27 October–2 November 1918 – 2,200 deaths in London due to Spanish flu.

In the hospital morgue, Alan checked his watch - 0430 - and his Death Book. His next collection came due at 0438. He lay invisible atop a filing cabinet. He no longer walked the wards. Too many of the fevered dying could see him. The nurses did not need any extra difficulties from patients they thought were hallucinating. For their sake, he stayed in the morgue and let the newly dead come to him.

His eyes were burning from fatigue. He closed them while diverting all his attention to the sounds around him. Demons traditionally staked out claims in hospitals, workhouses, orphanages and the sort of boarding schools which warehoused inconvenient children. Lately death was so common that many demons simply walked the streets, listening at windows for the lamentations of the bereaved; but others still favored their habitual territories. Currently only the night watchman was up and about. Coffins were so scarce that they would be stolen if not guarded. The hospital did not have any, of course, but thieves would have a go anyway, just in case.

He listened. The watchman was at his desk, dozing. A heavy rain splattered outside. There was a slight hiss as a demon arrived, oozing through a crack in a window. It drifted silently except for occasional sniffling. The air was thick with the smell of death. The demon could not detect the presence of the Reaper, whose green and glowing eyes were closed.

The demon solidified into human form, stumbled, and grunted. Alan recognized him; he patrolled this hospital for souls denied the Light. Alan had turned over a few to him. They had the cautious détente of opponents evenly matched.

Alan lay still until the demon poked at the file cabinet he was resting on. He opened his eyes. The demon jumped and yelped.

"Hello, Gorrezt. There's nothing here for you tonight. All my scheduled souls are innocents or decent folk who will be accepted into the Light."

"Humphries? M'not here to collect the damned. Not feeling well. I need a dry and quiet place to rest. Truce?"

Alan sat up, drew his knife and dropped his feet to the floor. A demon's promise was best observed from a defensive position. "Truce unless you break it. You do look unwell. Do demons get the flu?"

"Not that I know of. Do Reapers? Had an encounter with a Reaper two days ago. Been sick ever since. Could he have infected me?"

"Symptoms?"

"Weakness, fever, headache, dizziness and the loss of every meal I've ever eaten. It got better for a while but now it's all coming back." Gorrezt stumbled to Alan's file cabinet and crawled onto it. His human form wavered, solidified, wavered again.

"What contact did you have with the Reaper?"

"Oh, a hard fight; he's good, I'll give him that. Only one unusual thing. His left glove was torn. I've a contact burn from his hand. I've touched a Reaper's skin before, facial strikes, no problem, but... I'm sick."

"Where'd you meet?"

"Over by Devonshire Hospital. Shorter than Slingby, stockier than Fairbairn. Maybe five feet eleven inches, robust, light skin and hair, using a hand scythe of some sort. His partner is darker and narrower, and was armed with just an Angel blade."

"Ah. I know that team." Alan slid down from his perch. "May I see your burn?"

Gorrezt turned his head to display a reddened mark on his jaw, slightly blistered. Alan extended his luminescent Angel blade. The demon growled. "Easy now, Gorrezt, I just need a little light...oh. Yes. Well, it's not the flu."

"Explain, Humphries."

"Gorrezt, do demons have a medical service? You've been poisoned right and proper, you have. That Reaper rooms with a Scythes Artificer. It's quite possible he's built up a level of something very nasty in his system. Maybe several somethings, not just scythe metal. Possibly his Reaping partner is also contaminated."

The demon lay back on the cabinet. "Oh, Heaven. A venomous Reaper. Urgh. Of course, this is London. Where else but London? Mam always said I should transfer up north, but noooo I wanted to be here in the Big Smoke. Gotta rest."

"Is Raplanct working around here tonight? I thought I heard him outside earlier. Can he help you get home?"

Gorrezt moaned and closed his eyes.

A door opened. Orderlies brought in a stretcher. Alan's next Reap was hoisted onto a stack of other bodies awaiting the morgue attendant's arrival in the morning. Keeping a cautious eye on Gorrezt, Alan read and collected the life records of an honest, useful man and sped his soul into the Light. The demon did not move.

Three hours and eight Reaps later, Eric ported in from his patrols. He shook the rain off his shoulders, greeted Alan wearily and invited him to breakfast-before-paperwork. Alan gestured to the back of the room.

"Well now. Is he drunk? Did you stop him trying for a soul he wasn't entitled to?"

"No. He walked in, complained of illness, and passed out. I don't want to leave him unattended, in case he recovers and goes prowling on the wards. He's made some extra work for me but it can wait till after we eat."

"He looks bad. Suppose I dispose of him."

"Please don't. He's territorial enough to keep other demons away. We have an agreement of sorts; he behaves, at least where I can see him. I hand over any soul the Light refuses, and he takes no others. His replacement might be a lot less accommodating. I would prefer not to have to train a new one."

Eric sighed. "I'll go snatch up an imp and drag him in here to help the fellow get home. D'you know what's wrong with him?"

"Yes. I think so, anyway. But let's get him out of here so we can stay on schedule."

Howell and Hughes arrived to take over for the next shift. "Hey, Alan. You're relieved. Anything we should know?"

"Eric's out looking for an Infernal. He'll be back in a minute. The resident demon is very unwell and needs help to get home."

"What, old Gorrezt? He's pretty reasonable for a demon. Can demons get sick?"

"Don't know. Otherwise, a busy shift but nothing unusual."

Unlike Reapers, demons could reproduce. The imps nearing the threshold of adulthood were posted as sentries in the human realm, serving as messengers for their elders and reporting opportunities. Eric found one who was brave enough to listen to a Senior Reaper of great reputation. Eric presented a proposal that the imp could accept – the opportunity to place a superior under obligation – and led him back to the morgue.

"Rhodri, Owen, Alan, this is Jeptaht. He's willing to help. Jephtaht, over here please."

Alan and Eric helped Gorrezt to his feet and draped his arm over the imp's shoulder. There was a shimmer in the air as both vanished.

Rhodri Howell eyed Alan. "I want to hear this story when you're ready to tell it."

"I don't know all of it, and maybe not any of it, but I'll be asking some questions. When I know, I'll share. They will probably be sending someone to take G'rrezt's place. Be wary."

"Probably not our problem, since we usually see Bhan-shatin on our shift. But thanks, we'll watch."

With the rain bucketing down, there would be no frolicking along the rooftops this morning. Eric and Alan ported directly to the Cafeteria for breakfast. They loaded their trays and found seats in a far corner. Both men liked to have the wall at their backs.

Eric raised his steaming cup gratefully. "I'm fair soaked. I'll want to go change and then meet you in the office."

"Of course. I may not be at my desk when you arrive. I have to check the schedules and hunt down Ten Hagen."

"I think he's working Marylebon High Street third shift this week."

"I am sure you are right. I have to take him to see Doctor Collins."

"Really? Why?"

"Because he's the Reaper who sickened Gorrezt. He punched our demon in the jaw. His glove was torn, and his fist left a burn. Since then, Gorrezt has been miserably ill."

"Ah." Eric paused. "We'd better get Sam Terry checked too. I'll send him to you. And Terry's roommate, and any lasses they're courting. And, of course, Smitty, who is probably at the root of all this."

"Possibly. For all I know he's harmless to other Reapers, but it has to be checked."

Eric thought for a moment, sipping his tea. "If he's toxic to demons, and it's not hurting him? See if they can bottle it."

Alan put down his cup. "Bottle. As in, contaminate us all in gradual doses?"

"Or figure a delivery system as a defense in the field?"

"Something like – oh – put the poison in glass fishing floats to be thrown and broken?"

"Leave it to the Engineers to figure out. Might be a nice project for Smitty."

Alan sipped his coffee. Smitty had been working on a secret project for some years. Heaven only knew what he'd been exposed to.

"How are you doing, Eric?"

"It's hard. Got used to reaping soldiers in the field, aye? But now it's the civilians, the women and the older children. The young mothers of unborn bairns, weans who die because all their caregivers have died. Not that I haven't seen it all before. But it's hard. I will manage, as I have managed before, and this all is coming to an end. The war will end very soon; if the losers don't agree to an armistice they'll be forced to surrender, which carries a greater load of shame. Doesn't Will say it's all in the wording? The epidemic will rage for another year, maybe two, and burn out. Then we all come home from wherever we've been sent and start training replacements for all the Reapers who never return."

"All lost?"

"Not all. Some will have found opportunities elsewhere. Or they pair up with new partners in other places. Some deserters. Takes a while to sort things out after a disaster that forces us to follow in its path. "

The demon Bhan-shatin manifested in a storage closet an hour later. He eased the door open to check the hallway. He was startled to find a Reaper waiting for him.

Owen ap Hughes, late of Swansea and currently of London, held a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Matron's on the prowl."

The head nurse on this shift was a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. She had the Sight. She also had no tolerance for demonic intruders on her ward, and a deadly aim with a bedpan. Human weapons against supernatural creatures are powered by faith. Matron O'Doherty had every faith in her bedpans, as did the besplattered Demons who crossed her. Doubtless it was a special dispensation from on High that a bedpan thrown through an infernal being came out sparkling clean on its return to the natural realm. Hughes and Bhan-shatin faded away to the morgue, whose attendants were insensitive even when awake and sober.

"Doesn't seem fair that she never goes after the Reapers," grumbled Bhan.

"She knows what we are, and Whose orders we obey." Hughes flipped through his Death Book. "Got one for you in an hour, probably. Don't think even the Highest has any more patience with him."

"My schedule agrees. Another one a little later, borderline case."

"Ahh, yes, definitely not the Light. Nasty by choice. Maybe a low-level reincarnation after a stay in the Library. Maybe not. She's already on her third reiteration."

"Whatever. I won't fight you for her. I'm abiding by the truce here. Listen, Hughes, do you know anything about what happened to Gorrezt? He came in early and injured in some way. Did it happen here?"

"He was sick, very sick when we arrived. Humphries was watching him while Slingby found him a ride home. I think Humphries may have an inkling of the cause. Rhodri's asked for an update when more is known. I'll pass it on if not forbidden. You can always ask Humphries, if you're willing to risk an attack from Slingby, but give him some time to investigate."

"I'll wait. I'll also tell you anything I can find out. Do you suppose this influenza can jump Realms?"

"If it could, we Reapers would all have it by now. Scary thought, though. Are any other demons showing signs of this?"

"Not that I've heard, but we don't share signs of weakness. Any angels calling in sick?"

"None on our shift. No mention in handover reports from other shifts. Just Gorrezt."

Humphries found Ten Hagen at his desk in Operations. Dutch had seldom seen Humphries in his intimidating 'Assistant Director of the London Branch and mean as a snake' persona, and had never had it personally applied. When summoned to accompany Humphries to the Academy, he quickly put on his jacket and locked up his desk. Terry arrived from Personnel, buttoning his shirtsleeves, coat over one arm. Alan picked up his class materials and escorted them to the portal.

Doctor Theodore Collins was fortunately between patients. He fixed Humphries with a measuring gaze. "You are still eating properly. Good. Keep it up. What's the problem?"

"Not me, Ted. These two. Allow me to introduce Senior Ten Hagen and his partner Senior Terry. Senior Ten Hagen's glove was torn a couple of days ago. He struck a demon with that hand. The demon became very ill, recovered briefly, and became ill again – so ill we had to find an imp to whisk him back to the Infernal Realm. Please check for contamination?"

"The demon's symptoms?"

"A visible burn with some blistering. He complained of dizziness, nausea, fever and weakness. He was having trouble holding his human form, too."

"And you suspect Senior Ten Hagen as the cause?"

"Senior Ten Hagen's roommate is a Scythes Engineer."

"Ah. All right, Senior Ten Hagen. And you, Senior Terry. Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. Mister Humphries, I shall examine these two immediately. Expect my report this afternoon. You two, this way please."