinks to be had.

For me, the kitchen was the washed-out bridge on the only road out of town. I had nowhere to go and no way to avoid him.

Taking a deep breath, I moved closer to Lyal.

“Kiss me,” I said, glancing over my shoulder towards the door.

“What?” Lyal blinked.

“Kiss me, please. Now.”

Lyal’s nostrils flared in readiness for a guffaw. I stifled it by pressing my lips against his.

“Charlotte?” The couple had reached the kitchen, and it was the young man with the sweptback hair who had spoken.

I twisted away from Lyal’s enthusiastic mouth. “Oh, hey, Kip.”

“How…are you?” Kip asked. The young woman with him gave a polite smile that barely reached her lips.

“I’m…great.” A smile stretched towards my ears like the straps on a surgical mask.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Kip said.

“Neither did I, but you know me: if there’s a party, I’ll be there,” I replied. My enthusiasm as fake as an astro-turf toupee.

“Okay…” Kip looked around for something suitable to keep the conversation afloat. “Oh, this is uhm… This is my friend.” Kip presented the dark-haired woman with as much of a flourish as the close quarters of the kitchen would allow.

“Hi,” I smiled. The woman simply nodded. “This is Lyal…?”

“Hey.” Lyal leaned past me and shook Kip’s hand vigorously. The woman folded her arms before he could even try to take hers.

“Great party,” Kip said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. My relationship with Kip Alehouse had been brief and awkward. We were both taking papers in Dialectics, the science of verbal communication styles, and I broke up with Kip the same morning I decided to change my major to Computer Psychology.

“It’s nice to see you again, Charl’,” Kip said.

I winced. Of all the ways my name could be verbally amput­ated, leave it to Kip to find the one that set my teeth on edge.

“You too.” I gave him the thumbs up and squirmed out of Lyal’s embrace.

I looked past Kip in the vain hope I could see a reason to excuse myself and leave. It took a moment, and then I noticed that the dark-haired woman standing with Kip was also standing with the other people at party-central around the living room.

I blinked and stared harder: it wasn’t just a group of dark-haired, pale-skinned women wearing black, though the college had enough of those for cloning to be a plausible explanation.

“That’s weird,” I said. No one commented and I returned my attention to Kip. The dark-haired woman leaned in and whispered something in his ear. My jaw dropped as Kip faded in a swirl of multi-coloured sparks, and a moment later, his clothes stood empty as if his outfit had been put on an invisible mannequin.

I waved a hand; it shed skin cells in a rainbow of sparks. “I think someone spiked my drink.”

Lyal Guessing had also vanished, his rumpled suit continuing to grind incoherently without him.

I struggled to breathe against a tightening band around my chest. A desperate moment later, my focus cleared as, wide-eyed and choking, I tried to speak. The pale woman smiled at me, reached out and—