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I could describe Margaret's neighbourhood as the kind of charming, quaint little place that would make a person want to wear their nicest polo shirt and khakis. It could be something about the perfectly manicured bushes that line the street, the perky housewives doing their afternoon jog in packs or the way each house has been meticulously decorated with flowers of all shapes, colors and sizes. Even the lamp posts look perky.

To say I stick out like a sore thumb would be an understatement. Walking down the sidewalk in my black ripped jeans and leather jacket, every single person from the kids playing street hockey to the dads mowing their lawn gives me the stare-down. Their faces say something along the lines of 'She must be lost. I should probably not help her or else I might catch whatever she has.'.

Today, I am a little early for my meeting with Margaret. I made the choice to arrive ahead of time deliberately. The main reason is because I want to see if she turns on her sprinklers this high all the time, or if she does it to spite me like I have been suspecting. The second, less important reason, is because I have begun to feel like a sitting duck when I am alone at home. Cold, arrogant, annoying sexy people can easily find me there. People I am trying to avoid. Those same people would never think to come looking for me at Margaret's. It is just very unlikely.

Stopping in front of Margaret's lawn, I note with no surprise that the sprinklers are turned off.

Spiteful old hag.

I knock on her door three times and wait. I hear some shuffling inside.

"Emmalyn. You're early, dear!" Her voice sounds muffled through the door.

"I was just looking forward to seeing you so much," I reply through a tight smile.

She opens the door looking breathless. Her tight, grey curls look a little dishevelled and I think her blouse is on backwards.

Before she has the time to properly greet me, a mass of black zips past me and launches itself at her. Margaret is propelled against her livingroom wall, landing face first on the flowery carpet. I snap my head toward her attacker and gasp when I recognize Death's face. His nostrils flare and he bares his teeth. His posture is haunched in a defensive a stance and he reminds me of a big cat about to pounce on its prey.

I am about to ask what the hell he is doing, attacking a poor, albeit sometimes difficult, old woman when Margaret stands up and lets out a blood curling laugh. She launches herself at Death, tackling him to the opposite wall and knocking down a flower vase and an end table in the process. I am shocked when I see Death actually falling backwards and slamming into the fireplace with a loud crack. The bricks from the fireplace start falling down in a pile of dust.

I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to process the spectacle in front of me.

How strong is Margaret?

Death throws a punch at her and a loud resonating bang echoes through the room when his fist collides with her jaw. She snarls at him but he pushes her off, sending her flying across the room in a heep of polka-dotted yellow skirts and pink blouse. She recovers quickly, coming to stand beside me with a large shit-eating grin. She narrows her eyes at Death.

"Get the fuck away from her!" he roars and the next second he throws himself in her direction, knocking her to the ground.

Both of them start rolling onto the rug until they have reached the kitchen. Margaret manages to grab a large mixing spoon from the counter (god knows where she found such a big one) and whacks it across Death's face. The spoon breaks in half. The actual spoon part is sent flying in my direction and I barely manage to dodge it before I watch it fly through the window with wide eyes.

I swallow.

Death now straddles Margaret's chubby body and hits her repeatedly in the face. With each blow comes a sharp, loud resonating crack.

"What the fuck, Death?" I screech, barely able to form the words through my outrage. His hostile gaze snaps to mine and Margaret takes advantage of his momentary distraction to ram him into the kitchen island.

"Margaret, stop!" I yell at the top of my lungs.

She ignores me and keeps smacking him with the back of her small hand at an inhuman speed.

Death lifts her up by the throat and throws her off him and across the kitchen, next to where I am standing.

I watch him in disbelief as he heaves heavy breaths, eyes riveted at her and teeth clenched.

Before he can attack her again, I move between them, my back to Margaret who is currently peeling herself off from the floor.

"Stop!" I raise my hands defensively, "She's just an old lady," I say tentatively, "Let's all just take a deep breath and calm down."

"Emma, move out of my way right now," he growls, eyes still focused on Margaret.

Before I can reply, I hear a maniacal laugh resounding from behind me. When I turn around, I see her face morphing into that of a man's. Margaret's grey hair is replaced by thick, windswept black hair. Her warm brown eyes turn to blue pools of ice. She grows about two feet and her chubby midsection is replaced by a flat stomach and bulging muscles.

"Hello, brother." His deep voice booms around us as he directs this in Death's direction. When he brings his gaze back on me, his lips stretch into a large cynical smile, making him resemble the cheshire cat.

"Oh. My. God," I whisper, dumbstruck.

"Wrong," he snickers, "I like to think I'm much better looking. He's all dimples and curly hair," he waves a hand in the air, "While I have the tall, dark and handsome thing going."

Death slams him back against the wall and brings his forearm to his throat to keep him from moving.

"What are you doing here, Luci?" he snarls.

Despite being basically in a headlock, 'Luci' starts chuckling humourlessly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he glances at me quickly, "I'm keeping Emma here, company."

"What have you done to Margaret?" I blurt, coming closer to him. I do not care much for the old crone, but she is an innocent.

"There is no Margaret," Death grits through clenched teeth, "he's deceived you. 'Cause that's what he does best, isn't it?" he snarls, pushing his arm deeper into Luci's throat.

Luci let's out a belly-rumbling laugh, before pushing Death away from him.

"Still so bitter, Azra? You haven't changed."

Azra?

"Go back to Hell. This is isn't your realm," says Death, still standing only a few inches from who I guess is his brother.

"What do you mean, there is no Margaret? You mean I've been visiting this freak for two years?" I make no effort to hide how angry I am right now. If he did not seem like he was made out of steel like Death, I would beat this guy to a pulp myself.

"Come on, our visits weren't that unpleasant," he says mockingly, "I even baked you scones. By myself. Using Hell's very own kitchen too."

I narrow my eyes at him. No. It can not be.

"Erm, are you... the devil?" I feel stupid even asking the question.

"Bingo!" he says with a laugh. Then, he lets out a loud, obnoxious sigh, "I remember how much you hate that, actually. You really suck at it too. Also, please call me Lucifer."

Angers sparks through me. I just want to break his smug face. I start pushing my sleeves up and grab the nearest cast-iron pan.

"You're gonna pay for that," I lurch it at his head. He dodges it and starts blocking each blow I try to send at him with ease.

"Isn't she a hoot, brother?" he cackles, "I mean, all tiny with the wild hair and little fists. Like a little ball of anger,"

"Oh no, you didn't," I growl and jump on him. He is caught off guard and lands on the floor with me on top. Before I can hit him, Death grips me by the waist and pulls me off Luci. "Death, stop! Let me finish what you started!"

Luci gets up and sends me an evil smile from behind Death's back.

"Hey," says Luci before Death can drag me out of the room, "Have you told her yet?"

Death halts. His hold on me loosens and lets me down to my feet. He does not say a word. Instead, he turns around to stare daggers at his brother.

"Tell me what?" I ask.

Luci's mouth morphs into shit-eating grin, as he raised an eyebrow at me.

"You haven't, I see," he says with a malicious glint in his eye.

Death grabs him by his pink collar, "Shut up," he warns in a low, guttural tone. "Is that why you've been watching her?"

"Of course!" he removes Death's hand slowly from his blouse and I see the muscles flexing in both brother's arms, "Someone had to keep tabs on her until you pulled your head out of your ass."

"What is he talking about?"

"Nothing," snaps Death, "He was just leaving."

"Pray tell, brother, why haven't you told our little Emmalyn she is your soul mate?"

"What?" I blurt, "Death?" I look between the two of them in confusion. I think my ears have stopped working properly if the ringing in them is anything to go by.

Death is speechless for a moment, not daring to look at me. I see his jaw clench and his eyes close for a second. He is pissed.

"Oh yeah. Neat isn't it?" says Luci with a smirk, "Now the two of you can go on forever on little killing dates together," he snickers.

I search in Death's eyes for any indication that Lucifer is joking again. When all he does is stare back at me with regretful, apologetic eyes, I know it is the truth.

"No," I mutter. I start shaking my head slowly, "This is some sort of sick joke," I keep shaking my head, looking at the ground.

"Emma..." Death takes a step towards me.

"No," I put a hand up to stop him. This can not be.

I back away from him.

When I look back at him through blurry eyes, I feel a pang of pain through my heart.

Am I that fucked up, that evil, that good at killing that I deserve to be soul mates with Death?

I bolt out of there.