Chapter Seven

If love is surrender

(then whose…)

Then whose war is it anyway?

-Frou Frou, "Psychobabble"

They were inside Death's, no, possibly Bill was more accurate at this point, Bill's kitchen, trying to ascertain if the Grim Reaper was all right.

"I'm fine," he said, in a low baritone of a voice. Grace involuntarily got the image of him holding a rose in his mouth in a dark bedroom stuck in her head. He really did have a bedroom sort of voice.

"Grace," Susan said, for the third time.

"Oh, sorry, yes?"

"The Auditors, what do you think they're plan is?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Everyone looked at her. Grace had the sensation of vujá de, that feeling when something happens that has never happened, but feels like it has quite a lot.

"No, seriously, why are you asking me? I don't know what an audimathingy is anyway. Except human tax collector ones. Actually there's a really funny story about that—"()

Bill Door gave her a slow, calculating look. "It called you half breed. Why would that be?"

Grace went quiet. Somehow, the thought that Bill didn't like her anymore was very upsetting. Especially after thinking it might be possible to get him to strip off the clothes Albert had rummaged up for him and get him to put a rose in his mouth and lay on some silk bed sheets---no, wait, she was losing her focus. Why was that?

Half-breed, you will not interfere, came a loud, apathetic sounding voice in her head. It wasn't exactly a voice per se, it was more like someone had just arranged all her own thought so that she had thought this strange thing to herself. Grace remembered that this was what had happened at the gazebo when they had transformed Death into Bill.

Maybe I AM half of an Auditor. Whatever they are.

Susan then said, to her relief, "Well, it looks like Grace was used as a tool to get in here. I think they'll leave her alone now that they accomplished what they set out to do. But we can't trust her anymore. Grace, you're going to have to put your book on hold."

"But why?" she asked, upset.

"Because the Auditors don't know a lot about this place. And right now, we don't want them to. So don't write anymore. Give me what you have so far."

Grace reluctantly passed over her notes. There were several drawings of Death, and extremely nice one of Susan, and several unflattering cartoons of Albert with a skillet. The rest were fragments of chapters, notes about souls, and about Death's personality and history.

Bill smiled at her. Grace felt a flutter in her chest. She couldn't remember liking anyone so much. Or having a worse headache.

"I need to go lie down," she muttered, not looking at Bill, but thinking about him all the same.

Bill Door stood up so fast his chair ricocheted off the back wall. "I'll escort you," he said, his voice sounding eager, happy, and horribly suggestive, although Grace had a suspicion he didn't realize it.

Susan frowned. "No hanky-panky, you two." She said this sternly. Albert nearly choked on his egg. "The Mater? Hanky—Susan, that's nonsense!"

"Take a look for yourself. They aren't even listening. Worse than teenagers," she muttered the last part emphatically.

Death held Grace's hand as they walked the long corridors of the Domain's house. "I never knew what human feelings were like. No glands," he explained on the way. "But now…it's overwhelming. Breathing, eating, the feel of clothing on skin…how can you live with these things?" he asked, looking a little horrified at the thought of actually living with them himself.

Grace smiled shyly. "Not all sensations are bad," she said. "If you had had glands, the gazebo kiss would have been different."

"Really? How?"

Grace stared into those burning blue eyes, and her worries circled in her head like vultures. Was she half Auditor? Would she betray him? Was this love? Should she really write this book about him? Wasn't the kiss idea taking advantage of his ignorance? Was this love?

She leaned forward and her lips met his. They did not part for a very long time.

His hand rested on her shoulder, overwhelmed. His mouth opened, and Grace let her tongue slide in. Bill shuddered. She moved in closer to him, gently pressing her body against his, an invitation, if he accepted it. If he even knew how.

A low moan escaped his lips. "No, I…no. I won't," he said suddenly. "This is madness. This…touching! I will not do it! Good day, Miss Tippet!"

He turned around and left, leaving a very confused Grace there to ponder why he was so frightened.

()This funny story involved a cheesewire trap, 25 kilograms of molasses, and chicken feed. It also involved someone forcing hung over Grace to awake at six in the morning, and the first words she heard were "I see you've only paid ¾ of your taxes this year, Miss Tippet." Such words men war.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I apologize for the lapse in updating, but college has been hectic!