Death was a babysitter. Not in the regular sense with homework to do and sock hops to attend after their employers returned from their monthly reprieve but in the temporary sense with two demon children chasing geese in a cemetery park. Death sat on a bench, their brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail and bangs framing their round face. They crossed one ankle over the other, and aside from the occasional chewing-gum bubble, they sat perfectly still, a sentinel watching over the children.

A man approached the bench, his nerves dissipating as he sunk down in the free seat next to Death. He looked at the kids, his eyes welling with relief.

“Who are you wearing today?” He asked, voice wavering.

Death took in his appearance without taking their eyes away from their wards. Marcin usually kept his shell in immaculate condition, but today, his black hair hung loose and limp from the half bun he normally kept it in, his pea coat was unbuttoned, and his white button up was untucked. 

“Betty Lis, she died on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle,” they said. Betty’s poodle skirt caught in the wind, and Death turned her head to look at Marcin. “But that’s not what you want to talk about.”

“No, sorry. I just…” He looked out at his two children, Parish and Beckette, gleefully playing a game of chase with the geese by the pond. “Thank you for watching them.”

“Thank your sister. She was the one who chased off Mephistopheles Henriette and Mephistopheles Adisa. I was here to take them.”

Angels and demons didn’t need to breathe; despite this, Marcin felt as though Death had taken all of the air from his surroundings. “Are you still,” He began before Death cut his thought short.

“No,” they said. “They don’t belong with me yet, but they still appear as two children alone in the park. I didn’t want any humans to bother them.”

“Where’s Sauriel?” He asked, realizing that if she chased off Henriette and Adisa, she could be in danger.

“I’m unsure,” Death said. “But I know I’m not needed by her side at the moment.” Death popped another bubble of chewing gum. “Perhaps, you should ask your other sister. Abiah keeps a close watch on you all.”

Death stood from the bench and held out Betty’s arm. All at once, the geese stood at attention, making the children stop and watch in bewilderment as they flew and morphed mid-air into one, giant golden eagle.

Marcin looked back to Death, now a Kazakh eagle hunter with warm, fur clothing wrapped in intricate, red patterns and a padded glove that strained under the grip of the talons.  

“Consider leaving your children with someone, maybe Gabriel. I heard she’s been rather bored lately.” Marcin glanced at his children, and though he felt nothing, he knew that Death had left his side.

Death was a shepherd. Not in the religious sense with a flock of devoted worshipers but neither in the literal sense with a homestead and worries of icy winters. Death stood in ankle high, wet grass wearing wool pants, a study cap, and a border tartan wrap overlooking hills dotted with sheep. They whistled and four border collies bolted from Death’s side and made quick work of the scattered flock. 

Sauriel stood behind and off to the side, marveling at the dogs’ agility. “Who are you wearing today?” She asked. 

“William Barker but he preferred to be called Will,” they said. Death whistled again, changing the direction of the flock towards a fence off to the right. “He died this day, 1905.”

“And your reapers?” She saw the traces of mist that followed the dogs’ paths.

“Duncan, Malcolm, Lady Macbeth, and Banquo. They were Will’s herding dogs. They died the same day.” Death turned to face Sauriel, trusting their reapers to handle the rest of the sheep. “You seldom seek me out.”

“I came to ask a question,” she said. “You said that Lucifer sent the Mephistopheles after Marcin, but the things that attacked him, those weren’t demons.”

Death hummed. From their tartan wrap, a lamb popped its head out and gave a single, offended bleat. “You’ve upset Lamb-bert.”

“It…it has a name?”

“Yes, the farmer down the road was a single father with two young children caring for his weary parents,” Death ran Will’s hand across Lamb-bert’s head. “He died two hours ago. His last wish was for his flock to be returned. Lamb-bert was named by his children.”

Sauriel placed a hand on her hip and ran the other one through her hair. The light from her halo reflected off the gathering mist and gave Lamb-bert’s eyes an eerie glow. “Death, I need you to be honest with me. I’m begging here, what else is after Marcin and his kids?”

“There are things larger than you and I, Sauriel.” They pulled off their tartan and swaddled Lamb-bert, rocking him softly until his eyes closed. “All things dead are my domain, and all things living will eventually be my domain, but while they live, their choices, their definitions, are their own. I am not as omnipotent as most would like to believe.”

Before Sauriel could interrupt to ask another question, Death closed the gap between them and handed her the bundle of tartan-wrapped lamb. “Do me a favor and return Lamb-bert.”

The sheep corralled, Death called their reapers with a sharp whistle. As the mist settled on the group, William Barker blew away on the wind, and in his place stood a tall woman with sleek, black hair and bold, red lipstick wearing pointy stiletto shoes, a knee-length fur coat over a form-hugging, decadent silk dress, and oversized sunglasses. 

“I am needed elsewhere,” Death and their reapers, now borzois with thick, diamond-studded golden collars dissolved into the mist leaving Sauriel in the field, holding a cozy, sleeping lamb.