Sneak out." He shrugged, as if that should have been a no-brainer. But that was easy for him to say. He was dead. What else could they do to him, take away his birthday?

I wanted more firsts with Tod. But all I had left was a handful of lasts.

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert?

I should have mixed something stronger than Coke floats.

Unfortunately, unless the job description included a translation of the prologue of The Canterbury Tales, I was dreadfully under-qualified.

So, you reap souls and crush hopes? Is that part of the job, or just a service you offer for free?

Not even if you fed me your firstborn, still wet and screaming