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I pick up the French press, peering at it. Ikea. It’s from Ikea. “The fuck?” I mutter, but I guess it makes sense in a gonzo way. Whoever is doing Death’s errands back in the normal world must have needed a coffee maker to go along with the beans and thought a quick trip to Ikea would suffice.
I smile and hold out my fingertip, wondering if this is weird or cheesy or offensive to mermaids. But she just laughs and grabs hold of the tip of my finger, shaking it. “I’m Bell. It’s not my real name, that name doesn’t translate. But Death named me Bell. Well, actually it was Tinkerbell, but Lovia made him change it.” You’ve got to be kidding me. What is his obsession with Peter Pan?