Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

The boy laughed. It sounded like he was singing. “No. Of course not.
There is no God, at least not like you’re thinking. He’s a human construct,
one capable of great peace and violent wrath. It’s a dichotomy only found in
the human mind, so of course he’d be made in your image. But I’m afraid he’s
nothing but a fairy tale in a book of fiction. The truth is infinitely more
complicated than that. Tell me, Wallace. What are you doing here?”
He kept his distance, which Wallace was grateful for. “I live here.”
“Do you?” the boy asked. “How do you figure?”
“I was brought here.”
The boy nodded. “You were. Mei, she’s good people. A little headstrong,
but a Reaper has to be for all they deal with. There’s no one like her in all
the world. The same could be said for Hugo. And Nelson. Apollo. Even you
and Alan, though not quite in the same way.” He went to one of the tables and
grabbed hold of a chair. He grunted as he pulled it down. It was bigger than
he was, and Wallace thought it was going to crash down upon his head. It
didn’t, and he set it on the floor before climbing onto it and sitting down. His
feet dangled as he kicked them back and forth. He folded his hands in his lap,
twiddling his thumbs. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Wallace. I know so much
about you, but it’s good to see you face to face.”
A fresh wave of terror washed over him. “Why are you here?”
The boy shrugged. “Why are any of us here?”
Wallace narrowed his eyes. “Do you always answer a question with a
question?”
The boy laughed again. “I like you. I always have, even when you were …
you know. A bastard.”
Wallace blinked. “Excuse me?”
“A bastard,” the boy repeated. “It took you dying to find your humanity.
It’s hysterical if you think about it.”
A flare of anger burned in Wallace’s chest. “Oh, I’m so glad this is all
such a riot to you.”
“There’s no need for that. I’m not being facetious. You’re not as you once
were. Why do you think that is?”
Wallace said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay not to know.” The boy tilted his head against the back of the
chair, staring up at the ceiling. It too shimmered like the walls, as if liquid