Book Seven: Chapter 256

The Arachne obeyed, the dogtags sparkling beneath the light of the sun. On the back of one of the tags was a single, bloody fingerprint that had been sealed in place with a layer of clear nail polish. “Papa Cyrus,” she repeated, pointing at the print.

“Oh.” It was all he could say, all the pieces falling into place. His last link to this world was a bit of blood left behind. “I see.”

“It’s why she has stopped taking baths,” Death declared. “She is afraid that you would wash away, somehow.” The Reaper narrowed his sockets at Grace. “Or so she claims.”

Cyrus chuckled, then wiped away a tear of his own. He contemplated the droplet on his finger and watched it vanish. After all, it wasn’t really there. Shaking his head, he knelt down and patted Grace on the head.

“No man left behind,” she said.

“That’s right, child.” Cyrus briefly placed his forehead against hers. He knew better than most the danger of a spirit staying behind past their time. His was up. Ev