Esprit de Corpse

The Reluctant Reaper 3

by

Gina X. Grant

Prologue:

Previously in The Reluctant Reaper Series . . .

“C’MON, BABY.”

I don’t know how many times my hellphone played the Reaper Corps theme song as I struggled up from the deepest, darkest depths of REM sleep.

“Baby, take my ha—”

I’d been sleeping the sleep of the dead, of course. How else would I sleep? Finally I surfaced into consciousness.

“’Lo?” I answered, silencing Blue Oyster Cult midlyric.

“Kirsty? You’d better get down here right away.” Kali’s voice crackled from the tiny speaker, sounding as distressed as I’d ever heard her. I half sat up, rubbing crusty dried gunk from my eyes, the corner of my mouth and . . . never mind. Despite having no psychic abilities at all, I clearly foresaw a shower in my future.

“Down where?”

“To Hell’s Cells.”

I thumped the heel of my hand against my forehead trying to dispel some of the got-some brain fog. I had a memory once, I just forgot where I put it.

A recent memory floated within reach. I grasped for it, almost had it . . . Ahhh. Now I remembered. Dante’s friend Monroe had told us the holding facility where he worked needed an extra pair of hands. And Kali was nothing if not handy. She had six of ’em, after all.

Obviously she’d landed the job. Only Reapers need apply.

“So what’s up?” I asked. Dante rolled over and opened his eyes. I held a finger to his lips to keep him from speaking. He kissed my finger softly and my insides melted. No, not literally.

“What? I missed that, Kali. Say again, please.”

“I said, something weird is going on with that soul you brought in. That Conrad guy. You didn’t use another Reaper’s scythe on him, did you? Because if you did, I think we’ve finally figured out what happens when you do.”

As Kali described the scene in the cells, all the blood drained from my face. My stomach flip-flopped and my heart clenched.

“Oh, skeg!”

Chapter 1

Blame on You!

I BRIEFED DANTE on Kali’s conversation. Anger radiated off the sharp set of his shoulders. “You should not have touched my scythe!” he lectured, shaking his finger at me.

I bit my lip, knowing he was right, but really not wanting to hear it. Especially not when accompanied by patronizing hand gestures.

“So,” I continued, reluctant to have this conversation, “we need to get down there, right?”

He didn’t respond to that or anything else I said while we got dressed. And that hurt. If I happened to sniffle a little, it was just allergies.

I’m allergic to rejection.

We went from naked to ready in under five minutes. Dante left our cold, cold bedroom without waiting for me. Somehow, whenever he was mad at me, I felt all shivery and cold inside.

I ran after him, just in time to see him present my aunt Carey and her afterlife partner, Leslie, with a key to the apartment along with brief instructions to make themselves at home. He fastened his scythe through his jeans belt loop and draped his Reaper robe over one arm. “Andiamo,” he called over his shoulder.

I knew now that andiamo meant “Let’s go,” as opposed to ti amo, which meant, “I love you.” The universal translator didn’t always work perfectly and that led to the occasional misunderstanding. I wished now was one of them. But sadly, I understood exactly what he wasn’t saying: that I’d screwed up.

I said goodbye to my aunt and Leslie (grabbing a couple of Leslie’s awesome cranberry muffins), and gathered my own robe from its hook near the door. “Good luck with your meeting today. I hope you figure out a way to pay down your karmic debt and buy that Oracle Deli franchise.”

I caught up with Dante outside the apartment. He faced away from me, looking out over the city. His back radiated disapproval like a neon sign flashing, Told you so. Told you so. Told you so. I was torn between begging his forgiveness and kicking his backside. I decided on a wait-and-see strategy instead. Maybe I could get out of this with my dignity—or my relationship—intact.

Probably not both.

In a smackdown between Dante and dignity, Dante would win every time. I already had a bit of a history of begging with him, usually in bed.

I bit my lip as he yanked his scythe from his belt loop and activated it, sending two beams of black light in opposite directions, the top one curving outward into a vicious blade. I took a moment out of my pissy-fit to admire it. Watching a Reaper activate their scythe never gets old.

Since Lucy had withheld my scythe at my graduation ceremony, I didn’t have one yet. Can you miss something you’ve never had? I patted my thigh where my scythe would one day rest. I hoped that one day would be today. I’d worked so hard for the skeggin’ thing.

Where once Dante would have clasped my hand in his, now he wrapped his cold fingers around my wrist, keeping the contact to a minimum. Without so much as an I Dream of Jeannie head-bob, we whoosh-bammed to the Cells. This was the first time I’d ever been teleported on a scythe—it hadn’t worked properly when my body had been stuck in a coma on the Mortal Coil. Now that I was experiencing it, I wished it was more instantaneous and less like a roller-coaster ride on acid. In fact, it was exactly the way they showed wormhole travel on Stargate. Must be more of that bleed-through effect. My stomach flip-flopped. Cranberry muffin redux and reflux rose in the back of my throat.

We materialized at the prison’s massive front door. I’d been here once before on a Reaper Academy field trip. The building was long and low, a single story constructed of dark red brick being slowly strangled by centuries of nightmare-inducing vines. The front door perched in the middle, with wings shooting off to either side. Building-type wings, as opposed to the bat-like kind. On my previous visit, moaning, arguing and complaining had been audible even from outside. Sergeant Schotz had explained that was normal, so the fact that we could hear nothing this morning made me even more anxious.

Dante dragged open one of the big, double doors. I followed him in and down the long, spooky hallway lined with dungeon-like prison cells on either side. Sullen prisoners, angry prisoners and despairing prisoners all rushed to the bars, glaring, staring and way oversharing reasons why they should be released. I kept my eyes on the ground.

How must Dante feel knowing that he’d brought in some of these unhappy souls?

We reached the very last cell, Conrad’s. Monroe and Kali stood outside the bars, watching. Kali wore a horrified look, while Monroe, who’d worked here for decades, looked grim.

“What is the situation?” Dante asked, stepping up to Monroe.

“See for yourself.” The red-haired Reaper gestured inside.

Conrad stood in the middle of the cell, looking basically like the fifty-something corporate executive I’d reaped yesterday.

Except . . . he sweated and strained, obviously in distress. His hands clenched at his sides, his unnecessary breathing ragged.

His eyes bulged and his muscles rippled. In fact, his whole body expanded and contracted and then expanded again, one limb at a time. First his right arm swelled up to monster size, the skin stretched tight, growing lobster red. Then his left leg inflated like a fleshy, florid balloon, his right arm shrinking back down to normal again. Oddly, his bespoke three-piece suit swelled right along with his limbs. Kind of like how Bruce Banner’s pants always managed to cover his junk no matter how huge the Hulk grew.

When Conrad’s leg deflated, his head blew up like a giant red balloon, complete with gray horns.

It looked like he might explode, so I took a step back. I checked my outfit. At least it was washable.

We watched, mesmerized, as this horror show of monster limbs cycled through and started over. Monster arm, then leg, then head, then back. The order became more random and sped up until I grew dizzy and had to grab Dante’s arm.

At least he didn’t pull away. Maybe he needed some reassurance in the face of this grotesque scene. I knew I certainly did and clutched his arm harder.

The unholy changes came faster and faster until Conrad was just a blur of body parts. He started to turn, slowly at first, then spinning like the Tasmanian Devil. Or the two Death Valley girls when they flunked the oral exam at the Reaper Academy.

And just like Tiffany and Crystal, Conrad began to travel, spinning, spinning in larger and larger circles until his route became bigger than the cell and he spun right out through the back wall—without damaging it!

I already felt sick; now I felt as if my world was ending. I’d caused this. I was the problem. Just like with the time machine, only that time had been an accident. This time, Dante was right—I should have known better.

“Stop him!” Dante cried. He and Monroe charged back up the way we’d come, no doubt planning to circle the building and catch him.

I stuck with the god of death and destruction (and earring backs and hangovers). She looked at me and I nodded, choking back more cranberry bile. Then she raised her arms and sent a huge, blindingly bright fireball toward the cell. It took out both the bars and the back wall, leaving ragged, smoking holes for us to pass through.

The burned-out bricks and bars crackled and stank of sulfur. Bits of brick and other debris swirled through the air. I coughed, stopped breathing and swiped at the airborne particles.

Crouched to get through the bars, I heard a sizzle by my right ear. Oh, no! A lock of my awesome white hair had touched the raw and red-hot end of a bar. I ducked and wrinkled my nose. Burning hair stinks way worse than fire and brimstone.

I raced after Kali, tearing out of the back of the cell just as the boys rounded the corner, but Conrad was nowhere in sight.

“Where’d he go?” Monroe asked.

“How should we proceed?” Dante said.

“Are we in trouble?” Kali moaned.

“I know exactly where he’s gone,” I said, biting my lip. All heads swung in my direction. “He’s heading back to the Coil. You know how hard he worked to stay there. It was only yesterday we were able to oust him from his life there.”

“You mean last week,” Monroe said.

“Last week? Wasn’t it only last night?” I said, checking my death watch, shaking it and holding it to my ear.

“The clocks of Hell needed one more kick-start to align with Coil time. The Ecks men issued a press release about it. Don’t you two watch the news?”

“We were a bit busy last night, week, er, recently,” I mumbled, wondering if, with the way things were going, we might never get busy again.

“So what happened to him? And are we in trouble?” Kali chewed on one of her thirty nails.

“I’m not sure,” Dante admitted. “But I believe he turned into a demon. It was hard to tell with all the dust and debris flying about.”

“I think I saw horns,” I said.

“And wings,” Monroe added.

“You should not have touched my scythe. It is proibito.” Dante rounded on me again, as he had earlier this morning, adding a word the Hellish app failed to translate.

I was ready to shout a few choice words that wouldn’t require translation at all, but would paint the air with stinky blue smoke. I held my tongue though. No, not literally. I didn’t want to be that couple who fought in front of their friends.

I kicked at a loose brick. “What do we do now?”

“I need to go after him,” Dante said.

I. Not we. Now I had reached my personal red zone. I wasn’t being the mature one another second. “Oh, yes,” I sarcasmed. “Because that worked out sooo well the first two times.”

“And exactly whose fault is that?” Dante’s tone was so scorching that the air turned blue despite the lack of actual swear words.

My eyes opened wide with shock and anger. “I’m going to see Sergeant Schotz.” I spun on my hiking boot heel and strode away.

Now we were that couple that fought in front of our friends. If we still were a couple.

Chapter 2

A Scythe for Sore Eyes

DANTE CHASED AFTER me, grabbing my arm and startling me. But this was Dante. No matter how macho and angry Dante was, he would never raise a hand to me. Or to anyone. He would raise his scythe to a soul in need of reaping, but never a hand.

He was only latching onto my elbow so he could teleport us to Pit U where the Reaper Academy had its headquarters.

Once again we entered the swirly portal. The partially digested cranberry muffins revisited the back of my throat, getting less and less tasty each time. I wished we’d walked.

Make that run.

We materialized in the main courtyard, then dashed to Colin Schotz’s office only to be told he wasn’t in.

“Then where is he?” Dante demanded of Schotz’s administrative persistent. “The new semester has not begun, so his other half, Professor Schotz, is not teaching yet. It is imperative we speak to Sergeant Schotz!”

“He’s not here. He’s due back in about five minutes.”

“You’re not just covering for him, are you? Because we’re not lying about it being urgent.”

“And I’m not lying about him being out.” When the AP saw me trying to sneak a peek through the sergeant’s half-open door, he sniffed and said haughtily, “Feel free to check his office.”

“Can you call his hellphone and see how long before he gets back?”

The assistant looked more ready to call Security. “Or text him. Please?” I made my best you’re much more important and powerful than us face at him. He seemed slightly mollified and agreed to send a text.

“Wait over there, please. I’ll let you know when he responds.”

Dante and I sat at opposite ends of a hard, cold bench. Why was everything cold this morning? Hell should be burning up. And come to think of it, things were heating up a bit. Not because Dante was starting to thaw out, but because I, not a soul known for her patience, was getting hot under the collar.

“You can relax a little bit, Kirsty,” my Reaper—or possibly ex-boyfriend—said. “I believe you are right about Conrad Iver’s intentions. He will return to the Coil. While Reapers can teleport directly to the Coil, Conrad must take the long route.”

That made sense. Only select beings can teleport. I remembered Judge Julius whoosh-bamming out of the courtroom after denying my appeal, using his gavel the way we used our scythes. Or would if I had one.

Conrad would have to find his way up the slippery slope, past the gee-gnomes, and through the void. That could take a few hours.

Maybe we’d get lucky and he’d get stung by a gee-gnome, although it appeared likely his DNA had already been altered. Better the known evil, I thought. Who knew what a second hellish transformation would do to him?

I was just beginning to relax a bit—if by relax I meant fidgeting, jittering and worrying—when my old classmates Tiffany and Crystal stomped in, snakeskin cowboy boots clunking noisily on the old stone floor. They were about to retake the first half of the Reaper studies program after failing the oral exam. They grinned at me, staring blatantly at my scytheless hip.

“Oh, Kirsty. Have you been, like, de-sensei-scythed already?” Crystal’s heavily mascara’d eyes grew wide.

“Have I been what?”

“It’s like, you know,” Crystal began. “It’s when, like, someone very old and very wise takes away your scythe so you can’t reap anyone.”

“Or, like, cut yourself,” Tiffany added, shaking her dyed blond bangs into her eyes.

I couldn’t imagine what my friend Amber had seen in these two. The three women had been joined at the hipster when I’d first met them, but now Amber was dating Ira the fallen angel and it didn’t look like the Death Valley girls would ride again anytime soon.

“No, I never got my scythe. Weren’t you at the graduation ceremony?”

They both shook their heads, straw-like hair swirling with the motion. I half expected chaff to separate and float down. Or possibly dandruff. Dyeing was so hard on the hair.

Also? Dying.

So, they hadn’t come to support Amber when she’d graduated just because they’d both flunked out. And they’d sworn to be friends for afterlife. No wonder Amber was done with them.

“Oh, that’s right. We heard Lucy Phurr, like, refused to give it to you. ’Cause you were still alive on the Coil.”

If Crystal started back in on the coma-toes thing, so help me, I’d grab Dante’s scythe—again—and reap her where she stood. I had no idea what would happen if I did. We’d only studied what happens when you reap a human whose time is up on the Coil. I was beginning to think my Reaper education was still rather sketchy, despite the semester of in-class work and the semester of fieldwork. I guess they expected us to learn on the job, which I would love to do if only my mentor were speaking to me.

“No. Well, yes. Sort of. She granted my appeal and sent me back to the Coil. I finished my unfinished business there and died for real this time.”

“So you’ve been disembodied, then?” She nodded sagely—if sages could be dumb blondes. Then screwed up her face. “Or is it discom-bod-ulated.” She looked at us helplessly. “I have such a huge-mongous vocabulary it’s hard to keep all the words straight.”

It takes a village to raise an idiot. Dante laid a hand on my arm to keep me from strangling her. He knew me so well. Plus it would be a wasted effort since we don’t breathe anymore except from habit.

“The sergeant will see you now,” Schotz’s assistant announced. At my sputtering, “But . . . but . . .” he added, “He can teleport directly into his office.”

I looked at Dante. Why did we teleport to and from big open spaces? Was he that bad at parking?

“B’bye,” Crystal and Tiffany chorused, clomping out the door. I was glad to see them fade off into the sunset.

Or sunrise, actually. It was still pretty early.

Dante and I entered Sergeant Schotz’s office, standing at attention until he growled an “At ease” in our direction.

Dante assumed parade rest while I slumped into one of the guest chairs. That earned me a glare from Schotz, so I climbed to my feet and tried my best to copy Dante’s stance. It was surprisingly restful, but I didn’t get the parade part at all.

“So I assume you two’ve heard about that soul you brought in last week.” Sergeant Schotz lifted his eye patch and rubbed the eye beneath it. He pulled the patch over the other eye, blinked a few times, then darted an angry glance between Dante and me. “That he managed to escape from the incompetent idjits that work at Hell’s Cells. In fact, if I find out—”

“Yes,” I cut in, not willing to admit we were part of the incompetent idjits club. “We, uh, know that Conrad escaped.” I deliberately said nothing about the transformation we’d witnessed. “What do you want us to do?”

“What I want you two idjits to do is hunt down that skegger and bring ’im back alive. No, dead. Er, whatever his status is now. This skegger has been reborn with an unknown assortment of demonic powers and, according to his file”—Schotz gestured toward a manila folder open on his desk, papers, parchment and not a few Post-it notes spilled out in a messy heap—“he’s not a nice guy.”

I could have told him that. I waited, hoping for some new information.

“That skegger tried to play Lucy false. Making Deals is our trademark. If word got out that he successfully flouted his Deal, it would ruin Hell’s reputation.”

Hell’s reputation was a lot worse than its bite. We all learned back on the Coil that Hell was a terrible place, but really, it’s not so bad.

Especially when you consider the alternatives. I shuddered, thinking of what I knew of Heller, the next and much worse Hell dimension over.

So this was a PR thing. We couldn’t have an escaped soul running around telling people he was too bad-ass for Hell. Or that Lucy couldn’t handle her souls. Might make us look bad. I mean good. No, I mean . . .

“So what you’re saying is that Conrad is evil and Hell really isn’t, but we don’t want people to know that, right?”

At the sergeant’s nod, I relaxed and cracked my knuckles. Time for some spin doctoring and I was just the spinster to do it. But before I could dance around the problem, Dante cut in.

“Sir, if I may?”

“Yes, Dante? What?”

“Kirsty is fresh out of the Reaper Academy. Chasing down a dangerous runner is really a job for an experienced Reaper.”

“And that’s why I’m sending you with her.”

“Permission to speak free—” At Schotz’s impatient wave, Dante leapfrogged over the rest of the formal request and dove into his actual statement. “I think perhaps Kirsty and I shouldn’t work together right now, sir. There are some issues between us that might pose a distraction.”

Oh, God. He didn’t want to be with me anymore? Was that the best excuse he could come up with?

Because I’d been a way bigger distraction when we were getting along.

“That’s why they call it punishment, idjit.” He glared at Dante, then at me. “Idjits, plural,” he corrected. When we both looked stunned, he rolled his eye and clarified. “This is punishment for everybody. We’re an equal opportunity Hell. This Conrad guy’ll get his when you find him. Kirsty, you caused the problem by reaping the skegger with Dante’s scythe even though you knew you weren’t supposed to.”

I ducked my head, letting my hair fall on either side of my face like snowy-white curtains.

More ostriched than ducked, actually.

“And Dante,” Schotz continued, “you let her. You should know better. Now you got another black mark on your record.” Schotz pulled out a piece of parchment and pointed to two grimy smudges on Dante’s otherwise pristine file. “So, yeah, I’m sticking the two of you together for this one. You’ll just have to grim and bear it. Plus, if you can’t get Conrad Iver this time, I’m going to have to take away your scythe for good.”

Oh, no! Hadn’t we settled that when I’d died and . . . But no, that was all about me. Judgment on Dante was still outstanding. Lucy had returned his scythe to him, circumventing the channels of . . . whatever passed for justice down here. If Dante couldn’t get his name cleared, couldn’t bring Conrad in this time, he’d have to go back into the death cycle and that would be the end of us as a couple. Not that we were getting along so great at the moment, but all couples go through rough times. I’d read Fifty Shades. Some couples even liked it rough.

Now I had yet another reason for bringing Conrad in.

“What sort of punishment will Conrad suffer?” Dante asked. Was he feeling sorry for Conrad or couldn’t wait to see him fry? Or possibly bake. Char-broil? Here in Hell, we like our punishments both cruel and unusual.

“Oh, we’ll concoct something suitable, Dante, don’t you worry. Conrad Iver will get what’s coming to him. We’re very good at dreaming up creative punishments here in Hell. Just ask Sisyphus. Oh, that reminds me. I need to give him this.” He held up a familiar music-industry, tabloid-size magazine with a picture of John Lennon on the cover.

“Well, why are you still here?” Schotz made little shooing motions with his hands. “Have you caught him yet? How ’bout now?”

“Sir?” Dante asked again. Was he crazy?

“What is it, Reaper Alighieri?” Uh-oh. We’d moved backward into formality. That was never a good sign.

“Reaper d’Arc requires her scythe, sir. You’ll recall that our gracious Underlord decided not to—”

“Yeah, yeah. I was there. Hang on. I’ve got it right here.” First he produced one of those blue rubber gloves like forensic techs wore. Or those scary brain-meddling guys on Firefly. He stared at me pointedly. “Wouldn’t want to touch another Reaper’s scythe, now would we?” With a flourish, he yanked on the glove—drawing it way back from his wrist and then letting it go. “Ow!” He rubbed at his reddened skin and glared at me like it was my fault he’d ruined his own theatrics.

Okay, maybe I’d grinned at his pain, but he was being obnoxious.

Still glaring, he pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, reached down, reached down further, rummaged around a bit and then finally stuck his head in. Mary Poppins’s carpet bag had nothing on Schotz’s drawers. “Here it is.” He held out the scythe.

I gasped. When Lucy had held it up at the grad ceremony, it had been bright, gleaming chrome, but now it looked dull and dusty. How could it get so dirty in only a few days?

The sergeant glanced at my face, where a parade of emotions (oh, look. There’s the parade I’d looked for earlier) marched across my face: surprise, puzzlement, sadness, anger.

“Oh, it’s a little tarnished is all.” He buffed it on his Reaper robe, only serving to add a layer of grease to the grime soiling my beautiful scythe.

When I saw his mouth working, I snatched the scythe from him before he could spit on it, cradling it in my arms. He looked about ready to yank it back, and with it my future career as a Reaper, but something in my face, or possibly Dante’s, made him snap his mouth closed. He blinked his exposed eye—which could have been a wink—and told us once more we were A, idjits and B, already gone.

And with that, we were.

Chapter 3

Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow

I VELCROED MY scythe to my belt loop as we headed back out the way we’d come. It bounced satisfyingly against my thigh with every step. It was only about eight inches long, but it was mine and I loved it. Besides, eight inches is more than respectable.

I glanced below Dante’s belt. He had a ten-incher, but I wasn’t the slightest bit envious. I’d certainly reaped the benefits of his scythe over the past year.

I have euphemisms and I’m not afraid to use them!

At least mine was prettier than Dante’s old pewter one, which was all scratched and banged up from centuries of hard use. It looked like an antique, which is nice in its own way, but I prefer my appliances to be modern and gleaming. I’d cleaned it as best I could on my own grease-free robe. It looked a little better now; nothing a good buffing with stainless steel polish wouldn’t fix. Oh, sure. They promise stainless . . .

Dante pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, caught my eye and said, “Ahem.”

Uh-oh. Things that followed “ahem” were rarely good. Dante strode into a vacant classroom, gesturing for me to follow him. Now he wanted to talk? Didn’t we have a demon to catch?

He stopped near the entrance, waited for me to pass him, then shut the door.

“I feel, Kirsty, we should start the last place Conrad occupied on the Coil.”

“My hospital room? But that was a week ago. Plus we dragged him to Hell, locked him up, and then he escaped. There’s no way he’d be there now. I know Conrad and he’d go directly to—”

“If he returns to the Coil,” Dante cut in, “he will likely return the way he came. So that’s where we need to begin.”

He activated his scythe again, holding it before him like a flaming sword. “Okay, Kirsty. Now you try. As you know from your session using practice scythes, it is activated by pressing this small knob.”

To show him what I thought of his condescending course in Button Pushing 101, I pressed my scythe’s activation button with exaggerated motions. For the first time, my beautiful new scythe fired its purple-black light out both ends, the top one curving into the razor-sharp blade.

“Oooh! Ah! Yesss!”

Dante shot me a look. Those were usually noises I made during activities in which no actual scythes were required.

“Now, Kirsty. If you’ll concentrate on the hospital.”

“Dante, listen to me. He won’t be there. He’ll go to his office. In fact—”

“You heard Sergeant Schotz. I’m the experienced Reaper, so you’ll take your direction from me. I know what I’m doing.” He laid his hand on his chest to indicate . . . What? Modesty? That was laughable but somehow I didn’t feel like laughing.

“Our first stop will be your former hospital room. Then we will use the glow of our scythes to follow Conrad’s ecto-trail until we find him. Simple? Good. Now the first thing we—”

I hit the travel button on my scythe, concentrated on my desired destination and zapped out of Hell with a whoosh-bam all my own.

Arriving at the offices of Iver Public Relations felt both like coming home and like visiting a place I’d once dreamt of. The offices looked the same, but they felt different. New coffee-stained carpeting replaced the old coffee-stained carpeting of my day. The walls had been repainted and some new framed award-winning PR campaigns hung on the walls. I paced down the hall slowly, quietly, not wanting to disturb anything.

The sound of clapping startled me nearly out of my robe. It grew louder as someone opened the boardroom doors. It faded away and the attendees—both familiar and unfamiliar—began to collect their electronic devices and empty coffee cups. One jovial fellow I recognized from Accounting shook Shannon’s hand. “You’ll do great, Shannon. You’re your father’s daughter.”

I steamed at the insult. Hadn’t the nightly news reported that Conrad had bludgeoned me to death? Not exactly the person I’d want to be likened to.

Shannon responded in a thin voice, “My father left some pretty big shoes to fill.” She didn’t exactly radiate confidence that she could fill them.

And maybe she couldn’t. After all, his success had been dependent on the devilish Deal he’d made. Would Iver PR continue to land clients and win awards without magic?

Other people shook Shannon’s hand and congratulated her as they left the room. It felt like a wake. People seemed subdued, their clothing somber. Of course, only a week ago, their president and CEO had died after murdering his former protégée.

And that would be me.

I hadn’t realized Shannon would now be CEO, but Iver PR wasn’t a publicly traded company. It was a family business and Shannon was Conrad’s only family. His estate must have been settled very quickly.

Another man—a stranger to me—spoke softly with Shannon. I understood turnover in the public relations industry was high, but I was surprised that in the year I’d been gone, so many new people had joined the company. But just then, a few people I did know drifted out. There was my former friend Frannie, talking on her phone. I wanted to say hi, but she paced right by, her face a stony mask.

Last to leave was Shannon. She looked tired and drawn—hardly the picture of corporate power.

“Hi, Shannon. Long time no . . .” But of course she couldn’t hear me. I’d forgotten. She continued along the hall with her head down, reading a document as she walked. I moved over to walk behind her. Panic gripped me when I saw it was a contract. But then I saw it wasn’t printed on parchment and relaxed.

I could tell, though, that it wasn’t some ordinary client contract. I caught a few words, peeking out between her hands. It read like something big and overarching, probably to do with the company. Well, of course. She’d just been appointed CEO, so she’d have to sign something, right?

I followed her down the hall. In my mind, she’d taken over my office when she’d taken over my accounts, but that didn’t appear to be the case. In fact, as we passed by I saw it was Frannie who sat behind my old scratched desk. Same old desk accessories. I took a quick inventory but she had a new plastic stapler. Not the vicious metal one that had attacked me that day, beginning all my troubles. No wonder Dante had accidentally arranged for the wrong one to be retrieved for my appeal.

So where had the right one ended up?

A vague recollection nipped at my brain, but movement within my old office distracted me before I could grapple with it.

Frannie looked up as Shannon strode past. She glanced away again quickly, eyes narrowed and mouth hard. Was she not happy that Shannon was now in charge?

Shannon stopped in front of the VP’s office. I knew it was hers because the credenza displayed a picture of a very young Shannon with her mother. I’d never met Shannon’s mom; she’d died when Shannon was small. I might ask Sybil to pull up her records and let me know where she resided these days.

But instead of entering, Shannon moved on down the hallway, heading into the big corner office that had been her father’s. I guess it, along with the entire company, was hers now.

The overall atmosphere was a big downer. So Conrad had died. Big deal. It’s not like he was a great guy or anything. But no doubt a lot of these folks had fallen under his spell. It must be quite a surprise to find out the guy you hero-worshipped was actually a self-centered, murdering bastard. I know I’d been shocked as all hell when I’d finally put the pieces together. Maybe these people hadn’t reached the “I loved that guy only to find out he was a total skegger” stage of grief yet. They would have been exposed to his magical charisma right up to the day he died. Me? I’d been out from under his spell for a year now.

Plus being clubbed to death by the guy could really knock over his pedestal.

Shannon entered the office, closing the door right in my face!

How rude.

I reached out to turn the handle only to miss. Clumsy. I tried again. Oh, for the love of . . . I wasn’t missing; I couldn’t grasp the handle. I tried pushing the door open next, but my hand went right through it. Now how was I going to . . . ? Right! Through the door, of course. My hand was no longer solid on this plane. How soon we forget.

I slapped myself in the forehead.

Ow!

My hand was solid enough for that.

I slipped in through the door—literally—feeling foolish that I’d forgotten how things worked up here for me now. I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, really. I’d probably spent only a total of twelve hours on the Coil after my initial reapage. And even then, I’d been only half dead so things weren’t the same as now.

I patted my scythe, a habit most Reapers seem to fall into, even in public.

Once inside, I surveyed my ex-boss’s former office. It hadn’t changed much. I noticed he’d removed every picture or award associated with me: the group shot from the company picnic, the picture of us accepting the Canadian Public Relations Society Award of Excellence, the picture of Shannon and me and our dates on prom night. Instead, other faces, both familiar and strange, stared back at me from the artfully grouped photos on the wall. Conrad, of course, smiled charismatically in every shot.

The office itself seemed cavernous without Conrad’s powerful presence. The oversize furnishings dwarfed Shannon as she swiveled into the impressive executive chair behind Conrad’s big oak desk.

I plopped myself down in one of the guest chairs as I had in Schotz’s office. Only now, no one was around to reprimand me. I hunkered down, prepared to wait.

A knock at the door signaled Shannon’s last meeting before lunch. The entire account team arrived, bearing new creative for Shannon’s approval. I watched her work, impressed at how much she’d learned about running a public relations company, at how well she was doing.

Within minutes, I was bored to death. Well, I was dead and bored. The order didn’t matter. While public relations had once been my life’s work, I now found it dull. Reaping was my afterlife’s work and I kept up by reading the trade publications, like Reaper’s Digest and Good Housereaping.

If Conrad was going to show, I wished he’d do it soon. The novelty of being back was quickly wearing thin.

I just wanted to scythe that welching skegger and go home. Dante and I needed some private time to work out our problems. I needed to apologize in new and creative ways for touching his scythe.

Oh, damn. I’d forgotten that my family had moved in with us. That was going to put a damper on apologizing, new and creative. I knew they had decided to stay in Hell and open a restaurant, possibly purchase a franchise of Claire Voyant’s Oracles of Deli even though neither of them was psychic. They were really short on Karmic points though. Maybe I could talk to Claire about reducing the franchise fee. Much as I loved them, I really liked Dante and me having the apartment to ourselves.

I hoped they hadn’t signed anything—nothing good ever came from signing contracts in Hell.

Been there, done that, got the Band-Aid.

Chapter 4

Infest Wisely

THE MEETING ENDED and an unfamiliar woman hustled in bearing a sandwich in spite of Shannon’s protests that food delivery wasn’t part of the new person’s job description.

“Glad to do it. Somebody’s gotta look after you,” the woman said, placing the paper-plated meal on Shannon’s desk. “Had to get my own anyway. Done with these files?” she asked, pointing to a six-inch stack teetering in Shannon’s out-box.

Shannon nodded. “Thanks, Willa. You’re going to do very well here.”

Willa beamed at her apparently new boss and scooped up the files with both arms. She left the office door ajar on her way out.

I wished I could talk with Shannon but I hadn’t yet learned the trick of making myself visible or audible to the living. And the way Dante was behaving, it wasn’t likely he’d show me anytime soon.

Shannon had been the best friend I’d ever had. In fact, as I’d learned over the past year, she’d been my only living friend.

Back home—and yes, I called Hell home now—I had Char, Sybil, Claire, Seiko, Kali and most of my other former classmates, not to mention Dante. (And let’s not mention Dante, ’kay?) With the exception of Shannon, they were much better friends than I’d ever had on the Coil.

It’s a wonderful afterlife.

Shannon took a bite of her sandwich, then shuffled through the piles of papers on her desk, finally ferreting out the contract she’d been reading as I’d followed her down the hall earlier. Grabbing a designer pen, she let the nib hover over the signature line for several minutes while she chewed the lip gloss off her bottom lip and stared at the page. Finally, she dipped the pen to the paper, the words flowing scratchily as she signed and dated it.

It seemed weird to see blue ink instead of red.

After recapping the pen, she hit a speed dial button on her desk phone, leaned back in her chair and waited.

Her dad used to get his administrative assistant to place calls for him and often left people on hold even though he’d called them. My heart twisted in bitter betrayal. I hated to admit I’d once admired that man.

“Oh, hi. How are you?” I bolted upright thinking for a moment Shannon could see me. But it was just her call finally connecting. “Yes, all signed.” She laid a hand on the contract, almost petting it. “Soon. I’m very much looking forward to getting my life back.”

Getting her life back? Whoa! That had been my thing. I’d spent most of the past year trying to get my life back. Only to sacrifice it again minutes after I had. What did Shannon mean?

“I’m very conflicted about this decision,” she told whoever she’d called. “Iver PR is—was—my dad’s life.” She sighed and I tried to remember what it had been like to actually need to breathe.

A click outside the door and movement in the hallway caught my eye. I hopped off the credenza to investigate, but froze at Shannon’s next words. “It’s like when my friend Kirsty was in her coma. More than anything I wanted her to wake up and come back to work again. But I also felt, if that wasn’t going to happen, then I just wanted her to get on with it. It was selfish, I know, but I felt like it was me in that coma. My life was on hold since I was filling in for her here at the office.” She swiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I couldn’t help but wish she’d either wake up or die.”

Shannon had wanted me to die? Now I had tears in my eyes, too. Did that make me the grim weeper? I knew what she meant. It was a very human thing to feel, but how could she say it to my face? Hello? I was right there in the room with—Oh, never mind.

Outside the door, footsteps hurried away. Someone had been listening in. Perhaps Willa had decided against interrupting given the nature of the conversation. I crossed the room to check out who was there, but by the time I got there, the hallway was empty.

“Yes, everyone signed off on it but one person who couldn’t raise the buy-in fee.”

Shannon had sure changed her manner in the past year. She used to talk like one of the Death Valley girls, like, you know? Now she sounded professional and in charge.

And she was dressed very differently, too. When she’d worked here during her summers off from university, she’d been all casual and no business. Today she wore a somber skirted business suit. At first I’d assumed she’d bought it because she was in mourning. But upon closer examination, I saw that her outfit, while both pricey and fashionable, didn’t look new. She could have bought it used or borrowed it, but why would she? The Ivers had money. No, she must have purchased a business wardrobe after realizing I wasn’t coming back anytime soon. No doubt her father had made her.

Small wonder she’d wished me dead.

My death had ruined her life.

While I had actively tried to get my old life back, it seemed Shannon had just given up. She could have found a replacement and returned to school, but she had just caved to her father’s will.

“No, I trust her,” Shannon continued into the phone. “Plus she signed a nondisclosure agreement.” For a moment I thought she was talking about me, but the Hellish NDA I’d signed had expired when Seiko and his colleagues had revealed their time-syncing machine to all Hell the night I’d saved the world.

“No, she won’t say anything about the new management structure.”

Now I was confused. Was it the grad student life she wanted back? Or working as her father’s right hand? And how could a contract—an ordinary contract—give her either?

There was another pause while she listened, tapping the pen against her teeth. Had she already arranged to shuffle her leadership team? It had only been a week.

“Well, yes. The detective is still doing interviews, but revamping our business model isn’t something he should concern himself with, is it?” She sounded a little unsure.

And also? What detective?

“I’ll have it messengered over to you this afternoon.” She scribbled something on a sticky note. “Thank you.” Shannon hung up, then pressed the intercom button. “Willa, do you mind stepping into my office when you have a moment?”

How different her management style was from that of her father. He would have ordered his assistant—or any of his employees—to drop everything. I’d been on the receiving end of those calls often enough. And yet, thanks to his Deal, we’d all loved him. If Shannon’s colleagues cared for her, it would be for real reasons, because she was genuinely worth it.

Willa stuck her head in a moment later. Shannon handed her the signed contract along with instructions to courier it over to Ray Mora at the offices of Greatwhite, Nurse and Hammerhead.

The assistant collected the paperwork, trading it for a short stack of pink message slips.

“All these clients want to talk to you about the future of their accounts. Some of ’em sounded pretty upset.” She fidgeted, switching the contract from hand to hand. “Do you want me to have one of the account execs call ’em back?”

Shannon flipped through the messages. “No, I’d better do it. We can’t let them know I’m leaving, because we can’t yet tell them why.” She rubbed her hand over her eyes. Good thing she wasn’t wearing makeup or that would have been a real mess.

“Do you want copies made, Shannon?”

“Good point. I’m not thinking clearly today. Please make one master copy and lock it in this drawer with the other contract.” She pulled her bottom file drawer open a few inches by way of demonstration. Was that a parchment document in there? She slammed the drawer shut again. “We can make more copies as necessary.”

The assistant began to say more, but Shannon smiled at her wearily. “Thanks, Willa. If you could send that right away . . . ?”

Willa knew a polite brush-off when she heard one. She turned on her exceedingly high heels and left the office.

“Love the shoes,” I called after her from my place near the door, knowing she couldn’t hear me. I suddenly felt frumpy in my jeans and hiking boots. I drew my beautiful Reaper robe closer around me, running one finger down the soft, velvet piping. I sighed, remembering how Dante had covered the extra cost of the piping.

What did Shannon mean she was leaving? Could Iver PR survive losing both its Ivers in such a short time span? Surely she knew this was the worst possible time for an IPO. She needed to stay in place as CEO until she’d established that the business could thrive without her father. It would only take a year or so, then she could—

A whoosh-bam interrupted my deep thoughts. I leaned back against the door frame, trying to look business casual and stuck out my chin as Dante materialized across the room.

He arrived facing Shannon, but quickly realized I was behind him near the office door. He strode over to me, knuckles white where he clenched his scythe, eyes narrowed in my direction. “Kirsty, you were supposed to follow me. Now we’re going to have to start over. In fact, I think perhaps I should speak again with Colin—”

“Did you find Conrad?”

“—about us not . . . What?”

“I assume you went to the hospital where I’m guessing by the lack of, oh, say, Conrad, that you didn’t find him there.”

Dante sighed deeply, which, unlike when Shannon had done it, was strictly for show. “As I tried to tell you, I was merely using the hospital as a starting point. Now if you’ll follow me this time I’ll show you how to find a demon’s ecto-trail—”

“But that didn’t pan out so well, did it?”

He snapped his mouth shut on whatever he’d been going to say next, his lips thinning into a pale, straight line. His face began to darken, so I hurried on before the coming storm.

“I assume you didn’t spend the last . . .” I checked my watch. Thank Lucy time was aligned for once. “. . . ninety minutes waiting for me to show. You already tried the ecto-thingie. With no luck. You couldn’t find Conrad and so you came here, to his office, as I suggested. Which surprises me only because I didn’t even think you were listening to me.” I gave him a look that I intended to be both smug and challenging.

“But you had no luck, either, I see.”

Okay, he had a point. The smug part of my expression drained away.

“No, but it’s early days yet. Hours,” I corrected. “You said Conrad had to take the long way so he should be here any time now.”

“Surely after the extensive and exhaustive Reaper training you have undertaken, you don’t mean to just sit here and wait. We shall do it my way and I’ll hear no more about it.”

I pushed off the door frame and got right up into his chauvinistic (but handsome) face. “Now you listen to me, bucko.” I was mad. Really mad. I’d never called anyone “bucko” before in my life. I wasn’t even sure what it meant, although the first syllable reminded me of an interesting and appropriate four-letter word. “Just because you’re seven hundred—”

The lights dimmed and flickered. I clapped my hands over my ears to shut out the terrible screeching noise like universes ripping apart. Suddenly, a massive, horrific demon complete with horns and forked tail appeared before us. Shannon looked up from her client call. “Callyouback,” she squeaked. She didn’t so much hang up the handset as drop it somewhere near the cradle. I could tell from her trembling jaw and brand-new lack of breathing that she could see it, too.

As Dante had done, the demon had materialized facing Shannon, who cowered behind the big oak desk. With his back to us, he hadn’t noticed Dante and me.

I could see him clearly now, his personal twister left somewhere along the slippery slope or the dusty red trail. Conrad’s new demonic form filled the room, his horns scraping the ceiling tiles, raining white flakes down on his shoulders like the dandruff of the damned. His hooves and the spike at the end of his tail were the same articulated gray chitin as his curved and pointy horns. Leathery wings sprouted from his shoulder blades. They didn’t look like they’d support his weight and might have evolved less as flighty appendages and more as extra places to stick talons.

From where I stood, I couldn’t see his face and I was very, very glad. I had enough to take in as it was. He was the most horrible creature I’d seen on the Coil or in Hell, the conservative business suit doing nothing to dampen his overall ghastly appearance.

“Hello, dear.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. His body may have grown oversize and grotesque, but his voice hadn’t changed. It was the same light, smarmy tone that had wrapped his junior account exec around his little finger, which was now scarlet, clawed and not so little.

“Dad?” Shannon whispered through chattering teeth. She leaned as far away from the scary monster as the ergonomically correct chair would allow, while at the same time reaching out one hand toward him. Talk about your mixed messages.

“I thought you said he couldn’t teleport,” I whispered to Dante.

“Must have gone to see whoever it was that ensorcelled your stapler and got a onetime pass,” Dante answered, keeping his voice low and his eyes on demonic Conrad.

I ground my teeth and leapt forward, thrusting myself between Conrad and Shannon, just as I had done a year ago with Conrad and Dante. “Conrad!” I shouted, gaining his full attention.

And I was immediately sorry I had. His eyes. Oh. His eyes were the worst part. They were soft and human, like a puppy trapped in that bloated and loathsome body.

I almost pitied him as he crouched to avoid hitting the ceiling.

Almost.

But any pity I felt was instantly displaced by an overwhelming urge to do something, anything, to hurt this man who’d stolen my life. An atavistic impulse kicked in—and when I say kicked . . . I did! Just as I’d kicked Dante in the brimstones back on the road to Hell, I kicked Conrad in his overgrown shin with all my might. And face-planted on the carpet as my coma-toes, and then my entire body, passed right through him.

“You!” he cried, fear in his voice. But his eyes weren’t on me. They were on Dante.

I hauled myself up off the carpet to stand before Conrad, yelling and waving my arms at him. But just like Shannon, he wasn’t even aware of me.

But Dante he could see.

My Reaper stepped up beside me, overlong hair and sexy black robe billowing about him as if the winds of justice blew for him alone.

“I, Dante Alighieri, Reaper First Class, by the powers vested in me, hath come to collect thine soul and escort it back to Hell!”

Gosh, he was so cute when he did that. I hadn’t appreciated his commanding performance the first time he’d come for Conrad’s soul and taken mine instead, but now I did. My knees grew weak and my heart pounded. Five more minutes of his manly Reaper act and I might find myself forgiving him.

He brandished his glowing scythe, holding it high and threatening.

Behind me, Shannon had finally caught enough breath to start screaming.

Oops, I’d forgotten all about my own scythe. If I’d been thinking straight, instead of fighting with my boyfriend, I could have reaped Conrad’s giant crimson ass by now.

I yanked my scythe from my waist. But before I could activate my shiny repurposed farm implement, before Dante could swing his scythe, Conrad dashed around us, his hooves gouging great holes in the carpet tiles. He banked off the big oak desk, charged ’round the front and dove beneath it, out of sight.

Shannon’s screams cut off abruptly. She ceased cowering in her dad’s chair. Instead, she sat up straight like a cheap mannequin with rebar up her, uh, back, eyes glazed, expression dazed.

I ran around—okay, through—the desk, but I didn’t see how Conrad could fit under it. And when I checked, he hadn’t. Where had he gone?

And then Shannon looked up. She had her father’s eyes and I don’t mean she’d inherited his genes for eye color. She actually had his eyes peering out from her otherwise familiar face.

She opened her mouth, but no scream sounded. Instead Dante and I were treated to one of those classic villain bwa-ha-ha! laughs.

Should have seen that coming, I thought, retracting my scythe.

As the laugh faded away, a small moan drew my attention. Behind the big executive chair, half hidden under the credenza, a second Shannon lay sprawled. While the one in the chair seemed solid and earthbound, the one on the floor had a hazy, ethereal quality.

“Dante,” I whispered from the corner of my mouth, turning my focus back on Conrad, who was now wearing his daughter like a bespoke suit. “He’s displaced her soul! Get him out! Get him out of her!”

Dante’s personal wind had dropped away, leaving him with nothing more than tousled hair. More tousled than usual, that is. “I don’t know if we can. Or if we’re even allowed to.”

I turned to face him, tears blurring my vision. “What do you mean ‘allowed to’? He’s stolen her body just like he stole my life. We have to get him out. I know there aren’t many laws in Hell, but surely there’s a law against this!”

Dante moved up beside me again, lowering his scythe. “I don’t know, Kirsty. After all, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

Chapter 5

The Moral Low Ground

I GLARED AT Dante, forgiveness now the last thing on my mind. I didn’t want to hear that Conrad might be allowed to do this. I didn’t care. There was no way that evil son of a skegger could stomp through his life and afterlife tricking people out of theirs. It had been bad enough when it had been me, his daughter’s best friend, but now it was his actual daughter. Had the man no moral compass? Well, I’d be happy to give him directions—straight down to Hell!

I stooped to help Shannon up off the floor. Whereas I’d bounced right up again after being kicked out of my body, she seemed weak and confused. “It’s okay, Shannon. It’s going to be okay.” I wrapped my hands around her upper arm while Dante gently grasped her other bicep. We eased her to her feet. “We’ve got you, Shannon,” I said soothingly.

Shannon took one glance at me, shrugged from my grip and sagged in Dante’s arms. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Oh, wait . . .

“Kirsty?” Her voice trembled and her eyes grew wide. I held out my arms, but she cowered and pulled away. I have to admit I was disappointed. I’d expected a hug from my best friend in life, but I guess that ship had sailed away at half-mast. “Is it really you? I thought you were . . .”

Before she could leap to the conclusion that she, too, was dead, I grabbed her arm again and this time dragged her out to the side of her desk so she could see her dad sorting through pink message slips at his old desk.

“Kirsty?” She half-pointed at her dad. “If I’m dead, then who’s that?”

“Listen, Shannon. You’re not dead. You’re now a discom-bod-ulated—I mean, disembodied soul. Your dad, who is actually dead, has managed to possess your body so he can be CEO of Iver PR all over again.”

“But that’s impossible. There’s no such thing as souls.” She looked from me to Dante.

“I’m afraid it is exactly as Kirsty has told you.” He gazed into her eyes, face serious and sympathetic.

After a moment, Shannon nodded. Oh, sure. Take his word for it. He’s a complete stranger to you, whereas I—

“What do I do?” Shannon whispered.

Just then her father shoved the phone against his stolen ear, speaking into the mouthpiece probably before the person even got to answer. “Joanne, bring me a coffee and all the files relating to these messages.”

He paused, listening.

“Where’s Joanne?”

Another pause.

“I promoted her? Yes, well. Of course I did. And if you work hard enough for me, you, too, could earn a promotion. Now where are those files?”

And to think, I used to believe in him. How could I have fallen for that? But hadn’t his Deal for manipulative powers ended with his death? He couldn’t still bewitch people with his fake charm, could he?

“Your name is . . . Willa, then. Yes, black. Write that down. No, I haven’t hit my head. It’s you who can’t remember how I take my coffee.”

Another brief pause, followed by, “I may have gotten my own coffee before, but as of this moment, I’m making it part of your job description, along with picking up my dry cleaning, gassing up my car and lying to clients when they call. Never tell them I’m with another client. Each one has to feel like they’re the only client in the world.”

He cut the call and turned his attention back to the work piled on his desk.

It was obvious he couldn’t see us; he probably assumed he’d scared us away.

Shannon stared at herself, as her body shuffled paper and scribbled notes. “My dad is back? Like, from the dead?”

Hadn’t I just said that?

“What was that nasty monster I saw before?” she asked.

“Shannon,” Dante answered, voice soft with patience and understanding. “I’m afraid your father is still dead. But due to a mistake on our part”—his eyes barely flickered in my direction—“your father has taken on another form. One that allows him to possess a body. In this case, your body.”

It seemed to dawn on Shannon that Dante was a stranger. She pushed his hands away and stepped toward me. “Kirsty, who is this?”

“This is my boyf—” Indeed, who was Dante to me right now? He wasn’t behaving like someone who loved me. “Colleague,” I finished. “We work together.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. Had I pissed him off?

Good.

“Work together? The dead need PR?”

“Oh, honey. You have no idea,” I said, thinking of the frumpy, dumpy queen of Hell. “But no. Dante and I are Reapers. Grim Reapers.” I patted my scythe but her confused look told me she didn’t equate the short piece of chrome pipe dangling at my waist with a Reaper’s scythe. When I’d first been reaped, I’d been curious and had grabbed Dante’s scythe during our trek to Hell. Where I’d been angry and proactive, she was soul-shocked and timid.

Shannon was certainly having an entirely different kicked-out-of-body experience than I’d had.

What else had I felt that day? I’d been mad about losing my professionally colored hair and my brand-new birthday tattoo, although I liked my new bat-wings far better than my old one. I’d been concerned about my outfit, which had been the one I’d felt most secure in at the time. Shannon was still wearing her business suit and expensive high heels. Was that how she really saw herself these days?

What a difference a year makes.

Tentatively, she offered her hand to Dante. He took it, bowing low. Maybe in his day men had kissed a lady’s hand when they met, but he wasn’t kissing anyone but me these days.

Or at least he hadn’t up till now.

When Shannon smiled at him and kept hold of his hand longer than absolutely necessary, I found myself growing jealous. Don’t be ridiculous, I ordered myself. You want your best friend and your . . . colleague to get along. But that didn’t help. My eyes turned green and my brain began to boil even as we stood there.

I decided to put an end to this right now. I activated my scythe—oh, pretty—and raised it high. “Conrad, you skeggin’ bastard, you’re coming with me. To Hell!” Gripping the handle with both hands, I sliced the blade downward with all the precision of an experienced Reaper. It cut through Shannon’s body like a beam of light through a human being.

I stepped back, but nothing happened. In fact, Conrad continued working as if he hadn’t just been scythed.

“What the—?” If at first you don’t succeed . . . I raised my scythe to try again. Once more I slid the dark purple blade through the seated man, er, woman, er, person.

“Third time’s the charm.”

“Four makes—” I glanced at Dante. His expression was hard to read, but I could tell he was waiting for my arms to get tired. I lowered my scythe and ran through my class notes in my head. Nothing. “Why isn’t it working?”

“It’s like I said, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

I did the math in my head before asking, “So if I scythe him six more times, that’ll do the trick?”

“’Fraid not.”

Shannon began to weep softly. Dante draped one arm over her shoulders to comfort her. To me he whispered, “He can’t be kicked out. He has to leave of his own accord.”

But you can’t exactly whisper over a person who you’re currently cuddling.

“Don’t hurt him!” Shannon shrieked, making a grab for my scythe.

I snatched it out of her reach and deactivated it. Nobody had to tell me twice not to let someone else touch my scythe. Well, it’s different now that it’s my scythe, all right? “You’re kidding!” I shouted at my friend in disbelief.

Shannon began to cry in earnest now. “He’s my dad. Please don’t hurt him.” She curled into Dante’s arms, burying her face against his chest, probably getting tears and snot on his Reaper robe. And his spare was at the cleaners.

“Shannon, listen. This is the man who stole my life. He bashed my brains in right in front of you and now he’s dispossessed your soul from your body. Why are you defending him?”

Even as I said all this, I remembered how hard it had been to shake off Conrad’s spell. His voice, his charm, his charisma. It had all worked together to weave a glamour that invoked love and compliance over anyone he spoke to. Shannon had spent the most time with him so it made sense it would take the longest to wear off.

“Shannon. Look at me. Look. At. Me.” She finally untucked her head from Dante’s chest and blinked up at me through teary eyes. “Your dad is not a good guy. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it’s true. I, too, fell under his spell, but you have to realize he needs to be taken down. Literally,” I concluded, pointing toward the floor and the underworld beneath it.

She only sobbed louder. Dante shot me an accusatory look and wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders.

“You should have scythed him when you had the chance. Instead of kicking him.” Dante freed up one arm to point at me as he said this. “An experienced Reaper would have known that. Now Conrad may get to stay.”

“An experienced . . . You did not just make this my fault!”

“If the hiking boot fits . . .” He patted Shannon’s back as she cowered against his strong, manly chest.

I’d had enough. The hysterical woman always gets all the attention. I stormed through the wall and into the hallway and kept right on storming until I reached the main conference room. I walked through the wall, hoping to find the boardroom empty. I needed some alone time right now so I could work through everything that had just happened. I needed to get to a point where I could admit to myself that Dante was right. An experienced Reaper would have gone for the scythe, not the dropkick.

But I wasn’t alone. Yet another unfamiliar man sat at the head of the table, across from Frannie. She wore an innocent expression that meant she was up to something. I sat down in an empty chair to listen.

The man wore a stern expression. A tiny notebook lay open on the table before him. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but had that permanently exhausted and counting-the-days-to-retirement look that some people develop prematurely. Something about him said law enforcement. Might have been the shoulder holster peeking out from his trench coat, might have been the glinting gold of his detective shield clipped to his belt. Was this the detective Shannon had referred to during her telephone conversation?

“I was on my way out, Ms. Tick. Did you have something else to add to this investigation? Something more than your . . .” He checked his notes. “Lengthy interview from this morning?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. Frannie had always been a complainer. She’d probably bent his ear for as long as she could hold him there.

Frannie tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, Detective Leo, I do. I just happened to be passing Shannon’s office this very morning.”

Just passing, my ass. So you were the one listening outside Shannon’s door.

“And I heard her say . . .” She placed her iPhone on the table, pressing a button. Music shrilled from the device: “Let’s give ’em something to talk ab—.”

“Whoops.” The music cut off as abruptly as it had started.

“Um, just a moment.” Frannie pressed a few more icons and buttons. Then Shannon’s voice rang out: “. . . I just wanted her to get on with it. It was selfish, I know, but I felt like it was me in that coma. My life was on hold since I was filling in for her here at the office. I couldn’t help but wish she’d either wake up or die.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. What, exactly, was Detective Leo investigating?

And suddenly I knew. He was investigating my murder. And whether or not Shannon had been the one to bash my head in.

That skegging stapler again. From it all hassles flow. I hadn’t noticed it on Conrad’s desk. Maybe it was in the VP office Shannon had used before this week. Or maybe it had come to life again and wandered off.

One could hope.

Oh, wait. I closed my eyes and focused on a vague memory. A hospital security guard. He’d picked up the stapler in his latex-gloved hand and dropped it in a clear plastic bag. It must reside in some evidence lockup somewhere. It had been the murder weapon, after all. Its days as a device for fastening papers together were history.

“Can you email that sound file to this email address, please?” The detective slid a business card across the table to Frannie. She picked up her iPhone, clicked a few keys and his pocket pinged a new message. “Thanks. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

He rose and strode out the door, closing it after himself as he exited. Frannie rocked back and forth in the leather boardroom chair, the expression on her face one of angry satisfaction.

Oh, Frannie. What have you done?

At the sound of tapping behind me, I spun around quickly, hand on my scythe.

Now I reach for my scythe.

But it was only Dante, standing at the boardroom window, his arm still wrapped protectively around Shannon’s shoulders. He crooked his finger at me. Once again I faced the door and tried to turn the knob. Damn. My cheeks burned, no doubt turning the color of demon Conrad’s skin. Keeping my head down as if I were watching my footing, I stepped through the door and out into the hallway. “Okay.” I said, letting go of my scythe. “What now?”

“I think we had best take Shannon back to Hell and explain to Colin what has happened. We cannot teleport Shannon’s soul since her body is still alive, as yours was. Therefore, we’ll need to walk there. You can go on ahead if you prefer, teleporting via your new scythe. Then once we arrive, we’ll fill out the paperwork for a Curb Appeal—that will curb Conrad’s activities and possibly get him charged with possession. Then we can—”

“Nope,” I interrupted conversationally.

“What?” Dante demanded.

“What? Shannon echoed.

“Dante. Shannon. Listen to me. The appeal thing? Didn’t work out so well for me. Hell’s nothing if not unfair. So we’re not going that route—it’s the route of all evil.” I spread my arms wide, trying to convince them I had a good plan. “The reason I didn’t go straight to Hell on my own when you scythed me is because it wasn’t my time yet and my body was still alive on the Coil, right?”

Dante gifted me with the most noncommittal nod in history. Shannon looked more confused.

“So the same is true for Shannon. But instead of going through channels, we’re going to handle this ourselves.” I held up one hand like a traffic cop to prevent interruptions. Do you know that doesn’t actually work? But I kept talking right over Dante’s protests. “I don’t care what the rules say. Shannon, as Lucy is my witness, I swear to you that we will get your life back. And it’ll be better than ever. We promise. Don’t we, Dante?” I willed him to agree, but that, too, never works.

“Just a moment, Kirsty. You cannot go around making promises like that. We have the Prime Directive to follow.” He turned to Shannon, explaining. “The Prime Directive is Hell’s law of noninterference.”

“Dante, that’s a Star Trek thing you so need to get over,” I yelled, finally losing whatever patience I’d managed to muster.

“Where do you think they got it? Remember bleed-through?”

Oh. That hadn’t occurred to me. Had Gene Roddenberry once been a Reaper? Some episodes had been pretty far out. I could see Hellish influences on his work. My mind jumped to the fateful day when the time machine had gone postal. Poor Raul, the workman who’d been sucked into the demonic portal between Hell dimensions. He should have known better than to wear a red shirt to a world-threatening crisis.

“Oh, Kirsty. Thank you.” Shannon gave me a quick squeeze, not quite the hug I’d wanted earlier, but better than nothing. At least she let go of Dante for a few seconds. “And thank you, Dante.” She draped herself around my boyfriend like a snake. And snakes were something we knew a thing or two about in Hell.

When she finally let go, Dante looked dazed. “Only too happy to help, Shannon.” He cleared his throat and straightened his robe. Was it my imagination or was it slightly tented? Burning with anger, I spun on my boot heel and strode back into Shannon’s office. Dante and Shannon followed me, and I rounded on them, about to give Dante a piece of my mind.

Before I could say or do anything to reveal my inner green-eyed monster, Willa, Shannon’s administrative assistant, rushed in.

“Oh, Shannon,” she addressed Conrad. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him, but . . .”

“Move aside, ma’am. This is a police matter.” Detective Leo strode into the room, hand resting on the gold shield clipped to his belt the same way mine rested on my scythe. “Ms. Iver, you’re going to have to come with me down to the station.”

“That’s preposterous,” Conrad huffed in Shannon’s voice. Before she’d been dispossessed, she’d sounded self-assured, now Conrad just sounded self-important. “I’ve far too much to do here. I can’t possibly get away. If you need a public relations specialist, I can send one of my junior account execs.”

“No, Ms. Iver, I’m afraid it has to be you. Will you come along quietly or do I need to use cuffs?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He turned to Willa. “Joanne. Wendy. Whatever your name is, call my lawyer.”

Willa pressed her lips together and dashed from the room, although whether to call the company’s lawyer or pack up her desk, I didn’t know. If he’d spoken to me that way, I’d probably quit.

“I see we’re going to do this the hard way.” The detective held out a white plastic coil, like a garbage bag tie on steroids. Boring. Our manacles had a lot more panache. Plus they made the appropriate ghostly clinking sound, not to mention the artfully applied rust.

“Shannon Iver. I’m charging you with the murder of Kirsty d’Arc. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

Chapter 6

The Ego Has Landed

SILENT WAS THE one thing Conrad couldn’t remain. He argued and protested through the entire arrest process.

Just like in the movies, Detective Leo cuffed Conrad’s stolen hands behind his back and marched him out of the big corner office. Conrad wobbled a little on Shannon’s high heels, but soon muscle memory took over and he managed to walk down the hall, although not exactly gracefully.

Detective Leo kept a firm grip on Shannon’s bicep, moving Conrad along at a respectable clip.

With each office they passed, the resident executive stuck their head out, demanding to know what was going on. By the time the detective had marched Conrad into the lobby, the entire place looked like whack-a-mole—the corporate version.

Once they reached the elevator, I jogged to catch up. Snaking around Iver PR employees slowed me down a bit. Much as I liked being able to walk through walls and doors, I hadn’t yet come to appreciate my ability to walk through people.

Behind me, Dante guided Shannon’s soul along, although his hand on her arm seemed a lot friendlier than the way the detective gripped her father.

The elevator pinged its arrival. Leo, Conrad and I stepped on. The door began to slide closed. “Hold the elevator!” I yelled, sticking a foot in the doorway to block it.

Of course it closed right through my hiking boot and began its descent.

A moment later I stepped to one side as Dante, dragging Shannon with him, fell through the roof. Shannon shrieked. What was her problem? It had only dropped about ten feet and Dante had managed to keep her upright when they’d landed. She struggled in his grip, finally pulling away.

She bumped against her father. Instead of slipping right through him, she bounced off. Oh, right. I remembered doing that, too, when I’d tried to repossess my own body.

And that made me wonder. Had Conrad managed to get Shannon’s signature on the Hellish contract amendment?

“Shannon, you know that document Conrad was trying to get you to sign when I woke up?” I asked.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Kirsty. I’m so grateful you saved my life. But it looks like your sacrifice was all for nothing.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, ignoring the unpleasant reminder and keeping us on track. “What happened to the document? It was parchment and . . .”

“I never signed it, but I hung onto it because he seemed to think it was important. I keep it in a locked drawer at the office. Only Willa and I have keys. I didn’t want anyone to find it and think my dad wasn’t in his right mind.”

“Wasn’t in his . . . He tried to get you to take his place in Hell. You watched him bash my brains in. Of course he wasn’t—Why are you looking at my hair? Is it all frizzy again?” Old insecurities die hard. When my hair had turned white, it had lost its frizziness. But I still worried. “Does it look okay?”

She glanced down, looking embarrassed. I smoothed my hair.

“It turned white when I . . . Oh, you weren’t looking at my hair, were you?”

She shook her head, her own elegant, manageable coif swaying with the motion. She wore it in a loose bun and the side tendrils fell around her reddened cheeks. “Did the, you know, damage my dad did, uh, transfer?” She reached out a hand toward me, but stopped short. Instead, she ran her hand over her own skull.

Dante jumped into the conversation. “The means of one’s death does not necessarily affect one’s soul-shape.”

“Huh?” I said.

“I’m sorry?” Shannon added.

Dante pursed his lips, probably trying to figure out where he’d lost us.

“So in Kirsty’s case, her head is not any more lumpy than it was when she was alive.” He smiled at me.

“Gee, thanks, Dante. Are you’re saying I have a lumpy head? And by the way, sometimes the method of one’s demise does affect one’s soul-shape. I met this guy in the appeals line who kept losing his head. Told us all about it. He’d been decaptivating.”

Still staring at my head, Shannon whispered, “Sorry.”

“’S okay. You didn’t know.”

The elevator reached the ground and spewed us all into the lobby. We followed the detective and Conrad toward the exit, Conrad’s high heels clicking loudly in the marble foyer.

I had tuned Conrad’s voice out while I’d been grilling Shannon about the document, confident Dante would draw my attention to anything important. We may have been fighting and he may have been acting like a jerk, but when it came to reaping, he put the “dead” in “dedication.”

Now I tuned back in, hearing exactly what I’d expected.

Conrad, in low, conspiratorial tones, was trying to manipulate Detective Leo into letting him go. Having reached the end of his excuses and promises, he moved on to threats. He knew the mayor. He knew the police chief. He knew the dogcatcher. Whatever it took to make the charges go away. I wasn’t looking forward to the ride downtown. I didn’t need Claire Voyant or Sue Sayer to foresee that begging and bribing were in the unlucky detective’s future.

And I’d be stuck listening to it all.

The detective placed a hand on Conrad’s head and guided him into the backseat of a dark blue sedan. Conrad practically fell into the car, unpracticed at maneuvering in a tight skirt.

I couldn’t help laughing. Conrad struggling to be calm and manipulative while dealing with a tight skirt and high heels only whetted my appetite for justice. I nearly asked Shannon about her monthly cycle; wouldn’t it be fitting to have Conrad bent double with cramps? Not to mention having to deal with the ins and outs of feminine protection. Literally!

We ducked into the car, me calling shotgun, while Dante and Shannon squeezed in next to her father. Shannon tried to grasp the seat belt but her hand kept passing through it.

“It’s not necessary, Shannon. In the event of an accident, we’ll be thrown clear.” He placed his hand over hers to stop her pointless attempts to move the metal buckle. “Besides, affecting objects on the Coil while you are a soul is quite a difficult trick. Even Kirsty has not yet managed it.”

Even Kirsty. Was that a compliment or an insult? I sat in the front seat, steaming. Especially the part where he was holding her hand.

“Here, let me show you.” Dante released her hand, reaching across her to tickle her dad’s nose. Conrad scrunched up his face—he scrunched up Shannon’s face, to be accurate—unable to scratch it with his purloined hands cuffed behind him.

“Stop it,” Shannon said, pulling at Dante’s arm. But she smiled as she said it. He leaned back in his seat looking proud of himself. “See. Now you try.”

It took some prodding, but finally she tried tickling her own nose—the one her dad was currently wearing—but Conrad wasn’t feeling it. Shannon sighed with frustration. Oh, wait, that was me. Dante had never tried to teach me to manipulate objects on the Coil. To be fair, this was really the first opportunity we’d had, but here he was teaching Shannon and she wasn’t even really dead!

I refused to admit I was being a lifist. After all, I’d been on the receiving end of lifist bullying from that bigoted jock, Rod, who’d been in my class at the Reaper Academy. Then I remembered how he’d been sucked through the swirling vortex and into the Heller dimension. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Even him. I felt ashamed of myself.

But not for long because we’d arrived at the precinct.

Detective Leo parked near the door and assisted Conrad from the car before marching him into the station. They’d reached what must have been Booking. A few officers toiled at desks corralled behind a long laminated counter. An equally long bench lined the opposite wall. Leo recuffed Conrad’s hands in front and then locked a short length of chain from the plastic cuffs to a metal loop in the bench. He waited his turn to check in with the booking officer.

Conrad continued his attempts to get the charges dropped, now including the booking officer in his pleas and threats. Everyone ignored him. Perhaps they’d been around this block a time or two before.

In record time, Conrad’s lawyer, Gill Hammerhead, appeared, instantly taking over with his own pleas and threats.

“She’s not a flight risk,” Hammerhead insisted. “Plus she’s got money. Shannon Iver is the CEO of a very successful public relations firm.” He dropped his voice and whispered conspiratorially, “She just lost her father, you know. She’s an orphan.”

Somehow being called an orphan is a lot more meaningful when you’re eight years old. People tended to be less sympathetic to someone in their mid-twenties losing a parent. Still, Hammerhead was good. Almost as good as Conrad.

Had he made a Deal of his own? I could ask Sybil to check.

“Bail will be set in the morning. You know that, Gill.” Detective Leo and Conrad’s lawyer were no doubt old acquaintances. “Besides, she’s got no family, friends, boyfriend or girlfriend. Not even a cat.”

I sniffled a little. With the exception of my beloved aunt and her partner, he could have been describing me.

“Plus, when I interviewed her staff, they told me she’s got no interest in running her father’s business, so she absolutely is a flight risk. I doubt the court will set bail at all, or if they do, it’ll be sky-high.”

“Well, I tried.” Gill Hammerhead glanced at his BlackBerry, thumbing through messages. He dropped it back in his briefcase. “See you tomorrow, Shannon honey.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Conrad yelled, Shannon’s voice taking on a tone of angry entitlement I’d never heard before.

At least not from her.

Hammerhead scowled at his client. “You get more and more like your father every day.” He turned his back and strode down the hall, briefcase swinging jauntily from one hand.

“Oh, my God,” Shannon cried. “My father’s been charged with murdering Kirsty. We have to do something!”

“Of course, we’ll do something.” I squeezed her free hand. In my head I added, Yeah, we’ll do something all right. Something like sit back and let justice take its course.

Chapter 7

The Wages of Spin

MUCH AS I wanted to see Conrad behind bars for his crimes, I couldn’t let that happen. Or at least, I couldn’t let that happen here on the Coil. Not only would Conrad skip town, er, bodies and leave Shannon’s to lie in a hospital bed like mine had, but Dante would also fail to retrieve Conrad’s soul as assigned by Sergeant Schotz. He’d be drummed out of the Reaper Corps, reincarnated and I’d lose him forever.

“Shannon,” I said, gripping her shoulders and looking her in the eye. “The first thing we need to do is prove you’re innocent. It doesn’t matter who’s in your body for the trial.”

In fact, her dad might make the better defendant. Even without the Deal, he understood persuasion and he’d had lots of practice. And as an added bonus, he’d be using his talents for good instead of evil.

But I said none of this out loud.

Instead, I told myself to start acting like Hell’s bounty hunter, which, in my new, hard-won role as Reaper, I was. So, step one in the Save Shannon Plan, hide the incriminating evidence.

“Shannon, what happened to the stapler? The one Conrad used to bash in my brains? It must have his fingerprints on it, right?”

Along with my blood and little gray bits of brain tissue. I shuddered, my head suddenly throbbing. I let my hands drop from her shoulders.

“Kirsty.” Dante gave me a look that failed to warm the cockles of my heart. In fact, could you have frozen cockles? “A word, please?”

“Just one? Okay then.”

He patted Shannon and leaned her up against a wall.

She didn’t seem to have noticed yet the way things were solid to us or not, depending on circumstances. Like if she wanted to, she’d be able to walk through that same wall that was now the only thing keeping her upright. When I’d first been scythed, I’d asked all sorts of questions like that.

Shannon? Just leaned where she’d been left.

As if to prove my point, I followed Dante through that same wall for a private word.

“So how we going to play this, Dante? Can we somehow trick Conrad into—”

“Kirsty! How could you make a vow like that? And on my behalf, too. We cannot drive Conrad from that body. It would be better if we followed protocol. Rules are in place for a reason.”

“Yes. Yes, they are. And the reason they’re in place is to make sure nothing like fairness actually happens. It’s Hell, Dante. Have you called it home so long you’ve forgotten what fair is?”

The irony that I wasn’t being fair wasn’t lost on me, but all’s fair in love and war and this fell somewhere in the middle. “We’re getting Shannon cleared of all charges and we’re getting her life back and that’s final.” He wasn’t the only one who could make blanket pronouncements.

Ignoring whatever he had to say next, I stepped back through the wall just in time to hear Shannon say, “They have it.”

“What? Who? What?”

Dante stepped through after me. “Cosa? Who? Cosa?” Damn translator app. Sometimes it worked too well and others, it gernsaple dansbow.

“You asked me about the stapler.” She pushed away from the wall, swayed a bit, but remained standing. Her jaw was set firm and her eyes were tear-free for the first time since I’d hauled her off her office floor. It appeared she’d finally pulled herself together. Well, it wasn’t like there was a timetable for coming to grips with having your soul ripped from your living body. Just because I’d handled it better . . .

“The police took it as evidence from the crime scene.”

Which matched up with what I believed had happened. Hard to recall exactly. Being bludgeoned to death tends to demand all your attention.

“Well, then they’ll use their awesome CSI technology to look at the layers of fingerprints and see that his were the last ones laid down on the . . .”

Oh, no. Memories of the final moments of my Coil life floated up from the bottom of my brainpan. I could almost grab it. I tried to relax and use one of the memory-enhancing techniques the former Death Valley girl Amber had shown us back when we were studying for the Reaper exam. Using the insides of my eyelids as dual movie screens, I replayed that scene in my mind. First that had happened, then that, and then . . . oh, skeg! Shannon had been the last person to touch the stapler. She’d picked it up to defend herself after Conrad had clobbered me.

And then, when Security had rushed into my hospital room, she’d been the one holding the smoking gun, er, stapler.

“Oh, skeg. Now what?” I asked.

Shannon, Dante and I all stared at the floor, considering our next move. Around us, the wheels of justice not so much spun as sputtered and clanked along. The booking officer handed Detective Leo a stack of forms.

After that, things moved pretty quickly. First they unlocked Conrad from the ring in the bench and escorted him to the cop-shop photo booth.

“Face front. Now turn to the right. Your other right.”

Click, click and that was done. Then on to fingerprinting. I’d looked forward to him getting ink all over his stolen hands, but these days they use a computerized sensor to capture fingerprints and enter them into the international fingerprint bank in one smooth, high-tech move. I wasn’t surprised to find Shannon had no priors. Like me, she’d never done much of anything on the Coil. At least she’d earned a degree.

Still, the fingerprinting process was interesting. At least for the first few fingers. I was very glad we didn’t have to sit through Kali being scanned.

Detective Leo marched Conrad back to the bench, handing his clipboard to the booking officer. No matter how sophisticated our systems become, we can’t seem to escape from clipboards. I think they’ve somehow become embedded in our DNA.

“She’s all processed. Can we get an escort to Holding, Angus?”

Angus rubbed his eyes. “No can do. Sorry. Busy day and every cell’s filled to the limit.”

“Must be a full moon,” Detective Leo said. “And it’s not even dark yet. I gotta drive home in rush-hour traffic.” He glanced at his watch. Shook it and held it to his ear. Was time out of whack again? Up here?

“I’m off in an hour, myself.” Angus tapped the clipboard with a pen as he perused it for errors. It reminded me of my first day in Hell and how Sybil had double-checked my work. Mine had been perfect. I preened at the happy memory as Angus showed the detective where he’d missed filling in a box. What? So I’m a little competitive. It makes me a good worker. Better than most.

“She can’t sit here all night. Who’s going to babysit her?”

“I’m not staying.”

Of course Conrad leapt in with a promise to return tomorrow morning if only they’d let him go now. They shot him a pair of amused glances and returned to their discussion.

“Look, here’s what I can do for you.” Angus leaned over the counter, speaking in low tones. I had to move in really close to eavesdrop. “I can arrange something so we can both get the hell outta here. There’s a guard coming up from Vanier to pick up another female prisoner.” At Leo’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Murder one, too.”

“Huh? There’s a murder twelve now?”

“What? No. I mean . . . Never mind.” He waved away the confusion. “We’ll send your alleged murderer along with my alleged murderer out there for the night. Then it’s on them to bring her downtown for arraignment tomorrow morning. Here’s the transport form you need to fill out.”

For a moment, I’d hoped they were actually going to talk about something interesting, like murder and mayhem. But once again, they were back to “fill in this line,” and “tick off that box.” I think it’s a plot by file clerks the world over to keep their jobs going in this computer age.

Detective Leo rubbed his chin. His fingers rasped over stubble as if five o’clock were an actual deadline. “Okay with me. Who’s on transport?”

Angus walked back to his desk, checked another form. “Mudders. Theresa Mudders.”

“Oh, that woman’s a saint. I’m good with her.”

Down the hall, a door opened and shut, sensible rubber soles squeaking on the worn tiles.

“Speak of the devil,” Angus said.

“Where?” Dante and I chorused, standing at attention. I craned my neck, seeking our frumpy Underlord, but instead of Her Satanic Majesty Lucy Phurr, I saw a slim, attractive Asian woman about my own age, or at least the age I’d been when I’d died.

“Hi, guys. How’s it going?” The new arrival beamed. Her ancestry featured the Philippines, or possibly Thailand. Putting that together with her accent-free English and the Anglo-esque last name, I guessed she was probably mixed race. I’d once had a classmate with similar looks whose folks hailed from Trinidad although she’d grown up in Brampton just outside of Toronto.

In addition to being pretty, Theresa also appeared intelligent and friendly. I liked her instantly. “What’s up with the media circus in the parking lot?” she asked, accepting the omnipresent clipboard from Angus.

“Media?” Leo echoed.

“Circus?” Angus chimed in.

“Yeah. They’re all abuzz out there because you’ve arrested some big corporate exec’s daughter who’s supposed to have . . .” Theresa trailed off, probably having guessed the daughter in question might be the young woman in the business suit cuffed to the bench. “Uh, hi?”

“My name is Conrad, I mean Shannon Iver and I demand to be released. This is preposterous. Now if you’ll uncuff me . . .” He tried to hold up his hands, but the short length of chain wouldn’t allow it. He must have been picking at the plastic cuffs, though, because his manicure was now all scuffed and chipped. My friend Charon would never be seen in public like that. His nails were always impeccable.

“Yes, of course. Got your paperwork right here.” Theresa smiled at Conrad in a warm and comforting way. “They’re bringing up the other woman awaiting transport right now. We can get on the road in a few minutes and then get you settled into your accommodations for the night.”

This Theresa made me feel better about the whole day. Especially the part where Conrad was going to spend the night in a cell.

I’d never heard of Vanier, but if it had bars and locks and really bad television, I was good with Conrad having to spend the night there.

Another officer arrived, one who fit more closely with my personal stereotype of what a female officer should be—big, sturdy, short-haired—with Phelps embroidered across her right breast. She looked strong and competent, which was a good thing considering the prisoner she escorted also better fit my image of a stereotypical criminal.

The cuffed woman loomed large and menacing. Her hair was cropped into short, sharp spikes dyed a red not found in nature. She wore ripped jeans and a sequined halter top that showcased a bodybuilder physique painted with a swirl of inky tattoos. Half the sequins had fallen off her top, leaving bare patches of too-tight fabric. Charon’s perfect sequined horns glittered in my mind’s eye.

She looked right through us.

Well, of course all the living looked right through us, but she looked right through the living as well. And yet I’d describe her eyes as dead. How was that even possible?

“This here’s Maddy Stryker. You transport?” Phelps asked, obviously bored, tired and anxious to go home.

Theresa bobbed her head, “Yup. That’s me.” She accepted Stryker’s paperwork with a perkiness that would have done Miss America proud. She was the polar opposite of the tired officer whose only perkiness probably involved coffee.

While Theresa checked the paperwork for both prisoners, Leo unclipped Conrad from the bench but left the cuffs firmly in place.

“I’m going to need backup getting these two into the truck. It’s a zoo out there.”

After some discussion, Theresa led the way, followed by the two prisoners, each in the care of her respective escort: Detective Leo guiding Conrad along by the bicep again, while the scary guard marched the scary prisoner toward the waiting transport van.

I hopped down off the counter where I’d been perched, trying without luck to get a forgotten paper clip to move. I probably should have started with something even smaller, like a single staple, but I’ve developed an aversion to staples. Go figure.

Now Dante, Shannon and I traipsed after the prisoners and their escorts. Glad to be on the move, I belted out a show tune I’d learned from Char. “I love a parade, the tramping of feet. I love every beat, I hear of a— What?”

Shannon gave me a hurt look before turning away.

“Kirsty, show some decorum. Her father is facing serious charges,” Dante hissed. “Plus he just passed away.”

I refrained from pointing out the inherent conflict in those two statements, settling for a whiny reply. “Just trying to lighten the mood,” I mumbled. “Like you’re Mr. Sensitivity now.”

He’d certainly hurt my feelings often enough today.

As soon as the door to the parking lot opened, the hubbub hit us like a wave. The small group of prisoners and escorts we followed pressed through the ring of reporters waving pens and recording devices in their faces.

“Detective Leo. Peter Mercer, CBC. Can you give us a statement?”

“Ms. Iver. Rick Mansbridge, CTV News. Will you be pleading guilty to the murder of your best friend and your father?”

“Shannon. Over here. Gurvender Awatramani, Sun News Corp. Did you do it? Did you really club her to death with a stapler?”

Wow. And Dante had called me insensitive. I’d seen this kind of mob scene in movies, but I’d always figured it for a Hollywood invention. These people were serious journalists and here they were practically clubbing each other to get the scoop. I hope there were no staplers out here tonight or someone could get seriously bonked.

“No statement. No comment.” Detective Leo hustled Conrad toward the waiting van, but Conrad had other ideas.

With an unexpected jerk, he pulled out of the detective’s grip and sprinted toward a broken lamppost. He looped his cuffed hands over it, shouting: “I’m Con—Shannon Iver. I’d like to make a statement and I want you all to get it down.”

Of course Theresa and the detective charged after him. I bet they were sorry they’d recuffed him in front. As they tried to get him free without uncuffing him, the media ringed them. And not in a nice way.

“She’s got a right to be heard.”

“The public has a right to know.”

“Ever hear of the First Amendment?”

“Yes, I have.” Theresa stepped up to the crowd. She displayed a commanding presence, silencing the media by sheer will and seeming much taller than her five-foot-seven frame. “The First Amendment is actually American law, but we do have something similar here in Canada. Ms. Iver, please speak your piece.”

My ex-boss glared at Leo until the detective took a step back. Unlooping his hands from the broken pole, Conrad turned to face the crowd. He smoothed Shannon’s skirt and straightened her suit jacket as best he could with bound hands. He turned his daughter’s head left, then right, no doubt hoping they’d catch her good side.

Cameras and camera phones flashed and clicked. All over the parking lot, recording devices switched on.

“My name is Shannon Iver and I. Am. Innocent!”

As one, the crowd emitted a gasp. Those who preferred recording methods whose batteries didn’t fail scratched frantically with pen and pencil.

Conrad’s gaze jumped from reporter to reporter, daring them to challenge him. His expression broadcast arrogance and defiance. Then a light seemed to come on over his head, despite the broken light fixture he stood beneath. One feature at a time, his face crumpled in despair. Well, Shannon’s face, to be exact.

For one moment, I hoped he might be genuinely sorry, sincerely filled with grief. Then the same light came on over my head. Mr. Manipulative had realized that in order to win sympathy, a young woman must present herself differently than a successful middle-aged man.

We’ve come a short way, baby.

Conrad raised his head again, a tear trickling down one cheek, just as he’d done when giving my crappy memorial speech that day. His chin trembled and now he leaned on Detective Leo for support.

Oh, brother.

“It . . .” He sobbed once, then faked inner resolve and started over. “It wasn’t me who clubbed Kirsty to death.”

“One steamboat. Two steamboats.” I counted the beats in my head. He’d taught me a good, dramatic pause must last at least five seconds. “Four steamboats and go!”

Right on cue, Conrad managed to compose himself enough to continue. “Sadly, when Kirsty d’Arc, my best friend, awoke suddenly from her coma, she became disoriented and attacked me. My father, noble, caring man that he was, leapt to my defense. Using the only tool at hand, he was forced to incapacitate poor, delusional Kirsty with the stapler.”

What? That’s not how it happened. He’d attacked me!

What a load of bull-skeg. How dare he? I was about ready to try scything him again when I realized this sympathy thing would work in our favor. Our immediate goal was to get Shannon off the charge of murder, so the more sympathy he gained for her, the better.

Conrad appeared to be waiting for something. He tapped one high heel on the pavement impatiently, keeping his head down.

“Ms. Iver, why was there a stapler in a long-term care room?”

His head shot up. This must have been the question he’d been waiting for.

“I visited Kirsty often, finding solace in her quiet company. I would bring office work with me to make productive use of the time I spent at her bedside. The doctors say that sometimes coma victims can hear what goes on around them, so I’d read her articles and reports to keep her up to date for when she returned to us.”

A murmur of approval traveled through the reporters.

Conrad made a show of using his cuffed hands to wipe a tear from his eye before continuing. “When he realized his blow had accidently ended her life, my father died of grief and guilt and the strain of it all.” By now her voice was cracking in strategic places.

Conrad turned to Detective Leo. “You can charge him posthumously if you must,” he sobbed, still speaking loudly and clearly enough to be heard and recorded across the parking lot. “But it would be a waste of all our hard-earned tax dollars. And put an unnecessary burden on our overworked law-enforcement officials and court system. I thank you all for coming out this evening to hear the truth about the accidental death of Kirsty d’Arc.”

I was so blown away by Conrad’s absurd retelling of my death story that I couldn’t even process my feelings. A survey of the news teams showed people hurriedly adding their own tags to their video and audio recordings, or hastily texting or phoning in their notes.

I glanced at Dante to see if I could determine his reaction. The blood drained from his face as I watched, and he shook with anger. For once he didn’t have his arm around Shannon as he turned to me. “Is that how it happened, Kirsty? Did you attack Shannon?”

“Did I—? What, no. Of course not. You were there.” But even as I said it, I recalled he’d teleported into the room after I’d died. “No, Dante,” I said coldly. “That’s not what happened and you know it. And you know what? I expected you to be more supportive.”

“Kirsty, you know that as Reapers, we are out of contact with our superiors much of the time. We are, therefore, required to use our own judgment. To that end, I must gather all the facts. While I know you’re a trustworthy witness, Conrad’s version of events is also plausible. I must listen to and investigate all possibilities without bias.”

Without bias, my ass. How many times had people told me, “This is Hell, we play favorites”?

“But Dante, we got Conrad to confess to stealing my soul in the first place. It’s why Judge Julius said you were off the hook about my wrongful reapage.”

“Yes, but that was clearing the air regarding your reapage a year ago. The reaping we’re concerned with now is Conrad’s own unauthorized scything by you. I need more evidence before I can make up my mind.” Dante held out one hand, as if expecting me to understand.

“You should take my word for it,” I said, feeling betrayed even as I told myself he was only doing his job. “But seeing as you won’t, let’s ask the other person who was there.” I turned to Shannon, calling her name, but she seemed fixated on her father, who was once again being led toward the van. You’d think a prisoner transport vehicle would have parked closer to the door, but I guess the media had hogged all the better spots.

“Shannon. Shannon!” She blinked at me, finally, as the van doors slammed shut. Detective Leo and Officer Phelps strode back toward the precinct, once again battling the gang of reporters. “Would you tell Dante what happened at the time of my death, please?”

Shannon hesitated. She looked lost and scared. “My dad was trying to get me to sign that document. The contract amendment. Then, I think the next thing that happened was that Kirsty woke up. And she fell on the floor, but then she got up and she. . .” Shannon’s eyebrows drew together as she tried to remember. “She came at my dad like the walking dead, arms stretched out before her. He had no choice but to defend himself.”

Defend himself? From me? He’d been big, strong and healthy, wielding the solid metal stapler. I’d been dazed and weak, my muscles wasted. All I’d had was a few sticky plastic disks.

“And then,” Shannon continued, sobbing softly. I was a little sick of her veil of tears. “And then, he—He—He died. Of a heart attack they found out later. Yes, it happened just like she—I—Like Dad just said.”

That wasn’t right. She was upset. She was in shock. She was suffering from schizofriendia.

Dante glared at me with such malevolence I stepped backward. If he believed Shannon, then he must think our entire relationship was built on lies. He turned Shannon around so both their backs were to me. “Come, Shannon. We must go with them in the van. I cannot teleport you since your body is still alive and your time on the Coil may not yet be done.”

I remembered Dante and me first figuring that out. Together. Was he thinking about our first meeting as well? Was he getting sentimental? Feeling bad for how he’d treated me?

“Kirsty can find her own way.”

I stood there, mouth gaping at what had gone down. When Conrad had manipulated me out of my life, I’d felt used, angry and helpless. I hadn’t imagined I could ever feel worse. When I needed him most, Dante hadn’t just let me down; he’d actually turned on me.

My hands fisted in anger, while my insides clenched with fear. What if he never believed me? What if I’d lost him for good?

And lost was exactly what I felt. Lost and alone. So alone I wished I could die.

Sadly, that was no longer an option for me.

Chapter 8

Jails Pitch

THE TRANSPORT VAN idled in the parking lot, spewing fossil fuel by-products into the air while it waited for the newspeople to clear out. Eventually the last media vehicle sped off into the dusk and the van rumbled across the asphalt and away from the precinct.

I wished I could have bypassed the awkward journey to Vanier and teleported myself directly there, but oddly enough, as a law-abiding citizen, I had no clue where it was.

I knew the name Vanier, of course. He’d been governor general or something. He had a high school named after him, the all-important intercollegiate football trophy and now a women’s prison. Did this reflect an expected career path? High school, college, prison? His mother must be so proud. I’d have to ask next time she passed through Hell.

I waited until the van was almost out of sight before activating my scythe and teleporting into the interior.

“Ow!”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, having landed half on Dante and half on Shannon. Not the most graceful teleportation, but it was only my second time outside the classroom exorcises. With burning cheeks (no, not those cheeks; I hadn’t landed that hard), I squeezed into the empty space between Dante and the rear doors. The bench across the way had more space but then I would have had to look Dante and Shannon in the eye. Eyes. Whatever.

Besides, then I’d be sitting beside the other prisoner, Maddy Stryker, and she scared the bejesus out of me.

And I’d met Jesus once. Nice guy.

So the three invisible souls plus Theresa Mudders all crammed on one side of the van, while the two accused murders sat facing us.

Up front, the radio played a forgotten song as an unseen driver ferried us toward the highway.

Predictably, Conrad began his litany of lies and self-pity, now directed at Theresa. Unlike the detective who had ignored Conrad’s monologue during the drive from the office to the precinct, Theresa remained focused on Conrad, nodding and commiserating in all the right places. Did some of Conrad’s Deal powers linger or was he just really good at gaining sympathy?

He’d certainly played those reporters like a lyre.

The drive through rush-hour traffic to the small city of Milton, where Vanier was located, took forever. Traffic on the 401 grew heavy and aggressive. We’d stop to let one car in only to have three more jam their way in front of us. The words Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services printed on the side of the van didn’t earn us any special treatment.

Tired of being jostled on the hard metal bench (now those cheeks were burning, as well), I was about to push through the metal mesh to the more comfortable passenger seat up front near the driver when Maddy Stryker suddenly struck.

Like Conrad, both her hands and feet were chained to a big D-ring welded to the floor of the van so her only remaining weapon was her head. She head-butted Conrad’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways before his own chains reined him in. That had to hurt.

We’d all jumped at the sudden attack, but Theresa quickly regained her composure. “Now, Maddy, that wasn’t necessary. Why did we feel compelled to assault Shannon?”

Theresa reminded me of the shrink my aunt took me to after my parents died. I hadn’t gone very often, but I remembered the infinite patience with which the doctor had asked me questions.

I hadn’t been inclined to answer either.

Conrad struggled upright again while Theresa waited.

“She talks too much,” Maddy eventually replied, jerking her head toward Conrad.

He cowered at the movement, pulling his hands up as far as they’d go. Raw looking flesh peeked out from beneath Shannon’s jacket. Her—his wrists looked red and in one place, a fine crease of blood paralleled the thin plastic cuffs. Handy if he needed to sign anything.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Conrad remained silent for the rest of the drive but I could tell the wheels were spinning. Could he access Shannon’s thoughts, memories or feelings?

Or morals. Maybe he’d catch something—like a severe case of remorse—and return Shannon’s body to its rightful owner.

But if that were going to happen, it didn’t happen during our ride to Milton.

Finally, we pulled into a bleak expanse of property. As expected, fences, razor wire, and locks figured heavily into the landscaping. Once inside, the big gates clanged shut and the van drove up to a prisoner loading and unloading dock. Two new guards supervised, hands resting on stun guns as Theresa unchained first Conrad, then Maddy from the van. They remained cuffed as they were led through the facility by guards.

We passed occupied cells as we all trooped along the uniformly gray corridors. A few inmates eyed the new prisoners, but nobody called out threats or insults or promised to make either of them their bitch. One older guard welcomed Maddy back. Maddy ignored the sarcastic greeting.

So much for prison drama. I don’t think we’re in Oz anymore.

Maddy and Conrad were assigned a cell together and locked in. Once inside, a guard requested first one and then the other to stick their hands through the bars so that their plastic cuffs could be clipped off. Another guard stood by, stun gun at the ready. I figured it was to keep either prisoner from attempting to grab the heavy-duty cutters. Neither woman tried. After double-checking the lock, the guards departed.

“Top bunk’s mine, bitch,” Maddy announced, vaulting up.

Conrad gusted out the sigh of the long-suffering, muttering under his breath about lawyers and lawsuits. He plopped down on the lower bunk, old springs creaking under Shannon’s 130 pounds. Oh, sure. She’ll tell you she’s 125 . . .

“And shut the fuck up,” Maddy added, making herself comfortable on her chosen bed.

Conrad puffed up and for a moment, the ghostly outline of his demonic form hovered over Shannon’s body. But he bit his stolen tongue and punched the saggy gray pillow instead.

I released the breath I’d been holding out of habit; the breathing, not the holding.

“Dante,” I whispered. As if anyone other than Shannon could have heard me. “Stick close in case you have to materialize. In fact, maybe you better teach me how to show myself and move stuff right now.”

Dante stared at me as if I were speaking another language. Oh, I guess I was. Our scythes carried a universal translator microchip so we could understand each other and the souls we came for. Mostly. Had mine failed this time? I thwacked my scythe on the palm of my hand then held it to my ear. I couldn’t hear any ticking, but then it hadn’t ticked before I’d thwacked it.

“Now, Kirsty? This certainly isn’t the time nor the—”

“Dante. Much as I’d love to see Conrad punished, that’s Shannon’s body and we need to keep it safe and whole.”

His eyes opened and so did his mouth. But then he closed it again and nodded. “You are right. If Shannon gets her body back, it should not be harmed.”

“When, Dante. Not if.”

He nodded again although it didn’t ring with commitment. I could tell he was humoring me. We hunkered down to wait for whatever came next.

The two newcomers had missed dinner, so trays were delivered to their cell. Maddy demanded the meat off Conrad’s tray. He looked like he might protest, but again, he backed down, although whether wisdom was the better part of valor or the better part of not eating those greasy gray chunks, I couldn’t tell.

They hadn’t been issued uniforms or nightclothes, so Conrad washed out his panty hose in the sink, carefully hung up his suit as best he could without hangers and lay down in his bra and panties.

I glanced over at Dante to see if he were ogling the seminaked female body, but he’d turned his back and was examining the vacant cell across the way. Whoever had been in there before had really trashed it.

Conrad tossed and turned in his bunk. I doubted he would sleep at all and I was glad that while on the Coil, Reapers were free of such bodily functions as eating, sleeping or visiting the little Reaper’s room. The three of us—Dante, Shannon and me—watched over him all night, tensing every time Maddy moved in her sleep.

Surely we were the strangest flock of guardian angels in the history of the Coil.

Chapter 9

It Ain’t Docket Science

THE NEXT DAY began with Conrad and his cellmate being brought breakfast trays. Maddy promptly redistributed Conrad’s breakfast to her own advantage.

Then Maddy harassed Conrad while he dressed, calling him names and at one point, spitting on Shannon’s silk shirt.

To his credit, Conrad kept his head down and fought his way into the unfamiliar panty hose. Maddy tossed one of Shannon’s shoes toward the toilet, but Dante was able to deflect it, making it look like a failed basketball shot.

I so needed to learn to do that.

Then we all shuffled off to the prisoner loading dock. Once again Theresa Mudders accompanied them, perky and compassionate as ever. She even asked their permission to study during the long drive to the courthouse. She informed them she was taking night classes, but she dropped the subject and opened the book when it became obvious neither prisoner was interested in anything outside of themselves and their immediate circumstances.

To be fair, if I were facing the loss of my freedom and my future hung in the balance, I might not have cared either.

My mind drifted and I wished for a distraction when Conrad suddenly asked, “What are you studying?”

Theresa wasn’t as shocked as I was. Instead of gaping as I was doing at his apparent interest in someone other than himself, she smiled at him, marked her place and closed her book. “Social work,” she answered, seemingly not at all bothered that she’d told him that not ten minutes before.

She held the book up so he could see the title. It was the same massive text Shannon had lugged around during her final year of undergrad. Putting the “work” in “social work,” I’d teased her. I glanced over at Shannon now, but she stared unseeingly at her feet.

That, if anything, told me how worried and depressed she’d become. Only a year ago, the mere mention of social work would have grabbed her attention, eyes gleaming and brain humming. She’d been so passionate about her chosen field of study that she could almost make it sound interesting.

As Theresa seemed to be doing now.

“Ah,” Conrad nodded, returning her smile. “My daughter was studying—I mean, I was studying social work at one point before I, well, before my wonderful father convinced me that my place was alongside him, working in his successful public relations business.”

“That must have been hard for you. Social work is a calling and to give that up to work in the family business . . . I admire your sense of responsibility.”

Conrad nodded, a thoughtful expression on Shannon’s face. Perhaps he’d never looked at it that way before.

“But Detective Leo said you weren’t interested in working in that business. Was that true?”

“That was misinformation. I love public relations. Besides, my father needed me.” He shrugged. “It was no hardship.”

I glanced over at Shannon again. This time she was listening. “Yes, it was, you bastard,” she snarled, her features dark and angry. “I wanted to go back and finish my master’s, but you always had one more project that needed my special touch, one more client who would only work with me.”

I hated to see Shannon this upset, but I was glad to see her finally understand what a selfish and manipulative creep her father had been. Was. Is.

She stood a little taller now. Well, sat a little taller, actually, as we bounced along in the prisoner transport van.

I knew Conrad had never been supportive of Shannon’s desire to help people. She’d had to fight him to enroll in social work at university instead of business.

Even though I had agreed with Conrad and really wanted my best friend to work with me all the time instead of just during her summer breaks, I had kept that to myself and encouraged her to pursue her dreams. That’s what you do for the people you love, not trick them into doing what you want them to do.

“Besides,” Conrad added, “children should sacrifice for their parents.”

“Oh,” Theresa replied. “I’d always heard it was the other way ’round.”

Behind me I heard gagging sounds and looked over to see Shannon fake-sticking her finger down her throat and rolling her eyes. I couldn’t have agreed more without actually puking.

Theresa placed the heavy textbook on the bench beside her while she and Conrad chatted. She probably thought he needed to take his mind off things. I figured he was just winning friends and influencing people in case he might need her on his side later.

We arrived at the courthouse to find the steps thronged with media, even more than had lain in wait for us at the precinct last night. Someone was leaking info to the press and I guessed it was Conrad’s lawyer, Gill Hammerhead. It was exactly the sort of career-building tactic he’d use to get noticed. The fact that he strolled among the reporters, shaking hands, slapping backs and getting on camera only supported my supposition.

Even over the noise of the crowd, I heard him chant, “If the stapler don’t fingerprint, the judge must acquit.” Jeez. That was so bad it made Dante’s poems sound like, well, poetry.

Conrad grabbed a passing microphone and repeated yesterday’s performance. He had his “I’m so innocent it hurts” speech down pat now. The crowd ate it up. And wrote it down.

Theresa and the other guard began pushing their charges through the press of press toward the courthouse. Theresa managed to be firm but polite to those reporters who got all up in her face. I didn’t envy her the task of coming between Conrad and his audience.

Finally we all made it to the hallway outside the courtroom. Once again, cold, hard benches played a key role in my life.

Before very long, Conrad’s name was called by the bailiff or court clerk or some official I couldn’t identify. We all shuffled into the courtroom. A few bored-looking men and women who were probably reporters occupied the seats nearest the door.

Conrad was asked to stand while Judge Wilson, complete with dark robe, little white collar and bright red sash, oversaw proceedings. The court clerk read the charges. I worked hard to parse the legal language and twisty wording. It hurt my head, but I gathered Shannon was being charged with only a single crime—that of my murder.

Some legal stuff went back and forth between the Crown prosecutor and Gill Hammerhead. At the judge’s request, Conrad launched into a shorter version of his speech of innocence. By this point, it rolled off his tongue like so much saliva. It brought tears to my eyes and bile to my throat. After having heard it four or five times now, I almost believed it.

The judge presiding didn’t look like she believed much of anything. If you’d told her water was wet, you’d better have some pretty significant—and damp—evidence to support that fact.

She reminded me of Judge Julius back in Hell. If Julius had been black, svelte and attractive. Oh, and also? Human. With less horns, toupees and caterpillars. No, after careful consideration, I decided the Right Honorable Judge Wilson was nothing like Hell’s judge.

In fact, the only way that she reminded me of the judge who’d denied my appeal was that she was all business. Conrad’s plea fell on ears that had heard it all before.

She whipped off her designer glasses and peered over at Conrad. Shannon’s business suit looked a lot worse for wear and I won’t even mention the state of her hair. Shannon had had a lifetime to learn how to manage her shoulder-length brown hair. Conrad? Only twelve hours. What had been an artfully messy bun yesterday was just plain messy today.

“Shannon Rebecca Iver. First off, the Court offers its condolences on the recent loss of your father.”

“My father? He died years a—Oh, I mean, thank you, Your Honor.”

The judge cut him a suspicious look. She knew something was up, but not what. But we needed her to trust Conrad. He’d better work hard to win the judge’s favor so she would set Shannon free and we could get on with trying to bust Conrad down to Hell.

“As pointed out by the Crown, you have no other family.” The judge rustled through her notes. “And, according to the testimony of your colleagues gathered by Detective Leo, you have no friends. In separate testimony from one . . .” She peered over her glasses, running a finger across the page. “Ah, here it is. According to your employee Francesca Tick, you aren’t interested in running the business you inherited. In summary, you have the means, motive and opportunity to get out of town. To wit, I consider you a flight risk. Bail is hereby denied.”

A collective gasp ran through the courtroom.

“But Judge,” Gill Hammerhead jumped in. “My client has no history—”

“I’m not finished, Counsel. If I was, I would have called the next case, now wouldn’t I?” Hammerhead withered under her glare. “However, I do have a special, one-time-only offer for you.”

The entire courtroom sat forward in anticipation. This was like Judge Judy and Let’s Make a Deal all rolled into one.

“I’ve had a cancellation on my docket for day after tomorrow. The parties involved decided to settle out of court. Now, can you, Mr. Hammerhead, be ready for your preliminary hearing by then? If you choose not to accept my generous offer, then your client will be incarcerated until the next opening in the court’s docket, which won’t be more than . . .” She nodded at the court clerk, who appeared to have been expecting this.

“Not more than six months, Your Honor.”

“Six months,” Judge Wilson repeated. “I’ll give you one minute to confer with your client.”

Hammerhead and Conrad whispered together only seconds before responding. “We’ll take the offer, Your Honor, because we are so sure that you will rule in favor of my client’s innocence that—”

“Save it, Counsel, or you won’t have anything left to say at the hearing.”

With that, she did call the next case.

Getting rid of the media circus that accompanied our visits probably had something to do with Conrad scoring a speedy hearing date. It wasn’t like Judge Wilson appeared to have warmed up to him.

We had to wait for Maddy’s arraignment before we could head back to Vanier prison. Conrad and Theresa, followed by Shannon and Dante, filed back out into the hall to wait. I had spent more than enough awkward silence with them, so I hung around to see what was up with our resident murderer.

Maddy didn’t have a lawyer so the Court had appointed her a young, caring, legal aid worker. The universal translator in my scythe wasn’t much good when it came to understanding the legalese, though. Near as I could figure, Maddy had strangled someone during a bar brawl. Nice. Classy.

She had chosen to plead self-defense, which the courts called “guilty with an explanation.” Or maybe “guilty with an excuse.” I wasn’t paying that much attention. It’s not like I wanted her set free. Unlike Conrad, Maddy was granted bail—a huge sum she had no hope of raising.

Perhaps this wasn’t Maddy’s first time through the court system, because she seemed blasé about the entire proceeding, even when the legal aid worker argued that Conrad had been treated with favoritism. The judge begrudgingly agreed to piggyback Maddy’s preliminary hearing onto Conrad’s. That is, if Conrad’s finished up with time to spare, they’d allow Maddy the leftover time.

Then it was time for the next contestant, I mean, accused. Judge Wilson ran her courtroom with cool efficiency. I just hoped that worked in Shannon’s favor.

I rejoined my posse as we left the building. The reporters swarmed us again on the way out. This time Theresa and the other guard refused to stop, leaving Gill Hammerhead the job of declaring Shannon’s innocence to the world.

Speaking of poor Shannon, she had barely said a word all day. She looked faint. I don’t mean she looked like she might faint, but rather she looked like she was fading away. I decided to ask Dante about it but before I could approach him, he approached me.

Pulling me into one corner of the van, he spoke in low tones. He might as well not have bothered since Shannon was the only one who could hear us and had she wanted to, she could probably hear us even when we whispered. It wasn’t a large van.

He leaned in close, meeting my gaze. His big, soulful eyes melted my crankiness into a little green puddle that stank of jealousy and insecurity.

“Kirsty, I am sorry that I have hurt your feelings. I do not like it when we fight. I want very much to make up with you.”

My insides tingled as I thought about how we usually made up. It might be fun to see what we could do with these semicorporeal bodies here on the Mortal Coil. I glanced around, but the van was really not conducive to makeup sex. “It’s okay, Dante. I just need you to be more supportive. I’m paying the price of having used your scythe to reap Conrad back in my hospital room. I’m going to make it right. But you have to believe that Conrad attacked me. It wasn’t self-defense like he said in his version of events.”

Dante placed a hand on my cheek, his sad, brown eyes meeting mine. “I do believe you, Kirsty. I believe that you remember the events leading up to your final demise to have occurred as you’d described them.”

“What? You believe that I believe? If that is supposed to make me feel better, it fails epically. I need you to believe me. Not that evil jerk who bashed my brains in.” Or his whiny daughter, I added mentally.

I’d wanted so much to see my best friend again, but now that I had, I had to admit Shannon was getting on my nerves. Not only was she playing up to my boyfriend, but she wouldn’t stop tearing up. At one point she cried so hard she tripped over her own feet.

Honey, you should look before you weep.

I knew I wasn’t being fair to Shannon. And maybe not to Dante, either. I hadn’t told Shannon Dante was off the market, but he should have. Or maybe he was just following my lead. I had introduced him as my colleague.

I tried to look at it from his point of view but I didn’t like what I saw so I tried another tack.

“Look, Dante. I understand that Conrad’s sequence of events is logical, but it’s just not true. You need to take my word for it. That’s what boyfriends do.”

“But I’m not here as your boyfriend, Kirsty. I’m here in my official capacity of Reaper First Class. I must not allow our relationship to color my judgment. I must treat you the same as I’d treat any case I was assigned.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s look at this from Conrad’s point of view. Maybe he didn’t realize how weak I was when I stumbled across the room toward him. He had already been panicked about losing his Deal and his life. Plus he was busy trying to force his daughter to sign the amendment. How had I looked to him, coming at him, arms outstretched? Dead gal walking.”

Dante didn’t look convinced. I rushed on before he could interrupt me with more nonsense about ethics and morals.

“I fell toward him, he could have seen it as a tackle. I couldn’t have hurt him, though. All he had to do was take a giant step backward out of my range and I would have face-planted harmlessly at his feet. Well, harmless to him.”

Oh, look. Here I was making excuses for my rat-bastard, skegging ex-boss. Again. I shook myself like a wet dog coming out of a dirty, murky swamp covered in filth.

“No, Dante. I know what happened. I was there. It doesn’t matter what Conrad believed. Or what Shannon thinks she saw, because the end of the story—the end of my story—is that he brutally bashed my brains in with office supplies.”

Office supplies! What a crappy, ignoble ending.

If I hadn’t already been murdered, I would have died of embarrassment.

I turned my back and stormed away, although given we were still in the transport van, I didn’t storm very far.

Chapter 10

If Words Could Kill, I’d Sentence You to Death

ONCE BACK IN prison, Theresa and her coworker escorted Shannon and Maddy back to their cell. This time they were given orange jumpsuits and some other basics. Maddy settled in for the duration, but Conrad fussed about. Anytime a guard passed his cell, he demanded to be heard, to be released, to be given a cell phone.

Gill Hammerhead arrived shortly thereafter. His assistant, he told Conrad, would join them soon bearing a fresh suit for the hearing, along with other necessities. She’d been held up by Security checking the deodorant and hairbrush for illicit substances and possibly very small firearms.

Theresa appeared and led Conrad and Gill to a private meeting room. We shades-in-waiting trooped along like Conrad was the Pied Piper and we were the town rats instead of the other way ’round.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Theresa offered helpfully.

Both men ignored her. She closed the door after herself, giving them privacy, but she kept an eye on them through a big shatterproof window. I stood beside her for a moment, enjoying how the thick safety glass distorted Hammerhead’s smarmy features.

Then I joined Dante and Shannon inside the room so we could listen in on Conrad and Hammerhead’s plans.

Conrad acted nonchalant, cocky even. He barely paid attention to Gill’s advice and counsel.

“Why is he so overconfident?” Dante asked Shannon.

Like she’d know.

It seemed a fair question, though. I already knew Conrad’s story; I’d heard it often enough. And I knew what the evidence would reveal. That left only the preliminary interviews. Was he counting on one of the witnesses’ testimony to exonerate Shannon?

What would Detective Leo say? The day of my death, the hospital staff had arrived to find me clubbed to death, Conrad dead and Shannon standing over the bodies with the stapler in her hand. That was pretty incriminating to start with.

Now Conrad, posing as Shannon, would say that he’d brained me to protect his daughter and then died. Then Shannon had picked up the murder weapon. That explained her fingerprints on the stapler. Now that I considered it, the only difference between what had actually happened and what Conrad was now saying happened was the intent—that Conrad claimed I’d attacked Shannon while I knew I’d only wanted him to kill me so I could reap him. I’d sacrificed the life I’d worked so hard to get back to save Shannon and here was everybody acting like I was the guilty skegger.

Conrad also conveniently left out the reason Shannon picked up the stapler: to defend herself against her crazed father, who wanted her to sign the contract amendment. In blood. That wouldn’t figure into the Coil court’s hearing at all.

But it sure did in my conflict with Dante.

Frannie’s testimony—the recording that Shannon had wanted me dead—was more than incriminating. It was tantamount to a confession. Why, then, was Conrad so confident?

I snapped my fingers, drawing Dante’s and Shannon’s attention. What? I’m only not speaking to them when there’s nothing to talk about. Now there was.

“I got it,” I told them. “When they get to the part where the judge is going to rule, Conrad’s going to pop out of Shannon’s body and into Judge Wilson. He’ll rule there’s not enough evidence for a trial and dive back into Shannon’s vacant body. It’ll probably look like Shannon fainted under the extreme stress. Then when she reopens her eyes, it’ll be to the good news that the trial isn’t going forward.”

Dante rubbed his chin. Back home in Hell, he needed to shave every day. But on the Coil, his five-o’clock shadow hadn’t darkened at all. I loved the stubbly look—and feel. I sighed, wishing we weren’t on uncertain terms, but he’d started it.

Hadn’t he?

“We must stop him from possessing the judge.”

“What? No, Dante. See, we want the judge to rule in Shannon’s favor. Conrad needs to be free for when Shannon gets her body back.”

Dante shook his head, making sad eyes at me. I could feel my resolve to be mad at him melting. If only he wasn’t disagreeing with me . . . again.

“No. If the judge is kicked from her body, then she won’t be able to return, as you were not. Even when it is vacant again. We would only end up with another displaced soul on our hands. Colin Schotz would be furious.”

I opened my mouth to argue, getting as far as, “But . . .” before halting. Dante had gotten in a heap of trouble for my untimely displacement. This was his last chance to settle the Conrad issue to Hell’s satisfaction. We had to get Shannon back into her body without Conrad displacing anyone else.

“So how do we stop him?” I asked, feeling defeated and I hadn’t even done anything.

“I will speak to him.”

“Oh, now you’ll speak to him. But how do you get some alone-time with a guy saddled with a permanent and scary roommate?”

“We’ll wait until his cellmate is asleep,” Dante answered.

Hammerhead concluded his business with Conrad and left. Theresa escorted Conrad back to his cell bearing his clean suit for tomorrow. Shift changed and the friendly guard left, promising to be there bright and early to escort them back to court. Maddy glared and lay back on her two pillows.

Conrad’s head rested on the hard mattress. He clutched his bag of basics to his chest. Maddy had already confiscated his soap, deodorant and hair care products. She’d left him the clothing only because she was twice Shannon’s size. “S’fugly as hell, anyways,” the strangler had declared, preferring her orange jumpsuit to Shannon’s too-small designer business wardrobe.

Just before dawn, Dante stepped through the cell bars and approached Conrad’s bunk. “Now watch closely, Kirsty,” he called back over his shoulder. “We can practice afterwards.”

“Just focus,” I said, but made a point of watching. If I’d been able to move pencil and paper, I would have taken notes.

Dante knelt by the bunk, his outline growing fuzzy then solidifying again. A haze of dim light glimmered around him. From him actually. He was Hell’s own night-light.

He touched Conrad’s arm gently. “Conrad. Wake up. We need to speak with you. Conrad.”

But Conrad slept on. The deep sleep of a man with a plan. Dante nudged him again a little harder.

“Wha—What?” Conrad yelled.

Maddy cursed at him from above, threatening to beat him bloody.

“It’s me, Conrad. Dante Alighieri. Your Reaper. Do you remember?”

I might have snickered at that. He sounded too much like a waiter: Hi, I’m Dante and I’ll be your Reaper for this evening.

Conrad took a moment to surface, then his eyes grew wide enough to show the whites even in the darkened cell. He shoved himself back into the corner of the bunk, yanking the covers up over his breasts. “I—You—Yes, I remember. What do you want?” He’d gone from scared to surly in zero-point-five seconds. A new land peeved record.

“We are here to ask you one more time to relinquish Shannon Iver’s body. It is not yours to possess.”

“And if I do? What’s in it for me?” That had always been Conrad’s MO. Maybe we should try bribing him. But what did we have to offer that he wasn’t already stealing for himself?

“If you do, then your daughter will return to her life and be able to live out her days as intended. You will accompany Kirsty and me back to Hell and serve the . . .” He trailed off, no doubt realizing there really wasn’t much incentive in his statement. “And she’ll get to live her life, maybe produce grandchildren. Probably,” he finished lamely.

“Dante,” I hissed before remembering Conrad couldn’t hear me. In normal tones, I added, “Tell him he can go free if he gives her back her body.”

“But that’s not true.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just tell him.”

“I cannot do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

“All that prick has ever done is lie. It would be karmic justice.” I mentally played back what I’d just said and felt sick. I sounded just like Conrad, twisting the truth to suit my needs.

“Who’re you talking to?” Conrad demanded. He tossed the covers away and sat up.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” floated down from the top bunk.

“Conrad, speak softly, please,” Dante whispered, although I’m pretty sure only Conrad could hear him. But if Dante whispered, then Conrad would follow his lead. Good thinking.

I recalled that day in the men’s room when he and Conrad had been arguing and I’d figured Conrad was talking on his Bluetooth earpiece because Dante had been visible and audible only to Conrad.

Conrad, however, knew the true situation. “Who’s with you, Reaper?”

“You cannot see her, but Kirsty is here with me.”

Of course Conrad peered all around the darkened cell. Why do people always look when you tell them not to?

“Kirsty is encouraging me to make promises to you that I cannot keep. I will not lie to you.”

“So, I’m supposed to give up Shannon’s body, give up being CEO of the company I built from the ground up? Abandon all those clients and employees who need me and let the company go bankrupt? Plus I get to go back to jail in Hell? I’d rather rot in here.” Conrad relaxed back on the bunk, always so sure he was right. I used to admire that confidence, but now I wanted to punch that smug grin off his face. That would make me a grin Reaper.

“We have surmised your plans, Conrad Iver. We know you intend to possess the judge in order to rule in your own favor.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You cannot do that.”

“And you’re going to stop me how?”

Ancient springs squealed from the upper bunk. “Don’t make me come down there, bitch.”

“How?” Conrad repeated, voice low.

“I cannot stop you, but you must know that once you leave this body you can never possess it again.”

Conrad shot to his feet, satin bra and panties glowing pinkish in the dim lighting. “What? You’re lying.”

Dante shook he head slowly side to side. “No, I am not. Why would I? We, too, want the judge to rule in Shannon’s favor. But you must believe me. If you leave this body, it will fall into a coma as Kirsty’s did and neither of you will be able to have it.”

“But you just said I should give it back to her. What’s the difference? She won’t be able to get back into it then, either.”

Dante opened his mouth, but we all saw the flaw in his logic. If I’d failed in all my efforts to get back into my body, why would Shannon fare any differently, whether Conrad gave it up voluntarily or not?

Shannon began to sniffle again. I put my arm around her and held her close, realizing this was exactly what Dante had done earlier. But now wasn’t the time to admit my jealousy might be unfounded and I should probably apologize. I had an important conversation I needed to eavesdrop on.

“You have a point, Conrad Iver. I will need to speak to my superiors. It was they who facilitated Kirsty’s return to her body.” He paused, puzzling something out. “Briefly. Perhaps they will do the same for Shannon once they hear of her plight.”

“So you really don’t know then.”

“I do know you cannot possess the same body twice.”

Even in the faint lighting, I could see Conrad remained dubious.

“Are you willing to take that chance, Conrad Iver? I will leave you with your thoughts now.”

Dante’s outlined blurred again, the light surrounding him faded and he was once again invisible to mortals.

He walked over to where I waited with Shannon. “Perhaps Conrad will see reason and agree to vacate your body in the morning.” The last thing Dante sounded was hopeful.

“I don’t think so, Dante,” Shannon whispered. “But thanks for trying.”

“We should go now, then, to Hell and see what the—”

“No,” I cut in. “We’re going to see this through.” When Dante put his hands on his hips and looked prepared to argue, I went another direction. “Look, Dante. What’s another day or two? How long can a murder trial last?” I realized this wasn’t making points in my favor and moved on quickly. “Let’s see what the outcome of the preliminary hearing is first. We can always go to Hell afterwards.”

Dante began to argue, but Shannon laid her hand on his arm. “I agree with Kirsty. Please let’s see this through.”

Dante ceased his protests, but I didn’t get the impression Shannon and I had won him over.

“Look, Dante. They’ve only got circumstantial evidence—the stapler that’s been the cause of all this trouble. And now the digital file of Shannon saying she wished me dead.”

Realizing what I’d just said, I looked away.

“What do you mean? I never wished you dead.”

“On the phone, yesterday morning. You said you felt like it was you in the coma and that you wished I’d either wake up or die.” By the end of that sentence, I’d gone from reluctant to share to angry at her for feeling that my tragedy was an imposition, then feeling betrayed and sad that she’d wished me dead.

“Oh, Kirsty. I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean it that way.” Shannon held out her arms. Now I got the hug I’d craved earlier. We clutched each other for long moments. “I really wished you’d wake up, Kirsty. I really did. I’ve missed you so much.”

I nodded, stepping out of the circle of her arms. She felt a little insubstantial. Like being hugged by the Michelin Man when he needed his pressure checked. I could see the light shining behind her—right through her. We’d better hurry up and get her back into her body.

Dante must have arrived at the same conclusion. He’d stood by quietly while Shannon and I worked out our issues with hugs and soft words. Now he coughed and gestured for me to continue with my thoughts on the case. Where was I? Oh, right. The recording. “So Frannie, dedicated employee that she is, recorded your side of the telephone conversation and then played it back for the police. By now, it will have been copied and emailed all over the place so there’s no point in stealing Frannie’s iPhone, but the stapler . . . The stapler is the key piece of evidence and you should go and get that.”

Dante stared at the ground and rubbed his chin. “Look, Kirsty. I know you mean well, but I think we’re going down the wrong path. I need to report our progress to Colin and see what he has to say. He may decide we should wait or maybe we should file a Wrongful Termination Appeal. This was supposed to be a straightforward capture and release into Hell and it’s gotten way out of hand. Shannon, I’m sorry but I need to take you to Hell now.”

He reached for Shannon’s hand again—like he hadn’t been holding it enough lately.

My turn now. I grabbed her other hand and jerked her toward me, right out of Dante’s grasp. I shouted nearly the same words I had the day of my own scything, “Hell, no. We won’t go!” I thrust Shannon behind me. “By all means, Dante. You go. Report in to Sergeant Schotz. Then come back to us. But you know Hell. Easy to get into, but really hard to get back out again. Plus you can’t teleport her with her body still alive, so we’d have to walk. And that means we’d have to encounter the . . .” I lowered my voice and hissed, “Gee-gnomes. What if she gets stung? Then what?”

Shannon hissed in a sharp breath. “What are gee-gnomes?”

“Dante knows,” I told her. “And that’s all that’s important right now.” Turning back to Dante, I pleaded, “Don’t do this to her. I’ll stay here with Shannon. Please?”

Dante gave me a look that was hard to interpret, but I don’t think he was pleased. He tended to be a very by-the-book guy most of the time. His honesty and trustworthiness were two of his many good points. A tiny voice at the back of my mind wanted to know how I could be jealous of someone I trusted. I stomped it down; I was busy.

“Remember what you said to me, Dante. The thing with Hell is you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.”

Dante’s stern look grew fuzzy around the edges just as his whole body had when he’d become corporeal. He couldn’t hold it any longer and he started to laugh. “Okay, Kirsty. We’ll see this through. But only another forty-eight hours.” He lowered his voice. “She’s starting to fade.” He gestured toward Shannon. “And so are we.” He held out his hand like you do when you want to see if you’ve got the shakes, but it didn’t look much different than usual.

I held out my own, squinting at it. Had it always been a little blurry around the cuticles or did I need glasses? Or a manicure. I thrust my hand in my robe pocket and decided not to think about it. A lot could happen in forty-eight hours.

Suddenly the lights came on. Wake-up call in cell block B.

Conrad mumbled something about rising and shining.

The upper bunk creaked and Maddy landed on the cell floor with a thunk.

Chapter 11

Deus Ex-Girlfriend

“THAT’S IT. I can’t stand it anymore!” Maddy grabbed Conrad by his long brown hair, hauling him out of bed. She loomed over him, her free hand clenched. She shook with fury. “I’m closing your fuckin’ trap forever!”

Either Maddy telegraphed her punch or Shannon’s self-defense class kicked at her muscle memory, but no matter why, Conrad ducked. The momentum of Maddy’s onslaught threw her off balance. She released Shannon’s hair and grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.

“Ha!” Conrad taunted.

God, what an idiot.

Maddy recovered her balance, madder than ever, and tackled Conrad. He fell heavily to the floor, Maddy on top of him. Now she raised her fist again. He had no way of avoiding this blow.

But it never landed.

“Stop! Maddy! Shannon!” Theresa charged down the hall, radio already in hand. “Fight in cell block B. Need immediate assistance.”

Maddy lowered her fist, instead locking her hands around Conrad’s stolen throat.

Theresa panted to a halt at the cell door, swapping out the radio for the keycard. “Break it up, you two!”

Conrad tried to speak. Was he trying to beg for his life or to taunt Maddy again? He grated out nothing resembling words, scrabbling at Maddy’s hands ineffectively. Maddy’s grip tightened, her face twisted with as much evil as any demon I’d ever met.

Conrad’s face quickly turned bloated and red, a lot like his demonic form.

Shannon threw herself at her father’s attacker, but sailed through her harmlessly, bouncing along the cell floor, ending up with her head and shoulders thrust into the wall. Unlike Dante, she didn’t know the trick of becoming corporeal. I wasn’t sure she could even do it with her body still alive.

Theresa finally got the cell door open and dove into the fray, trying to yank Maddy off Conrad.

Maddy elbowed Theresa hard, sending her flying back toward the bunks. With a soft Oof, Theresa hit her head on the edge of the bunk and she flopped on the cold floor, unmoving.

Maddy flung herself on top of Theresa now, wrapping her big paws around the guard’s throat and squeezing hard enough to turn her own knuckles white. “I’ll kill you all!” she yelled, her face a sick mask of rage.

To my utter shock and amazement, Conrad recovered enough to leap onto Maddy’s back, trying to pull the blood-crazed inmate off her new victim. He hung on like a bull rider while Maddy tried to shrug him off without breaking her stranglehold on Theresa.

Had Conrad come to care for the saintly guard?

“Dante! Kirsty! Do something!” Shannon begged. “Save them.”

I scrunched up my eyes and concentrated, trying to make myself corporeal. If I could at least appear to them out of nowhere, maybe my unexpected materialization would be enough to shock Maddy out of her killing spree. If not, I didn’t know what I could do. Being a Reaper didn’t give you superstrength or anything. And that Maddy was big and superscary.

Before I could figure out how to manifest, I heard the sound of more soles squeaking and pounding down the hall. I opened my eyes to see three new guards charging toward us, stun guns and nightsticks at the ready.

The first to arrive slammed her nightstick against the cell. The metal bars clanged. “Shannon Iver. Maddy Stryker. Cease and desist. Lie on the ground, facedown, hands on your heads.” The guards held their ground at the open cell door.

Maddy released Theresa, tossing Conrad to one side and scrambling to assume the position on the other. “That bitch attacked this guard. I was trying to save her!”

Conrad heaved himself slowly to his knees and crawled back toward Theresa, who lay very, very still.

“Halt, Iver. Do not touch her.” One of the new arrivals swung her stun gun toward Conrad.

Conrad ignored them. Reaching Theresa, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and put his ear to her chest.

“Get away from her!” one of the guards yelled, stun gun trained on him. Another guard entered the cell, weapon holstered. She grabbed Conrad’s shoulder and pulled him away. He knelt where she’d dragged him, yelling, “She needs CPR. Call 911, you idiots!”

To their credit, the guards immediately radioed for medical assistance.

Conrad climbed to his feet, panting hard. He moved as far from Maddy as the cell would allow and placed his hands on his head.

Another of the guards knelt by Theresa’s body, repeating Conrad’s assessment. “She’s dead. I don’t think any—”

Suddenly everything froze. The guard ceased speaking mid-word, mouth open like a badly timed photograph. Conrad’s panting and Maddy’s accusations ceased. Even the dust motes stopped dancing in the cell’s fluorescent light.

And speaking of light, a small radiant glow formed in the middle of the cell. As I watched, it rapidly blossomed and expanded until it grew into a large oval. Although it was nothing like the swirling vortex of evil I’d accidently opened (and deliberately closed) between Hell and Heller, I recognized it as a portal between dimensions. But which dimension had decided now was the right time to access ours?

“Dante?” I whispered, suddenly willing to be mentored into the ways and means of Reaperdom.

He shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on the portal. Was something evil coming through? Didn’t we have enough evil right here in suburban Milton’s superjail? I readied my scythe and assumed a fighting stance. The expression on Dante’s face surprised me. He looked . . . hopeful?

The portal stopped growing once it was about the size of a doorway, but unlike the Heller one, this one wasn’t sucking things in. Instead, something came out.

And that something was a beautiful young woman.

She wasn’t tall, standing about my height of five-five. The wings made her look taller. She radiated presence though, along with a shining nimbus of golden light. Her features were fine and even, her crowning glory a fabulous mane of thick red hair twisted into a simple bun. A pearl clasp held it low on her neck. Her emerald eyes seemed kind and intelligent. Even though she was the newcomer, her manner made me feel warm and welcome.

Her most arresting feature, however, were not those on her lovely face, or the nimbus of fire limning her head, but rather the great fiery sword she held like a torch in her left hand.

I loved her on sight. That is, until she swept her gaze right over me and onto . . .

“Dante,” she sighed, laying her right hand over her heart. “How fare thee?”

Figures. This special angel—the wings and the halo were dead giveaways—would know my Reaper.

And boy, did he know her. “Beatrice,” he breathed, going down on one knee before her, clasping her hand and planting a kissing on it, all in one smooth move. “Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me.”

Poetry. Damn. Despite the translator chip in my scythe, I had no ability to comprehend poetry. They might have been setting up a secret assignation right in front of me for all I knew. I stood there bristling, wishing I could get my pal Ira on the line to ask him who the heck glow-in-the-dark Barbie was to my Reaper.

Shannon stepped up, surprising me. “You’ve come to take me to Heaven, haven’t you?”

Beatrice turned her gaze to Shannon, her hand still held by the kneeling Dante. A beatific smile bloomed on her angelic face. “No, child, thy time to enter Heaven hath not yet come.”

Child, huh. She looked about five years younger than Shannon, although come to think of it, age probably worked the same in Heaven as in Hell, so Beatrice could be the same age as Dante. Maybe they’d been alive together. Maybe they’d been lovers.

Dante rose, reluctantly releasing the angel’s hand. “Art thou here on business?”

“Sì,” she said. In Italian. I was beginning to get the picture. A sudden memory surfaced of him once calling me by the wrong name in bed. I gasped, drawing everyone’s attention. My cheeks burned. How could I admit to base jealousy of this obviously perfect creature?

She now turned her beneficent gaze on me. I ducked my head.

“Thou must be Kirsty. Dante hast waxed poetic about thee. Thou art all things as portrayed by my friend.”

“Uh, thanks.” Her use of “friend” to describe Dante made me feel better. “He told you about me?”

Now Dante blushed and looked away. “I might have.”

A goofy smile spread over my face. I liked this Beatrice. How could I not?

Shannon, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be warming to the angel. “So if not for my soul, then what are you doing here?”

“I am here on a mission of divine mercy. I hath come for her immortal soul.” Beatrice raised the hand not holding the flaming sword, pointing at the frozen tableau in the cell behind us. “Canst thou not discern her goodness?”

A slight glow emanated from Theresa’s chest. As we watched, the glow grew, becoming a bright mist, swirling just above Theresa’s body. It wasn’t like the fiery glow that had become Beatrice’s portal. Nor was it like when a mortal soul popped out of their human body. This was a soul that had finished its rounds on the Coil. It wasn’t going to Hell for reassignment, but to Heaven, the last stop on the merry-go-round of life. Here’s your brass ring, what’s your hurry? Theresa must have accrued the kind of Karmic Kredit the rest of us only dream of.

You might think that I just knew this without having to be told, but actually, we’d covered it during the classroom portion of my Reaper training. Having a fallen angel in your study group lends additional insight.

We waited a few minutes, or whatever was passing for time for us, until the swirl of energy seemed about the size and mass and general outline of a twenty-eight-year-old woman, but it stayed unformed. It wasn’t a person-esque dead soul like you or me.

Okay, just me, then.

“Isn’t it going to coalesce into a, you know, more person-shaped shape?” I asked.

Beatrice shook her head, but her eyes were on Theresa’s swirling soul. “Theresa Mudders. I hath come to escort thou unto Heaven.” She raised the shining sword. “Thou must—Hey!”

While Theresa Mudders had had boundless patience in life, her spirit was apparently done with that shit. She didn’t bother waiting for Beatrice’s pretty speech. She ducked around our little grouping and shot through the flaming portal into Heaven.

“Well, I never!” Beatrice stared after the dearly departed soul, hands on hips, flaming sword point resting on the ground. She turned back to us with a grimace. “Well, gotta go. Great meeting you, Kirsty. I’ll see you ’round. Say hi to Ira for me. Dante, take care.” She looked at Shannon, a puzzled expression suffusing her angelic face. “You, too. Shannon. Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

She gifted us with a last bright smile and vanished into the portal, which winked out of sight instantly, much faster than its dramatic entrance.

“—one can save her now.” The guard finished saying as time kicked back along its ticking path.

Maddy screeched again about being attacked.

Conrad burst free of the guard’s restraining hand and threw himself at Theresa’s body.

The guard dove at him, but he shook her off. He slapped one hand on Theresa’s chest, the other over it. “One, two, three, four, five. Help me here! We can save her!” he shouted between chest compressions.

Instead of trying to pull him off again, the guard who’d restrained Conrad took up the relief position on Theresa’s other side, ready to take over when Conrad’s stolen arms grew tired.

I stepped closer, watching Theresa’s body for signs of life. I didn’t want her revived. She’d gotten in to Heaven. It would be like getting picked out of the lineup for the most exclusive club in town and then being told to come back later.

Could I stop Conrad? I could appear only to him, right? I closed my eyes and concentrated on materializing, just as I heard a sharp gasp.

Suddenly I felt awful. My throat ached and steel bands seemed to cut my chest in two. My head hurt and my neck hurt and my shoulders . . . Forget the list, let’s just say everything hurt. I raised one hand to my forehead but it merely fluttered limply by my side . . . just like it had back in my hospital bed when my body had been re-souled.

Now I sucked in a harsh gasp.

“She’s alive. She’s alive!” someone yelled. Lots of someones began yelling.

Oh, skeg. This was the last thing I needed. I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The guards’ worried faces hovered over me. Didn’t anyone in correctional services trim their nose hair?

“M’okay,” I rasped. “H’lp m’up.”

My voice kept cutting out, like bad phone reception. Someone helped me up onto the lower bunk where I lay, resting my back against the cold wall.

The paramedics arrived. I guess it had only taken them about four minutes, but what with the angel dropping by and all, it seemed longer. I was shifted to a gurney and wheeled to the prison’s medical facility. I kept insisting I was fine in a hoarse whisper that clearly said I was not.

I refused to go to the hospital. I did agree to let them X-ray my throat right there in the prison infirmary. While lying quietly on the gurney, I attempted to cut my spiritual tethers to Theresa’s body, but no luck. I was well and truly stuck.

I’d been sucked back into my own body when they’d tried unplugging it. I should have stood farther back from Theresa’s.

But that time, I’d been able to exit my body. It had taken extreme effort and saving my aunt’s life as incentive, but I’d done it. Well, I had Shannon’s life to save now. Why the hell couldn’t I get out?

I tried again and again, flinging my immortal soul at the edges of Theresa’s mortal body without success. Maybe because my body had lain empty for so long it had been easier to get out whereas Theresa’s body was young and healthy and not interested in giving up being alive just yet.

“You’ll have to hold still, Theresa,” the X-ray tech ordered.

And so I lay still, a plan beginning to form in my newly acquired brain.

Chapter 12

Immaculate Deception

MY THROAT STILL hurt, but a few lozenges later, I had a sexy rasp and was working on a hall pass.

“If you won’t go to a hospital, Theresa, will you at least stay here overnight?”

I considered this. Now that I had a body again, it would need to sleep. Oh, sure. I could check my pockets to see what kind of car Theresa drove and where she lived. Oops. I should say had driven and had lived. I could explain away things like not knowing which locker was mine because I’d—Hello!—just come back from the dead.

Both of us.

But what if Theresa hadn’t lived alone? She could have parents, a partner, kids. It would only hurt them to see their beloved Theresa like this. Obviously the Theresa they knew and loved was never coming back, so why put them through this? No, better they remember Theresa at full capacity rather than as Reaper-pretending-to-be-Theresa-with-partial-amnesia. Not to mention the string of nightmare bruises circling my neck and eyes as red as those of many of my friends back in Hell.

And what if Theresa’s family arranged to forcibly send me to the hospital and then I couldn’t come back here?

No. Better I stay the night here and then get up and do my job again tomorrow. Theresa’s job, I meant, reminding myself not to get too comfortable in this body.

Although it wasn’t like anyone would miss it . . .

With some trepidation, I investigated an uncomfortable bulge in my uniform pants. It turned out to be nothing requiring a change in orientation but rather a heavy ring of keys. I hoped one of the small keys opened a locker. I’d wait until the night shift was well under way, then find the locker room and try them all until I found one that worked. Theresa seemed like the kind of gal who would keep a change of uniform in her locker. And I would need one by tomorrow.

“Okay, Doc. I’ll stay.”

“Great. We’ll transfer you to the secure ward.” He gestured toward a locked room. “It’s designed to keep patients in. But in this case, it’ll be to keep the other patients from getting at you.”

He seemed to think this funny.

A quick reconnoiter of the medical facility showed me a number of scary-looking patients sporting nasty bruises and wounds. And this was only the women’s section. I suddenly understood how dangerous the job of prison guard could be. That Theresa really was a saint! Had been . . . Whatever.

I’d have to tell Mr. Kahn about this job next time he rushed through the Reincarnation Station. Might be a speedier route to a positive number in his Karmic Kredit Kolumn, I mean column, than being a member of the Frequent Diers Club, although he did insist membership had its privileges—like never living long enough to have to get a job.

I lounged around for the rest of the day, slurping down soup and some well-chewed veggies. Damn, but my throat hurt.

Dante dropped by, but I wasn’t inclined to hear him lecture me about how I should have known better. Blah, blah, blah. So I feigned sleep.

Around six, the doctor left for the day, instructing the night nurse to call him should anything happen. The night nurse apparently knew Theresa. He seemed like a nice guy. When he stopped by to see if I needed anything, I asked him a favor.

“I just want to . . .” I cleared my rough throat and tried again. Being strangled takes its toll. “I just want to go and say thank you to Conrad, I mean Shannon Iver. I won’t be long.”

“You really should be resting. Doctor’s orders. You’re lucky not to have sustained permanent damage to your vocal chords.”

“Please.” I tried batting my eyelashes. “I am a trained professional.”

The nurse barked out a laugh and agreed to let me out into the hallway.

It felt weird to have a body again. Especially one with a headache and really sore throat. Still, I kind of liked it. You don’t realize how much you miss something until you’re sucked back inside it.

I walked along the quiet corridors following the signs for L wing. I’d reached a particularly barren section of hallway flanked by darkened administrative offices when I sensed someone behind me.

I swung around in a low crouch, my hand automatically reaching for my scythe. The scythe that wasn’t there. Skeg. If only I’d had that kind of timely response when Conrad had first materialized in Shannon’s office, none of this would be happening now.

“Dante!” I rasped. My Reaper took a step toward me, feet soundless on the hallway’s cheap carpeting.

“Cara,” he responded. It occurred to me that he hadn’t called me cara since all this started. “I’m so sorry. How did this happen?”

“I think I know. Remember when I got sucked back into my coma-toes, I mean, comatose body? I didn’t realize it at the time because they’d already unhooked all the monitors, but I must have died for a second, then gasped back to life. So when a body gets a reboot, it sucks in the nearest soul.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, brushing back his perpetually overlong bangs. We do have barbers in Hell, but he always returned with his hair in his eyes, which was totally crazy. I guess he liked the lunatic fringe.

“Yes, I see that could happen. Maybe there’s a way we can work with that.”

“Right. I’m on my way to talk to Conrad now. Where’s Shannon?” I suddenly noticed her missing. While I was jealous of the attention Dante paid to her, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, either. “She’s still here, right? On the Coil?”

“Yes, I left her to watch her father. Since she has no way of reaching me, we had best get back there.”

“Before we go, I want to say I’m sorry I’ve been acting badly. I—You—Well, you know I have this jealous streak, right?”

“As wide as the Styx and twice as green.” Dante gifted me with his best I-love-you smile. “It’s flattering but cara, it’s also insulting.”

I hung my head, Theresa’s straight dark braid brushed against my burning cheeks. “I know.” Now my voice cracked as well as rasped.

“I have missed you. When you act jealous, we cannot be together.”

My heart skipped a beat. Which was a bit unnerving now that I had an actual heart again. Did Theresa suffer from arrhythmia? “Ah, Dante.” This time I whispered, thereby avoiding all vocal frailties. “C’mere.” I held out my arms and stepped up to kiss him.

Smack!

I smacked all right, but not on his lips. Instead, I face-planted right through him and landed on the floor with a splat.

“You’re not corporeal?” I asked, pushing myself into a seated position, rubbing my knee. I’d landed hard on the right one. Great, now I added knees, palms and chin to the parts of Theresa’s body that hurt. Good thing she wasn’t going to want it back because no matter how saintly she was, she’d be pissed at having it returned damaged.

“We have been away from Hell for some time, Kirsty. As you learned during your Reaper training, our afterlifeforce diminishes the longer we are away. At this point, I can manifest only as a visible and audible spirit. As time moves on, that too will fade.”

We had studied it in school, but I couldn’t recall that section in detail. I wished I had Amber’s photographic memory. We weren’t even two weeks out of Reaper training and already my book-learning was fading just like Dante. And Shannon.

I stuck out my hand for a lift up, realized what I’d done and climbed to my feet under my own steam. “Let’s go talk to Conrad. Now we have something to negotiate with.” I gestured toward the body I now wore as I limped down the hall.

“After you, Beatrice.”

“Beatrice? Is she back?” I asked, glancing around.

Apparently, a fading Reaper can still blush. “Kirsty, I meant, Kirsty, of course.”

I stopped walking and turned to him, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t. Even.” I said.

Not having the sense to shut the skeg up, he said, “Look, Beatrice. It’s been a rough couple of days.” A look of horror bloomed on his face when he realized he’d screwed up again. He glared at me like I was the problem, activated his scythe, and popped away. I might have been slightly more at fault on the jealousy thing, but this time, he was in big trouble.

I’d liked Beatrice, but I couldn’t begin to compete with her.

I made my way to cell block B in L wing, arriving to find the lights dimmed for the night. A few more steps brought me to the cell where Conrad sat on the edge of the lower bunk, staring at the floor.

Dante stepped out of the shadows, an unrepentant look on his face.

I chose to be the consummate professional, putting our troubles on hold until later—assuming there was a later. Instead, I looked around. “Where is she? She’s gone. Oh, my God, she’s gone!”

“They moved her across the hall,” Conrad responded, no doubt thinking Theresa was speaking to him. His voice, like Theresa’s, was hoarse from Maddy’s attempted strangulation.

I turned toward the cell opposite Conrad’s. Someone had cleaned it since we got here. I spotted Maddy’s spangled top tossed on the floor. Her grating snore rolled off the bottom bunk in waves. Apparently she only wanted the top bunk when there was a chance Conrad might have wanted it.

Conrad had been sitting up on his bunk, probably feeling safe for the first time in days with two sets of bars between him and his former cellmate. He rose now and crossed his cell to face me. “They locked that crazy bitch away from me,” he croaked. While I now had the sexy voice of a late-night DJ, Conrad sounded like he had a bad case of bronchitis.

But Dante knew I hadn’t been talking to Conrad and I hadn’t been asking after Maddy. I’d meant Shannon, of course. “Where is she?”

“Do not worry, Kirsty. Your friend is standing beside me. You cannot see her now.”

“Can’t see who?” Conrad asked looking directly at Dante. Then his brain caught up with what he’d heard and he swung his gaze to me. “Kirsty?”

Oh, sure. Now someone gets my name right.

I realized that Conrad could see and hear Dante, but had no idea Shannon was there. That worked perfectly with my plan. Now to play the player.

“Yes, Conrad, it’s me. Kirsty. See, I can possess bodies, too. Just like you.” I did my best to keep my voice light. It hurt like hell to mask the raspiness, but I wanted him to think this body was in tip-top shape.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?” Suspicion rode the edge of his rough voice.

“First, Conrad, I wanted to thank you for saving Theresa Mudders’ life.” His gaze flicked down to my uniform name badge. She’d died for him and he hadn’t even bothered to learn her name.

“Well, um. Of course. I couldn’t let her die.”

My resolve threatened to dissolve. Had Conrad actually done something for someone else? Someone he didn’t even know?

“How would that look at my hearing?”

But of course. It was all about him. It was always all about him.

“Ah, so you saved her to make yourself look good, is that it?”

He puffed out his cheeks, eyes jumping around, looking anywhere but at me. “Well, that was the icing on the cake, of course. But I really wanted to save Lisa.”

“Theresa,” I corrected. I drew a deep breath, actually needing one, to force the following words out. “Well, whatever your motivation, you accomplished something noble today so you deserve to be recognized for it. Thank you.” I surprised myself by realizing I meant it.

Conrad met my gaze for a moment, then he quickly looked away. He might have manipulated a lot of people into a lot of things, but he must rarely have earned anyone’s genuine gratitude. He cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“So while you’re doing noble things, I’m asking you again if you could see your way clear to returning Shannon’s body to her. You’ve lived a long and wonderful life. It’s her turn now. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Conrad took a step back, as if I could somehow force him to relinquish his daughter’s body. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I do that?”

“Firstly, because she’s fading. Unlike mine was, Shannon’s body isn’t lying somewhere with a room for rent sign on her chest. It has a soul—you. So she’s excess and excess gets trimmed. If she’s out of her body much longer, she’ll fade away to nothing.” I reached one hand through the bars, imploring him. “If she fades away, then her soul is done. Nada. Zip. She won’t go to Hell. She won’t ever get to Heaven and she won’t get reincarnated. She’ll just . . . fade.”

Conrad fidgeted, something I never thought I’d see him do. “So give her that body,” he said, gesturing at me. “You’re dead so you shouldn’t have it.”

“Right back at you,” I said, enjoying watching him squirm. “She can’t. She’s grown too weak to leap into any body but her own.” If Conrad noticed I wasn’t arguing to give the body back to its rightful owner, he didn’t mention it. He probably figured that since he didn’t care about Theresa, I didn’t either. His only frame of reference for viewing the world was his own selfish point of view. I imagined he’d always worked from that distrustful stance.

“Listen, Conrad. You know that Dante and I, as Reapers, cannot force you to give up that body, right?”

“Yes, I’m counting on it.”

“Okay. You always taught me to find common ground when negotiating, so we can both agree on that, right?”

Conrad looked both proud of himself for having mentored me well and suspicious as hell for where I was going with this. Conrad, you put the “con” in conflicted.

Finally he jerked his head up and down once. “Go on.”

“Okay. And you may know that the reason Dante and I haven’t taken Shannon’s soul back to Hell with us to file a Wrongful Termination Appeal is because of how long it took me to get my Wrongful Reapage Appeal through the system.”

“And it was denied,” he tossed in my face with glee.

“And it was denied. So we don’t want to take that chance. We’re hoping instead that you’ll see reason and give your daughter her body back voluntarily.”

“Not going to happen,” he said conversationally. He was beginning to enjoy this since he held all the cards.

“But giving Shannon’s body back to its rightful owner voluntarily will reflect positively on you when you do get to Hell. It’s the same ‘icing’ logic as you applied to saving Theresa today.”

“I’m not worrying that far in the future. I’ll have years between now and when this body grows old and dies. I’ll find someone else to give me an extension between now and then.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Conrad.” Dante had joined the conversation. He could see where I was going with this even if Conrad hadn’t yet figured it out. Of course Dante knew how Hell worked whereas Conrad didn’t. “I’m going to have to check in shortly or they’ll send someone looking for us. Our scythes have GPS trackers in them so we can’t run, we can’t hide.”

“So you’ll get in trouble. What’s that to me?”

“There are a lot more powerful people in Hell than us Reapers. Just because Kirsty and I can’t evict you from Shannon’s body doesn’t mean there aren’t some terrible and powerful beings that can. Remember Charon the ferryman you met when we brought you in? Do you really want to run afoul of him?”

Conrad began to look worried. I noticed Shannon’s manicure was a wreck—even worse than back in the precinct when he’d been picking at the plastic cuffs. Conrad had chewed Shannon’s nails down to the quick. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he’d seemed all along.

He opened his mouth to speak, closing it again without saying anything. I could almost hear the synapses of Shannon’s brain firing. Finally, he said, “Let ’em come. I don’t believe you. I’m a demon myself now, and other than being big and scary, the gig doesn’t seem to come with any special powers other than body possession. So I think you’re lying. The only reason you haven’t reported in and got this imaginary backup to come evict me is that they don’t exist. All that’s going to happen to you when you go report in is you’ll get in trouble. Ha!”

“Are you sure about that, Conrad? Are you willing to risk your life?”

Now we wait. Let that percolate.

Conrad walked away from the bars and began pacing the length of his cell, muttering, probably forming and discarding plans. He paced and muttered, muttered and paced.

I was beginning to lose patience when he finally snapped his fingers and returned to stand before us. His eyes glittered like cheap black diamonds, accented with a little bit of red from the petechial hemorrhaging. Did I mention I watched a lot of CSI?

“All right. Here’s what I’m willing to do. If you can get someone else to sign that contract amendment granting me twenty-five more years, then I’ll vacate this body. Whether Shannon gets back into it or not is up to you.”

Bingo. This was going according to plan.

“And when those twenty-five more years are up, you’ll come quietly?” Dante asked.

“I’m going to be honest with you because I believe you’ve been honest with me. I will try and get another extension before then, but if I can’t, then yes, I’ll come quietly.”

Beside me, I heard Dante whispering, then to me he said, “Shannon says the amendment is in her office. Kirsty, do you have Theresa’s cell phone?”

I patted my pockets and discovered an early-model iPhone in a pink plastic case. Pink. Huh. I never would have considered Theresa the pink type. I checked the charge and the reception—nearly full and four out of five bars. It was a miracle. I checked over my shoulder in case it actually was, but angels, fallen or otherwise, were noticeable by their absence.

Good.

“Here.” I thrust the phone through the bars. “Call Willa and tell her to bring the contract amendment to the courthouse tomorrow.”

Conrad dialed from memory—had it only been days since he’d been CEO of Iver PR? I screwed up my forehead and counted on my fingers. There was the day he and I had died, then the week Hell had skipped when the time engineers had jump-started the time-syncing machine, then the day Shannon had been arrested. Then the bail hearing. Ten days. I shook my head. Ten days from my death to now. It seemed so much longer, even taking the missed week into account.

Conrad left a terse order on Willa’s office voice mail.

“There,” he said. “She’ll hear that when she gets in tomorrow and bring the amendment to me.” He pocketed the phone and frankly, I didn’t care. Let him call all the lawyers and press conferences his evil heart desired.

“So to be clear,” I said, grasping the bars and leaning into them. My throat hurt and I was worried I might strain my injured vocal cords and end up unable to speak at all. “When Willa brings the contract amendment by, I’ll sign it in blood—Theresa Mudders’ blood—and the soul of Theresa Mudders, which is standing right here next to Shannon, will be sacrificed so you can have twenty-five more years.”

Dante looked at me sharply. I willed him not to say anything and for once, it worked.

“Sure, whatever. I don’t care who, as long as there’s blood on the signature line.”

“And at that time, you’ll vacate Shannon’s body for this one and we’ll do what we can to re-ensoul Shannon.”

“I said so already, didn’t I?”

“Conrad Percival Iver, on behalf of her benighted Underlordship, Lucy Phurr, I hereby decree that thou hast made a Deal to which thou must sticketh.” I spat on my hand and held it out.

“Deal.” A smarmy grin spread over the face Conrad wore, as he too spat on his borrowed palm and clasped it against mine. A single pump was enough for me and I ripped my hand away, wiping it on Theresa’s uniform.

“Get some sleep,” I told him. “You’ve got your day in court tomorrow.”

I turned on my heel and stalked back the way I’d come. Dante awaited me in the deserted corridor again. “Kirsty, what are you up to? You know we can’t make Deals without official sanction and you lied about Theresa’s soul being available for trade.”

It was my turn to smile smugly. “That’s right, Fred.” He started at my use of a name other than his. “But in spite of that, I just made a helluva Deal. Lucy would be so proud.”

Or would she? Was taking the devil’s name in vain one of the seven deadly sins?

Chapter 13

Clearing the Heir

I STALKED AWAY from Dante, returning to my room in the prison infirmary.

“Everything okay, Theresa?” The night nurse stuck his head in.

“Who? Oh, yes, of course. Thanks, uh, Jim.” I hoped I’d gotten his name right and not sounded like I’d hit my head. I needed to be given a clean bill of health in order to accompany Conrad to court tomorrow.

I lay in bed staring at the wall clock. Even it was behind bars. They must have worried it would make a break for it. After all, tempus fugit.

Exhausted from having a body again, I fell asleep almost immediately. I dreamt of swarms of staplers buzzing around me like giant metal gnats. They grew scorpion-style tails similar to the dreaded gee-gnomes, only with staples for stingers. I kicked and hopped out of their metallic range, screaming for Dante to help me, but could only make muffled, underwater noises.

Then I dreamt the swirling vortex of evil reopened, but instead of sucking things in, a figure appeared in the gateway between Hell and Heller. At first it looked like the angelic Beatrice. I smiled at her, but the smile melted off my face as the interdimensional being morphed into Rod the jerk from the Reaper Academy. Instead of a scythe, a gavel or a flaming sword, he brandished a vacuum cleaner wand hooked up to some sort of jet-pack strapped to his back. In my dream, I laughed in Rod’s face, singing “Who ya gonna call?” The laughter died on my lips when he activated the device and sucked my soul into his backpack of evil.

“Lemme out! Lemme out! Lemme—!”

I sat straight up in bed, lungs heaving, blood racing, heart pounding. And I had all those things once again.

“You okay, Theresa?” the night nurse called.

Theresa, who? Oh, right. I was Theresa. I was alive again. I pushed my hair back from my sweaty face, willing the adrenaline rush to subside. “Just a nightmare,” I panted, voice less hoarse than yesterday.

“Time to get up anyway. Here’s your breakfast tray. I’m heading off. Day nurse has gone to get herself a coffee.”

I nodded, accepting the food and hoping for a shower.

Twenty minutes later I was fed, showered and lacing up Theresa’s comfortable shoes.

On the way back from my Deal-making meeting with Conrad in the night I’d taken a side trip to the women’s locker room to scavenge some clean clothes. I pulled Theresa’s fresh uniform on and futzed with my new hair. I brushed it forward and then combed it back. After trying several complicated styles, I wove it into the short braid Theresa usually wore. She had been a very attractive woman even with a severe hair style and no makeup.

Hands on hips, I swiveled right, then left. Theresa looked pretty good on me. She was slim, fit and pretty. Maybe Shannon could have this body if we couldn’t manage to oust Conrad from hers. It was a backup plan.

Or maybe I’d keep it.

I left the infirmary thinking I could stay in this body. Nobody would miss it. I’d been cheated out of mine, after all. I could have a life on the Coil and still be a Reaper after I’d lived to a ripe old age and died in my sleep.

Dante had said he’d wait for me. Or maybe we weren’t together anymore. I was pretty pissed at him for calling me the wrong name . . . again! But I was willing to forgive him, if he apologized hard enough. If only—Ow!

I hadn’t been watching where I was going and had walked into a door, expecting to pass right through it.

I rubbed the fast-rising egg on my forehead. Nice. Now I had a matching set: a purple lump on my forehead plus maroon and black finger marks ringing my borrowed throat. I stepped back and opened the door first, then walked through it.

Why would anybody want a body when they could move about the Coil without needing to eat, sleep or pee. It was liberating, freeing. Like running around naked only with clothes on.

Besides, if I was alive and Dante was dead, could we still have sex? Would we be able to keep the romance in necromancy? Assuming we still had a romance.

I rubbed my head some more and tried to swallow past my sore throat. My stomach felt queasy. Was that a cramp coming on? Five minutes ago I’d considered staying in Theresa’s body. Now I couldn’t wait to get out of this living carcass. Conrad could have it, cramps and all.

I grabbed a coffee and joined my escort detail. Maddy’s usual guard had her prisoner cuffed and ready to go. In all the body swap excitement, I’d forgotten Maddy’s preliminary hearing was piggybacking on Conrad’s.

The drive into town was busier today, largely because I had a body and a job. The job was easy: keep your eyes on your charge and your hand on your weapon. The body wasn’t. I jostled and bounced like before, once again earning myself a numb butt.

And I had to pee. Again.

I had my chance when we arrived at the courthouse. We guards escorted the prisoners to the ladies’ room, where one at a time we all used the facilities. While Maddy’s guard took her turn, I whispered to Conrad the final details of our arrangement.

Then we all trooped back into the hallway and plunked down on the long wooden bench to await our hearings.

Willa hadn’t yet shown up with the contract amendment. We’d have to deal with that after court.

Everything hinged on that amendment.

What if Willa really had quit when Conrad was arrested? What if she called in sick this morning and hadn’t picked up her message? I bit Theresa’s lower lip until I tasted blood. I had no scythe now to pop over and check. Dante wasn’t in any shape to do so. Oh, wait. I borrowed a cell phone from Maddy’s guard, dialing Iver PR’s main number from memory. Impatiently, I clicked my way through the company directory, wishing we still had a receptionist. “Oh, hi. Willa? This is Officer Theresa Mudders calling from the courthouse. Your boss asked me to call you. Her hearing is this morning and she’s just wondering . . . You are? Great. See you soon.”

One detail taken care of.

Conrad’s lawyer, Gill Hammerhead, arrived just as Shannon was called in. We moved quietly into the courtroom, sitting where Gill indicated. It was much more crowded today, with members of the press as well as nosy people looking for free entertainment.

No sooner had we taken our seats than we were asked to rise again. The court clerk called the proceeding to order and read the charges.

Then the judge made her opening remarks.

“Allow me to remind everyone here today that this is a preliminary hearing only. The Crown prosecutor will present the witnesses he intends to call should this case go to trial. Ms. Iver, via her counsel, Gill Hammerhead, will be permitted to cross-examine these witnesses.” Judge Wilson drew off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She looked tired already and it was only ten. “Lastly, let me remind you that we are not here today to determine innocence or guilt, but rather to determine whether or not there is sufficient evidence to justify a trial. Are we quite clear?”

The Crown called his first witnesses, Francesca Tick, to the stand. To think I’d once considered Frannie a friend. She swore on the Bible to tell the truth and reiterated what she’d heard when she’d eavesdropped outside of Shannon’s office. The court clerk played the recording of Shannon wishing me dead over the room’s audio system. Couldn’t people hear that she was just being wistful? There was no actual intent to kill there.

But the Crown prosecutor was good. He managed to make Frannie out to be a loyal employee who had accidentally recorded her boss’s phone conversation. “After all,” he said, “If Ms. Tick had been intending to record this incriminating evidence, she would have recorded both sides of the conversation.”

It was hard to argue with his illogic.

Then it was Gill Hammerhead’s turn. The Crown might have been good, but Hammerhead was better. Appearing to be a nice, caring guy, he asked Frannie, “How, exactly, does one accidentally stand outside one’s boss’s office and hit record on their iPhone and then stand there for five minutes?”

Hammerhead revealed Frannie to be the conniving bitch she really was. I hoped that would undermine her testimony. Behind me someone whispered that Gill’s performance redefined bombastic. I wished I’d hung onto Theresa’s phone so I could have looked up the original definition.

After that, the Crown had no further questions. Frannie stepped down from the witness box, anger and frustration staining her cheeks bright red.

I studied the judge but she was a hard read, although I finally settled on bored. Maddy’s guard had told me Judge Wilson had been around awhile and all these attempts to skew the testimony were wasted on her.

In my borrowed heart, I found myself cheering for the Crown prosecutor. I wanted that bastard Conrad to pay for having stolen my life and then bashing my brains in. I had to remind myself that Conrad wasn’t the one on the stand here today, but Shannon. My best friend who’d had nothing to do with my death.

But it was hard.

I aimed an encouraging smile in what I hoped was Shannon’s direction, although of course I couldn’t see her. Dante gave me a thumbs-up from the back of the courtroom. He looked worried, though, and kept glancing at the empty space beside him. Had she faded further since I’d donned this mortal body?

Then Detective Leo took the stand. He’d been first on scene the day of my murder. “The chain of evidence” as he called it, remained unbroken. That meant the stapler had been in police possession since it had been secured by hospital security at the crime scene. Oh, look at moi. Have I watched too much CSI or what?

The Crown picked up a big baggie, dangling it in the witness’s face. “To the best of your knowledge, Detective Leo, is this stapler the murder weapon with which poor Kirsty d’Arc, having just awoken from a yearlong coma, was savagely beaten to death?”

Hammerhead leapt to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. My esteemed colleague is using pejorative descriptions and leading the witness.”

“Sustained. If there were a jury involved, I’d direct them to ignore the Crown’s offensive adjectives, but since this is only the preliminary hearing, I’ll just direct myself. Is that okay?” She glared at Hammerhead, absolutely not asking for his approval.

He blushed a nice dark red that matched my bruises, mumbling, “Thank you, Your Honor.”

“If you could just answer the question, Detective.”

“It is, but—”

“And on this stapler, laid down in layers, were found the fingerprints of a number of people, were there not?”

“Yes, but—”

“And whose were the final set of fingerprints on this vicious—I apologize, Your Honor. On this . . .” He paused to let everyone fill in the blank with their own pejorative adjective. “Stapler.”

Somebody snickered in the back of the room. I whipped my head around, but several of the observers appeared to be barely keeping it together. What was funny about a stapler being used to bash in my brains?

My head began to throb again.

I should have tossed that thing out the window the day it reared up and slashed my hand instead of kidding myself that it had been a hangover-induced hallucination. No doubt Conrad would just have grabbed a handy IV pole to use to club me to death instead. Or worse, a bedpan! Then everyone would be laughing.

“The final set of fingerprints on the stapler are those of Shannon Iver. But—No, don’t cut me off again. Something new was discovered this morning.”

Hammerhead leapt to his feet again. “Your Honor, we were not apprised of new evidence. We declare a mistrial.”

“Neither were we, Your Honor. For once, the Crown and defense agree. Mistrial.” The Crown had the very bad sense to actually return to his seat and begin gathering his papers like he was done for the day.

“Hold on there, Counsel. Nobody’s going anywhere. This is my courtroom and I’ll decide what’s permissible and what’s not. Since both sides were unprepared for this, I figure that makes you even, so we will proceed until such time as I declare mistrial. Which I won’t be doing, because this isn’t a trial. Do I need to remind you again that this is a preliminary hearing, which exists for the express purpose of addressing these kinds of events?” She aimed extremely punitive looks at both lawyers, then, with a kinder expression, turned back to the witness box. “Go ahead, Detective. I want to hear what you’ve got.”

Detective Leo reached for the plastic baggie. He unzipped it and drew the plastic off the stapler, still holding it by one corner of the bag.

“As you can see, this stapler is constructed of three metal components all hinged at one end. This is the top. For description’s sake, we’ll refer to it as the ‘upper jaw.’” He pulled a pen from his pocket and used it to point at the top section, where the name of the manufacturer was printed in sprawling cursive. “Next, you have a chrome channel where you insert the rows of staples.” He pointed at the silver metal component. “The ‘lower jaw’ if you will.”

“Lastly we have the black metal base. On this particular model, if you press this button, here . . .” He flipped it over, struggling to pull the plastic baggie out of the way, keep hold of the stapler and point with the pen. Somehow he managed. Kali would be impressed. “It swings out of the way so that you can use it like a staple gun. Like for instance to staple papers to a cork board.”

Around the courtroom, people were nodding. The judge looked ready to kick the detective into higher gear.

“Our initial forensics processing revealed that the final prints on the stapler are Shannon Iver’s, as I’ve just said. But we had then sent this stapler to a consulting company with highly specialized equipment. We only received the results this morning along with the stapler itself.”

He now used his pen to pry open the stapler’s evil jaws. The spring-loaded metal clip that forced the staples forward squealed as it retracted, sliding along the metal edges of the “lower jaw.”

Shudders crawled up and down my spine. The back of Theresa’s hand throbbed as if she’d been the one bitten that day in my office.

“The thing we found out was that while there was blood and brain tissue on the outside of the stapler, there was none inside where the staples are housed. So it appears that the stapler’s ‘mouth’ was closed when it was used to bash—I mean, bring an end to Ms. d’Arc’s life. Afterward, the assailant must have then dropped the stapler. The jaws would have sprung open. We experimented with another stapler of the same model and it tended to open when dropped. So, according to the evidence, it was at that point that Ms. Iver picked up the stapler.”

“Objection!” the Crown cried.

The judge rolled her eyes. Unlike Judge Julius, she didn’t remove them first in order to do so. “Is there more, Detective?”

“Yes. Upon examination, we were able to determine that one of Conrad Iver’s fingerprints is divided here. Half on the top part of the stapler—the ‘top jaw.’ And half is on the silver part. The upper and lower jaws were obviously closed when Mr. Iver held it. Where his fingerprints lie, there is neither blood or brain matter.”

“And Ms. Iver’s prints?” Judge Wilson prodded.

“Yes, getting there, Your Honor. Shannon Iver’s prints are only on the top part, actually wrapping around the ‘upper jaw.’ That clearly demonstrates that she held the stapler while it was open. All of her prints overlay the body fluids.”

“And you didn’t notice this the first time.” The judge peered down at him, her face bland while her eyes bore into him.

Detective Leo was also an old hand in a courtroom. He remained unfazed. “We performed all of the required forensic tests within the extremely limited time frame. Normally we have more than ten days to produce results. There are long lead times for the equipment, you know. It’s not like those TV shows where the forensic techs just sit around waiting for evidence to come in or are willing to jump the processing queue as a favor.”

The judge sighed and sat back. “Yes, I do know that, Detective. Thank you for rushing the tests to accommodate this hearing. Mr. Hammerhead, any more questions for this witness?”

Gill rose, shot his cuffs and straightened his jacket. Before he’d been confident, now he was insufferable. “So, to be perfectly clear, Detective. This new forensic evidence—evidence that was derived using highly sophisticated equipment and is therefore irrefutable . . .”

“Yes?” Detective Leo responded. It hadn’t really been a question.

“This new evidence definitively supports my client’s description of events leading up to the unfortunate death of Ms. d’Arc. Is that right?”

“Yes. The evidence shows that it was the late Conrad Iver and not his daughter who bludgeoned Kirsty d’Arc to death.”

“Thank you, Detective. No more questions, Your Honor.”

Judge Wilson made a few notes. Raising her head, she blinked at Detective Leo as if surprised to still find him there. “Thank you, Detective. You may return to your duties.”

She made another note, then focused back on the courtroom.

“Well, gentlemen and Ms. Iver. I’m ready to make my decision now. Ms. Iver, if you would stand. I know we’ve rushed this along, partly for expediency’s sake and partly to get rid of that traffic jam created by the media.” She shot a glance at the small knot of reporters near the exit.

“But I cannot, in good faith, acquit you of the charges of the murder in the first degree.”

The crowd gasped and began to comment to each other. A harsh look from the judge quelled the chatter.

“Nor can I declare a mistrial.”

Again the crowd gasped. Shannon’s face turned bloodless—her living face matching the paleness of her disembodied soul. Would Conrad really faint?

“Instead, I am doing exactly what a preliminary hearing is designed to do. I’m dismissing the case altogether. There isn’t enough evidence here against Ms. Iver to warrant a trial, so I want this going on record as never having happened. Ms. Iver, you are free to go.” She nodded sweetly at Conrad, who still looked as if he might faint, before turning to her court clerk. “Both counsels. You are to read up on Canadian criminal trial procedures since you seem to have forgotten everything you learned in law school. I want a three-thousand-word essay defining the differences between a hearing and a trial on my desk by Monday. And you are not to watch any more courtroom dramas on TV. Either of you. Any questions?”

I watched the words “But, Your Honor!” die on both lawyers’ lips. Their gazes met; once again the two opposing counsels were united, this time in misery.

“Now then.” The judge shuffled her notes before looking over at the court clerk. “Who’s up next, Pam?”

“That would be Ms. Maddy Stryker on one, no, two, no, three charges, Your Honor.” She rifled through her notes. “Two new assault charges have been added to her murder one charge since we last saw her.”

The judge pushed her glasses back up her nose and flipped a few pages in one of those heavy green legal folders. “Oh, goody. Another live one. Seems she likes to strangle people. But let’s have a short recess first, shall we?” Judge Wilson lowered the file and exited by a side door. The rest of the observers began to make their way from the courtroom looking extremely disappointed. No murder meant no murder trial. Don’t you hate when that happens?

I stepped forward to escort Conrad back to his cell before realizing I, in my role as prison guard, had no further business with him. I could go now and meet him as agreed back in the ladies’ room we’d scoped out before the trial—I mean, preliminary hearing.

Something caught my eye. The stapler, still in its plastic baggie, lay on the witness stand where the detective had left it. As Lucy is my witness, I’ll never be bothered by that damn stapler again. I grabbed it by the baggie; no way was I touching my own blood and brainy bits, especially after they’d had ten days to, uh, percolate. I shoved the whole thing in my uniform pants pocket. It stuck out a bit but remained safely lodged there.

I followed Conrad from the courtroom.

Outside in the hall, Dante waited next to Willa. We locked eyes for one moment.

“Thanks for bringing the document.” Conrad gifted Willa with a big smile. His easy win must have left him feeling gracious. Conrad in a good mood was exactly what we needed in order to enforce our unsanctioned Deal.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose,” Conrad told Willa. “The press will want me to make a statement and then we can head back to the office. I’m sure there are many urgent matters that require my immediate attention.”

“Not really,” Willa muttered, but only I heard her as I passed her on my way to join Conrad in the ladies’ room.

Chapter 14

Fatal Distraction

AS SOON AS the door shut behind us, Conrad held out the contract amendment. “If you would be so kind.”

Jeez. I liked him better when he was being an obnoxious prick. Conrad as nice guy made my stomach roil. But I knew what I had to do.

With a sense of tragic irony and a more than a little nausea, I drew the stapler out of my pocket and opened the baggie. I expected a waft of rotting brain to hit me, but it merely smelled a bit musty.

Just as Detective Leo had done, I gripped it by the baggie, not because I didn’t want to get Theresa’s fingerprints on it, but because, ewww. I applied just enough pressure to eject a staple partway so that the prongs stuck out like wee silver fangs. Like that day in my office a little over a year ago.

I held out my free hand, surprised to see how much it trembled. I glanced around for Dante, but if he was here in the ladies’ room with me, he wasn’t visible.

“C’mon. What’re you waiting for?” Conrad demanded, his eyes boring into my hand as if he could draw blood that way, his mouth partly open. He panted harshly.

Was that drool?

I could see his demonic countenance overlaying Shannon’s pretty features. If he stayed too long, would her outer self begin to take the shape of his inner demon?

I closed my eyes and slashed the stapler toward my hand. Oh, owww! Burning pain . . . didn’t happen.

I opened my eyes to find I’d missed. Oops.

I tried again, this time peeking through my lashes to guarantee I’d score a hit. And this time, ouch! Two dark red scratches traced across the back of Theresa’s hand. Blood immediately welled up along the cuts.

Holding out the contract, Conrad pointed to a page. “Here. Here.” He flipped to the last page. “And especially here.”

Placing the stapler on the counter, I bled cooperatively in all the right places.

Dante appeared then. Coincidence or had he been watching the whole time?

“Thou must giveth thy document unto me now so that I may registereth it with official channels.” His face screwed up and I could see his lips move while he repeated the sentence to himself. No doubt he was making sure he had all the thees and thous lined up correctly. “No, that’s right. Righteth.” He reached for the contract.

Way to get with the program, Dante! I felt my grip loosening on the grudge I was trying to hold.

Conrad clutched the document to him, unconcerned about getting Theresa’s blood on Shannon’s shirt. “No way. I’m making a copy first.” He produced Theresa’s iPhone and flipped through the icons to get the one he wanted. Then he tried to take a shot of the front page while balancing it on his hand. He mumbled something about the lighting and moved over to the bank of sinks where the fluorescents shone unflattering light down upon us.

The little recorded click sounded. He flipped the page. Click. Flip. Click. He turned to the signature page, photographed it and hit more keys.

“There. I’ve sent those photos to my private email account. Now you can take it.”

He held it out to Dante.

Dante closed his fingers around it, but as soon as Conrad let go, it drifted to the bathroom floor. Drifted right through Dante’s fingers!

“Goddamn it! Pick that up!” Conrad roared at Dante, who began the crackle and fade in and out. Then in. Then out completely. Almost completely. If I unfocussed my eyes, I could see static where he’d been. It was like on the Starship Enterprise when the transporter beam is taxed to extreme. We must have been away from Hell so long he was losing his ability to manifest at all.

Conrad cursed again and bent down to pick the contract amendment off the floor. “Here.” He thrust it at me. “You take it to Hell then. See you in twenty-five years.” He picked up his purse and took a step toward the door.

I grabbed his arm, dropping the contract back on the counter. “Wait. You have to give Shannon back her body. You saw what rough shape Dante was in. Shannon’s barely hanging on by a thread.” I didn’t need to see her—or in this case, to not be able to see her—to know this for fact.

Conrad rounded on me, his cold gaze on my fingers until I released his arm. Then he raised his eyes to meet mine and I wished he’d look away again. It was awful. It barely resembled Shannon’s face any more. I’d had some vague hope that some of Shannon’s goodness would infect Conrad, but instead, it looked like Conrad’s evil was overriding everything that had made Shannon who she was.

“You silly bitch.” Conrad took a moment to laugh before continuing. “I never had any intention of giving up this body. You believed I was bargaining in good faith? Have you met me? I was a son of a bitch long before I became an evil demon.” He laughed again.

“But Conrad. Your daughter is fading. Not just dying—it’ll be like she never existed at all. You cared for her once. Made your original Deal so she would live. Can’t you care again? You can have this body. Nobody’s using it. It’s available wholesale.”

“Whaddya mean nobody’s using it?” He got all up in my face, little pig eyes narrowing with hatred and suspicion. “You mean there wasn’t a soul to trade in the first place? You tried to trick me?” He raised his hand to strike me. Unlike last time he’d raised his hand to me and I’d cowered like the frightened orphan I’d once been, this time I stood my ground, raising my fists, ready to defend myself. I wasn’t the same starry-eyed junior account exec I’d been a year ago.

For one thing, I was dead.

Conrad faked a left, but before he could really strike me, the bathroom door burst open and Maddy Stryker strode in. Faster than I could process her arrival, she registered Conrad and me. Spinning back toward the door, she shoved her guard into the hallway. Then she pulled the door shut and turned the lock. Almost immediately, the guard began to pound on the door, yelling for Maddy to open up.

Why would a bathroom in the city courthouse have a dead bolt? Maybe so officials and citizens could barricade themselves inside in the event of an uprising? Somehow the scene we were in now—trapped with a crazy prisoner—seemed more likely. Guess the building planners hadn’t thought of that.

“Now.” Maddy turned to us, back pressed against the locked door, a grim smile on her face. She rubbed her hands together, but skipped the bwa-ha-ha! laugh. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to me.”

“Done to you?” I rasped, my fingers flying to the bruises on Theresa’s throat.

Conrad took a step behind me, saying, “Now let’s talk about this, shall we? I’m a very rich man, er, woman. I can make it worth your while.”

“No, you’re going to pay! It’s because of you I got twenty-five years. They didn’t even go to trial, just condemned me right there on the spot.”

I’d heard on the news that the courts were exploring alternatives to deliver speedier justice, but waiving a trial?

Maddy took a menacing step toward us.

“Are you sure that’s what happened, Maddy?” I raised my hands in a calm-down gesture. “This was only supposed to be a preliminary hearing.”

“They said they had so much evidence they could convict on the spot. Which is fucking bullshit. They don’t know half the people I’ve strangled!”

My head spun at her twisted logic.

Still cowering behind me, Conrad asked, “Did you, by any chance, tell them about these multiple murders during the pretrial?”

“Of course I did! I want full credit! I want my day in court. I want to be famous! Not treated like some sort of criminal.”

“But you are some sort of . . .” I began, stalling while I figured out the best way to negotiate with this crazy woman.

Suddenly Conrad grabbed my arm and thrust me forward. “Take her.” I should have expected a repeat performance of the day I was wrongly reaped. At least it was a women’s bathroom this time.

Reaped. Great. I turned to Dante but he’d disappeared. No wait. There he was, but he was fading fast. He mouthed some words at me but I had no idea what he was trying to say.

I was on my own.

Maddy’s shoulders hunched, her fists rose and she bent at the knee and waist. In fact, she telegraphed her attack with every muscle in her body. I only had a moment to think but my first priority had to be saving Shannon’s body, even if it meant saving Conrad. When Maddy came at me screaming, I met her halfway. The impact sent me sprawling on the floor, head smacking the dirty tiles. Stars and little Tweety Birds circled my skull just like in the cartoons.

Maddy left me lying on the floor and dove for Conrad. Instead of helping, that skegger had leapt over us and had his hand on the door lock. Maddy fisted the back of Shannon’s shirt and dragged Conrad backward toward the sinks, swinging him around and bashing his forehead against the mirror. The glass cracked, but didn’t shatter. Thank . . . whoever for small mercies. Maddy could have done some awful damage with broken glass.

Conrad slumped onto the countertop, stunned, hands scrabbling for purchase, sending the contract amendment flying to the floor.

I staggered to my feet. Protect Shannon’s body was my mantra.

By now, Maddy had dragged Conrad to the floor, straddled his chest and wrapped her hands around Shannon’s throat. Conrad choked and gasped, bits of words rasping past Maddy’s grip. I’d bet my afterlife Conrad was making promises and threats. Maddy ignored him.

And me.

The stapler. It rested on the counter, still in its plastic bag. Moving quickly but stealthily, I climbed to my feet and reached for the hated desk accessory. I shook off the baggie and wrapped my fingers around the metal housing, making sure I had a good grip, brainy bits or no brainy bits. It was about to get some more if I had anything to do with it.

I raced across the room, skidding to a stop behind Maddy. I raised the stapler above my borrowed head and slammed it down on Maddy’s skull, knocking her sideways. Conrad lay on his back panting, then scuttled away to hide in the gap between the counter and the floor.

Enraged, Maddy came at me. She had forty pounds and a lifetime of bar-brawl experience on me. Even Theresa’s law-enforcement-trained muscle memory was no match for the psycho murderer.

She tripped me over backward, knocking the wind from me as I landed on the floor and she threw herself on my chest. She wrapped her hands around my throat and squeezed while at the same time smashing my head against the hard white tiles. I willed Conrad to do something.

Or for Dante to materialize.

Or for the guards to break down the door.

But none of these things happened. I was done for. Black spots danced again at the edge of my vision. At least they were getting exercise. I let go of the stapler and tried to reach for Maddy, hoping to pull her off, but once again my arm flopped uselessly by my side. Maddy smashed and squeezed, squeezed and smashed.

Something in my neck snapped at the same time as my skull caved in.

Yes, I recognized that cranium caving. I had experience in the area.

I felt Maddy climb off my body, screaming at Conrad to come out so she could kill him. Not the best incentive I’ve ever heard.

The black spots grew larger and larger until they overlapped and then there was nothing but darkness.

The last sounds I heard were of Conrad choking again.

Chapter 15

Swap till You Drop

I SPRANG FREE of Theresa’s body, phantom throbbing in my head and neck fading quickly. I cracked my neck, delighted to be pain free again. I felt free, alive . . . well, not alive, of course. But good. Really good.

The sound of choking drew my attention back to the crisis at hand. I spun to see Maddy sitting astride Shannon’s body again, choking the life out of Conrad.

And also choking the Conrad out of Shannon.

Shannon’s face had gone burgundy and her eyes bulged. It was still prettier than Conrad’s demonic features—features that were beginning to overlay Shannon’s again.

Conrad’s fingers scrabbled around the dirty floor. He knocked against the stapler, which lay on the tiles where I’d dropped it. He wrapped his fingers around it and, using the last bit of strength Shannon’s living body possessed, raised it high. Seeing his motion, Maddy twisted to face the stapler without ceasing her stranglehold on his neck.

Another staple clicked into place, wee fangs glinting in the cold fluorescent light. Conrad smashed the stapler wildly at Maddy, managing to hit her in the throat. She coughed and spat blood, her hands spasming on Shannon’s neck. Maybe they loosened a little, but not enough. Conrad’s arm descended slowly to the tiles; once on the floor, nerveless fingers released the stapler almost gently.

Conrad ceased to struggle.

The next second, I watched a pair of scaly gray horns poke out from Shannon’s forehead, now smooth in the peace death brings . . . usually. Her face turned a brighter shade of red—more demon and less asphyxiation. Without disturbing Shannon’s dead body, Conrad sat up and climbed out, right through Maddy.

Behind me, the door splintered, a small crack appearing in the reinforced wood.

Hand on my scythe, I turned back to Conrad. “Conrad Iver. I hath come to take thine soul to . . . Oh, shit. Hide!” I screamed at Conrad while pointing to the mirror. “You have a reflection. They can see you!”

For a moment I feared Conrad wouldn’t care, but apparently he did. “Where?” he yelled, panic in his voice as the door splintered again. This time the blade of a fire ax put in a brief appearance before being yanked back out.

“There! Quick!” I pointed to a small door at the back near the stalls.

Conrad charged toward it, ripped open the locked door and dove inside what turned out to be a supply cupboard. He tripped over a wheeled washbasin and brought a year’s supply of toilet paper cascading down on his head. He’d been able to pass through Maddy as he’d exited Shannon’s body, but he was solid and visible now. Demons couldn’t manifest and disappear like Reapers could.

I felt strangely calm amid the chaos. Maddy lay where she’d fallen, blood seeping slowly from the wound in her neck. I took half a second to enjoy her pain, my hand going to my own now-bruise-free throat.

Theresa’s body lay lifeless, twisted unnaturally on the cold white tiles. Her soul had already risen unto Heaven, so I figured her body’s death was okay. And Conrad was stuck in a supply closet in a bathroom designed for the opposite gender. Oh, sweet irony. At some point I’d laugh about his predicament, but this was so not the moment.

Now that I was a pure spirit again, I could see Dante and Shannon. Dante looked pale and wan, whatever wan meant, but Shannon? Shannon was almost completely transparent. Not much more to her than a faint outline. I had to get her into a body stat!

Before I could figure out what to do next, the door burst open.

Courthouse security poured in, as many as could fit through the bathroom door. As a single unit, all weapons trained on Maddy—guns, Tasers—the whole arsenal. She lay on her back, groaning. One hand rubbing her head where I’d hit it. It bled a little, dark blood oozing onto one lone yellow tile on the otherwise white-tiled floor. Her other hand poked gingerly at her throat. Judging by the blood running down her neck, Conrad had inflicted major damage.

“Hands on your head, Maddy Stryker!”

“They already—”

Are, I finished mentally. Her voice grated and squawked, sounding like a cross between an angry duck and metal being shredded to pieces.

A gurney appeared at the doorway, but with so many in the room it wouldn’t fit. In seconds, half the security personnel exited, leaving room for the medical team to charge in. One EMT focused on Theresa while the other tended to Shannon.

Both women got emergency paddles, but after only a few shouts of “Clear!” the EMT at Theresa’s side closed her eyes and called time of death. He quickly joined the other at Shannon’s side. Together they administered a much more sophisticated form of CPR than Conrad had done on Theresa yesterday.

There might still be a chance!

I leapt through various personnel to where Shannon’s outline fluttered in a corner. “C’mon, Shannon. C’mon. I tried to grab her arm, but my incorporeal fingers slipped through her insubstantial body. “Shannon. Go to your body. Now! Last chance.”

Shannon seemed to hear me. She nodded faintly and began drifting slowly across the room. “C’mon. C’mon!” I encouraged, staying where I was. No way was I going down that road again.

“Somebody call it,” I heard.

“No, no. Wait! You have to wait!” I yelled, biting all my nails at once. Where was Kali when I needed her? “No, Not you, Shannon. Go! Go!”

Shannon drifted closer. A glance across the room showed me the faintest flicker that could be Dante. I didn’t have time to worry about him now. At least he was as far from Shannon’s body as he could be and still be in the room.

Having its soul nearby must have kicked the body into gear because just as the EMT drew a breath to call time of death, Shannon’s body drew a breath of her own. And in doing so, inhaled Shannon’s pale spirit back where it belonged.

Shannon coughed. Seconds later, an EMT slipped an oxygen mask gently over her face. She blinked her eyes open.

“I’m okay?” she rasped. “I’m me again?”

The EMT smiled at her. I might have noticed he was really cute. And probably so did Shannon. “You are, indeed, you, Ms. Iver. Can you tell me what day it is?”

Whoa. That was a hard one. How ’bout starting with the year and working up to it?

Another EMT had finished bandaging Maddy’s head and neck. The guard responsible for her grabbed her hands and cuffed them roughly behind her back. Gripping her by her sizable biceps, the EMT and the guard helped Maddy to her feet.

“What’s that?” the guard asked, picking up the parchment contract from the floor. It was flipped to the signature page where Conrad had left it when he’d finished photographing it. Due to the scuffle, the contract looked like it’d gone through hell. It was now torn, bore several overlapping footprints and a giant pool of bright red blood.

Wait, what? Blood? Not mine—well, Theresa’s. I’d only bled a dark drop or two on the yellow pages. Yellow. Of course! That was why the floor beneath Maddy’s head had seemed yellow when the rest of the tiles were white. The contract amendment was now awash in Maddy’s bright red blood. She’d lain on it when she’d been knocked off Conrad, bleeding from both the gash in her neck he’d inflicted and the head wound where I’d left my own mark.

And because Maddy had a soul and Theresa didn’t, her blood on the signature line actually meant something.

Oh, no. It meant Conrad was going to get his twenty-five-year extension after all. Now what was I going to do?

Unlike Dante, who was weak from being away from Hell for so long, I’d gotten my batteries recharged by being in Theresa’s living body. It was up to me to salvage this fiasco.

In my mind’s eye, I replayed every time Dante had manifested. Again I wished for Amber’s eidetic memory. A vague notion swam up from the bottom of my brain. I put both hands on my scythe, screwed my eyes closed and wished as hard as I could that my best friend in life could see and hear me.

Feeling nothing new or different, I figured it hadn’t worked. I opened my eyes and checked myself out. If I was glowing as Dante had, it was hard to tell in the bright bathroom fluorescents. A busy EMT rushed through me. Okay, well at least I hadn’t manifested to everyone. Or corporealized. Now to see if I’d managed to manifest only to Shannon. I crept toward her voice in case the slightest movement could jar me into visibility.

I followed the sound of Shannon protesting she was fine only to find her being supported by two EMTs. So much for fine. Her voice sounded froggy but not as bad as Theresa’s had after Maddy’s previous strangulation attempt.

“Shannon. Can you see me?” I waved frantically in front of her face, my hands passing through first one EMT and then the other on the return trip.

Her eyes followed my waving hand, then crossed. She blinked a few times and cut her gaze to the medical personnel surrounding her. “Okay, Yes. Please help me up.” They lifted her onto the gurney and she lay back. One paramedic draped a blanket over her. “Does the head section raise?”

The cute paramedic turned a crank, stopping when Shannon’s head and upper body had been raised to a comfortable angle.

“Thank you. Could you please give me a moment?” She gifted EMT Cutie with a weak smile. He nodded and stepped away to speak to someone. The inevitable clipboard put in an appearance. Boxes may have been ticked.

Shannon turned my way and nodded once. She met my gaze but didn’t speak.

“That’s good, Shannon. Don’t say anything or they’ll think you’ve hit your head and you’ll have to do a bunch of tests and just don’t. ’Kay?”

She answered with the tiniest nod. I’d had twitches more enthusiastic than that. Still it was exactly what I’d told her to do. The last thing we wanted was to attract attention or have them question her sanity.

“Tell them the contract belongs to you. We need it. Don’t let anything happen to it.”

“Excuse me,” she called toward the door, her voice husky but loud. “That document. The parchment one? Is mine. It’s very important. If you could just hand it to me.” Shannon’s request was repeated to the personnel remaining in the bathroom. There were a few comments about it being evidence, but eventually someone handed it to one of the EMTs, who handed it to Shannon.

“Thank you,” she said, stuffing it under the blanket. Good thinking. Now it couldn’t fall off even if she passed out. Probably not the first time someone had gotten blood on the emergency blanket.

Suddenly, I heard shouting and the far too familiar sound of a skull smacking a wall. “Be right back,” I told Shannon as I stepped through the wall and back into the bathroom. It appeared Maddy had chosen that moment to struggle. Jeez, what was the point?

The evil murderer had managed to shake off her guard. The woman lay dazed on the floor, one hand on her head. I guessed it had been her skull I’d heard thunking against the wall.

Maddy ducked under several pairs of grasping hands and threw herself at the back wall, her own hands still cuffed behind her. She turned to face the room, where various people were saying rational things like, “Calm down now, Maddy,” and “There’s nowhere to go, Maddy.”

Two other guards had guns trained on her.

Using her cuffed hands, Maddy reached behind her to yank the supply closet door open. She then spun back toward it, probably hoping it was an exit.

Instead, she froze. I’d come up behind her, so I could see Conrad huddled in the corner, trying to make his massive demonic frame as small as possible. A roll of toilet paper had fallen hole-first onto one of his rough gray horns, a long two-ply streamer trailing across his forehead.

For the moment, Maddy’s body and the angle of the room kept the rest of the assemblage from seeing Conrad.

“If you’ll come quietly, Maddy,” said her guard, reaching out one hand in a beseeching manner, the other holding a bloody cotton pad to her own head.

“Resistance is futile,” said one of the courthouse security staff, obviously a Star Trek fan.

I closed my eyes and touched my scythe again, this time willing myself to manifest for Maddy. I might as well not have bothered because even when I stepped up behind her, scythe activated and raised, and began speaking for her ears alone, she couldn’t drag her eyes off Conrad.

“Neither you nor he realize it yet, Maddy Stryker, but that demon you’re looking at has gained ownership of your living body because you got your blood on his contract. You can file a Wrongful Reapage Appeal later. In the meantime, it’s my job to taketh thine soul to Hell!”

I swept my scythe down on the murderous woman.

Just like I had a year ago, her body fell to the floor. Her soul sprang up instantly, ready to charge me.

But I was a trained professional. “Maddy, look!” I shouted, pointing at her scarred and tattooed body lying on the floor. The shock of seeing herself lying there froze her long enough for me to get my Reaper manacles on her. Click, on the right wrist and click, on the left.

An EMT raced through us, quickly setting up CPR on Maddy’s body. Her soul stayed stunned and I led her out of the way.

Oh, my God. If the EMT or anyone else chanced to look into the supply closet, they’d see Conrad. Then there’d be no hope for Dante and me. We’d be in such trouble with our boss and probably Lucy Phurr, too.

There was no way to close the door even if I knew the trick of it. Maddy’s body blocked it open.

Maybe I could get Shannon to fake a seizure to draw everybody’s attention. I turned to look for her through the open doorway, but her gurney had been wheeled away. A second gurney had taken its place. Two quiet and respectful EMTs gently loaded Theresa’s body onto the new gurney.

Hearing a gasp, I turned back, expecting to see the paramedic gaping at the massive red demon hiding amid the cleaning supplies. Instead, I saw the last bit of Conrad—only the horns—blurring as Maddy’s recovering body sucked him in.

Oh, great. How were we supposed to bring him back to Hell for his creative punishment if he was stuck in another body?

Maddy’s body coughed and a smug smile bloomed on her face. Conrad believed he’d won. He’d merely ride this body out and then forcibly take another. He’d leap from one body to another, displacing souls along the way until he got one he liked. I didn’t give great odds for the poor soul—and I mean that both figuratively and literally—who had the job of Shannon’s second-in-command at Iver PR.

Or for Shannon, either, if she stood between Conrad’s newly stolen life and the job of CEO.

I still had my scythe out, glowing dark purply black. From the corner of my eye I saw an answering glow.

It was the stapler. Someone must have kicked it out of the way in all the confusion. It ended up near the last stall closest to the supply closet.

“Aaarrrrggghhh!” I yelled, more frustrated than I’ve ever been before. I dove right through the EMT as he helped Conrad into a sitting position. Through sheer force of will, I grabbed the stapler and held it high. It didn’t enter my mind that I didn’t know how to affect Coil objects. I just did it. I pressed the little button on the bottom of the stapler and the base swung out of the way. Now the “jaws” could operate independently.

I strode back over to Conrad. With my free hand, I shoved the stapler at him, connecting with the bloody gash in his new head. The bandage had slipped from Maddy’s overprocessed hair during her collapse. I pushed the device hard, not caring if the EMT saw a floating stapler hit the murderer. I pushed harder, plunging a staple into Maddy’s skull. The stapler’s purple glow winked out, as if the last of the original magic Conrad had purchased to steal my soul had finally depleted.

“Ow!” Conrad yelled, twisting away from me.

I dropped the stapler to the ground.

“Where’d this come from?” Maddy’s guard asked, joining the EMT by her charge.

For the first time, his eyes flickered up toward the closet, empty of demons at this point. “Must have slipped off a shelf.” He shrugged and added more adhesive to the bandage on Maddy’s head wound. He pulled back when she began to chuckle.

It sounded like a cement mixer filled with drunken cats.

Conrad coughed and tried to speak. “Why can’t—Voice! I . . .”

Maddy’s voice wasn’t just raspy as Theresa’s or Shannon’s had been after Maddy’s earlier attempts at strangulation. This was an abrasive squawk. Stephen Hawking would have turned down a chance to have a voice like that.

Already, bright red blood had seeped through the bandages at Maddy’s throat. Conrad had done real damage to Maddy’s vocal cords when he’d slashed her with the stapler. Never had the words he brought this on himself rung truer.

In his ruined voice, he croaked, “I may not—” He coughed. Red spittle dampened one corner of Maddy’s mouth. “See you, but—” He coughed again, his face growing pale. “You’re there. Just pop out.”

He stopped trying to speak. He clenched Maddy’s bound hands into fists and screwed up her—now his—face. After only a few moments, his face went from bloodless to red and sweaty. His new tattooed arms quivered.

Conrad made this awful sound like running a stick across corrugated iron. It might have been the sound of frustration, the damaged-vocal-cord equivalent of my earlier argh.

“Why can’t—?” he ground out.

Oh. He was trying to exit Maddy’s body. For some reason he couldn’t. He was stuck.

The EMT slipped a needle into his trembling arm. “Just a little something to relax you.” And Conrad slowly slumped back down on the dirty tiles.

“Okay, let’s get her onto a gurney and to a proper medical facility. Someone needs to get a look at her neck, but I’m pretty sure the damage is permanent.”

They scooped Conrad up and carried him to a third gurney, the other two long since wheeled away. He smiled dreamily as Maddy’s guard recuffed him to the gurney’s metal frame on both sides. Pinkish drool trailed from the corner of his new mouth.

Ignoring the remaining people who puttered around the crime scene, I fisted the air and, without taking my hand off Maddy’s soul, tried to locate my boyfriend.

Dante managed to manifest a little, looking nearly as far gone as Shannon had just before being re-homed. I forced a fake smile on my face so he wouldn’t worry. All thoughts of anger and jealousy left my body like a soul departing a fresh corpse. “You okay?” I asked. I could see right through him now. We needed to get back to Hell as quickly as possible, Conrad or no Conrad. We could always come back for that skegger.

In twenty-five years.

If Schotz let us.

If we were still Reapers.

If we were still together.

Dante returned my smile with one just as fake. And very, very faint. He knew he was in rough shape. I’d deactivated my scythe at some point. Dante didn’t look strong enough to activate his own, but I knew Reapers can transport souls of the newly dead. So why not the oldly dead? After seven centuries, Dante was well and truly dead. They didn’t get much deader than him. Oh, sure his friend Virgil was . . . I yanked my attention back and I reached out to touch Dante. As had happened back at the jail, my hand passed right through him.

Now what? I could teleport myself back to Hell, but if I couldn’t touch him, I couldn’t take him with me. Dante’s mouth moved, but even though I was a spirit now like him, I couldn’t make out what he was trying to tell me. I could barely hear a whisper, like branches rustling in the breeze.

If his last words were about Beatrice, I was going to be so mad.

Wait. He was holding up two fingers. A peace sign? Was he trying to make up before he faded away? And why was he then holding up only one finger and then tapping his forearm with it?

I had to squint to see it, but it was familiar. So familiar. Where had I seen that combination of hand motions before?

“Two words, first word, one syllable,” said a pleasant voice. What the . . . ? I turned to find Maddy’s disembodied soul staring intently at Dante’s dim outline. “Go ahead.”

Apparently when Maddy had lost her tattoos, scars, and other bodily add-ons, she’d also lost her smoker’s cough and whisky voice. She had a pleasant voice. In another life she could have done telemarketing.

Maybe she had and that was what had driven her insane.

I took a second to look at her now. If I hadn’t seen her pop out of her old body, I never would have recognized her. Just as I’d lost my dyed hair and tattoo, so had Maddy. In fact, she looked like a lovely young woman, face sweet, hair naturally blond. Who dyes naturally blond hair that awful red color?

Realizing he’d lost my attention, Dante was performing for Maddy, playing charades as if his afterlife depended on it.

“Call in,” Maddy muttered. “What does he want you to call in?”

I flipped open my hellphone. “No use. No bars,” I said, holding it up for Maddy to see. There weren’t a lot of places on the Coil where you could phone home.

“No, that’s not it,” Maddy said to me. “He’s shaking his head.”

I joined her now, the two of us, Reaper and murderous soul, playing parlor games in the women’s bathroom, trying desperately to save the afterlife of my dying boyfriend.

Dante pointed at me, then Maddy. Okay. Got that part. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. I could see the “Please wash your hands” sign right through him.

“Call in. Calling,” Maddy guessed.

Dante dropped his arms. He appeared exhausted, at least as much as I could read his expression at this point. Finally he raised his arms again. He made the peace sign again. “Second word,” Maddy announced. Then he cocked his index fingers at us and mimed firing at us repeatedly.

“Calling Fire. Call in Fire.” Maddy jumped up and down. “He wants you to pull the fire alarm!” Her eyes gleamed. To her it was all a game.

But to me it was afterlife and death. “No,” I said, keeping my eyes on Dante’s form. “Not fire. Shots. Call in shots.”

Maddy turned toward me and I swear if her hands hadn’t been manacled behind her back she would have crossed her arms over her chest. “Calling Shots. That makes no sense.” Her upper lip curled in a Billy Idol sneer.

“Yes, it absolutely does.” I focused on Dante. “You want me to go take Maddy back to Hell with me and return with help?” I asked, knowing how Lassie must have felt.

“Hell? I’m not going to some fuckin’—Ow. What was that for?”

I’d clunked Maddy on her no-longer-dyed-a-weird-color-of-red hair with my deactivated scythe. “Shut up. Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to my boyfriend?”

Perhaps in Maddy’s world, thunking someone over the head and telling them to shut up passed for conversation. She peered at Dante. “He’s kinda pale, dontcha think? Cute though.”

Great. A serial killer found my boyfriend hot. I felt so much better knowing that. Not!

“Should I go?” I asked again.

Dante nodded, big brown eyes looking all soft and sad. And now that I looked, they were more transparent than brown. I didn’t have long. I had to go.

I felt like I was leaving a puppy behind. I laid one hand on Maddy’s quite-substantial arm and concentrated on the office of Sergeant Colin Schotz. I bounced my head once. That was completely unnecessary, of course, but just standing there thinking deep thoughts lacked flair

By the time it occurred to me that I couldn’t transport Maddy with her body still alive on the Coil, I’d already done so.

Desperation is the mother of intention. Maybe it was because her body still had a soul, or maybe it was because I was running Scythe 2.0, but no matter why, it worked.

The last thing I saw was Dante standing there, one hand raised toward me. I could see right through his flesh to his skeleton beneath. For once he looked like a Grim Reaper and not like those late-night TV ads for hooded blankets.

Chapter 16

Putting the “Pun” in “Punishment”

“HOLY SHIT!” MADDY yelled, filling Schotz’s office with foul-smelling blue smoke. I choked and waved it away. Seems all the cool kids were choking these days. Then I recalled I didn’t actually need to breathe. I’d fallen back on bad habits after my brief stint in Theresa’s body.

“Please control your Reapee, Kirsty,” Judge Julius ordered. “We’re trying to have a meeting here. Now go wait outside.”

“No, I need to explain. It’s that—You need—Dante, he—”

Where to start? What’s the most efficient way to explain what happened without getting Dante and me into trouble but still gaining sympathy so they’d help us? My PR skills had grown rusty since my own fateful reapage.

Colin Schotz—the sergeant, not the kindly professor—studied Maddy, who was calmly surveying the office, once again her body telegraphing her intention to make a break for it.

“My, Conrad, how you’ve changed,” Schotz observed, dry as dust.

“No, please, sir. Sirs. We’ve gotta save Dante. He’s fading fast. I don’t know how much longer he can hold on. What do I do?” A tear rolled down my cheek and I held out my free hand in supplication. My other hand kept its death grip on Maddy’s arm. I’d had quite enough of escaped souls for one afterlifetime, thank you kindly.

The sergeant glanced at his death watch. “Oh, skeg. You have been gone way too long. Monroe! You still here?” he yelled.

The redheaded Reaper who’d brought the wrong (but I’m not bitter) stapler to my appeal poked his head in the door. “You howled, sir?”

“Leave those forms you’re working on and take this soul to Hell’s Cells with you. We’ll get that story later.” He turned back to the judge. “Julius, we’re gonna hafta continue this some other time. Kirsty here apologizes. Doncha, Kirsty?”

I nodded, given that it was far from being a question.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t miss this for the Coil.” Julius rose, activating his gavel. He’d used it to teleport the day of my appeal. I’ll bet Judge Wilson would die of envy—or the deadly sin of her choice—if she knew about that gavel.

I released Maddy into Monroe’s custody. She immediately began making eyes at the attractive Reaper and bragging about how many people she’d strangled. She seemed to think people in Hell were impressed by violent murders. Why would she think that?

Monroe nodded politely and led her out of the office. Last I heard of Maddy was “. . . and the bodies were never found. Isn’t that cute?”

I hadn’t known she could giggle. It was just wrong.

“Kirsty!” Schotz said sharply, regaining my attention. “Where’s that crystal skull you found the day time stood anything but still?”

“The skull? But we have to save Dante.” Another tear chased the first one down my cheek. I dashed it away and tried not to sob too loudly.

“Exactly. The skull absorbed all sorts of energy when you used it to shut down the time machine. We can use it to energize Dante. Now where is it?”

“It’s . . .” Where had it gone? I closed my eyes and replayed that day’s events on the inside of my eyelids like Amber had instructed. Let’s see. Let’s see. I’d slap-shot the skull into the time machine. Then later, Dante had told our boss that maybe the crystal skull had fallen into the Earth’s molten core. But wait! A later memory swam up from the depths of my mind. I dove for it. It struggled, trying to slip away, but at the last minute, I snagged it by a loose synapse and . . .

That’s it! The first time I’d had coffee with Seiko post-averted-apocalypse, he’d presented it to me as a memento for saving the world.

But I hadn’t really wanted it because I’d been the one to endanger the world in the first place. I blamed myself for the lost lives—well, not lives, exactly—for Raul and Rod, who’d been sucked into Heller that day.

So I’d thanked Seiko for the skull and then gotten rid of it at the first opportunity. Now what had I done with it? I’d given it to someone. Someone who valued it. Someone who could use it again next semester . . .

I opened my eyes, stepped around my boss and pointed at his display cabinet. “It’s right here, sir.”

“Can’t be. I’d know if I had . . .” He turned to look where I pointed. “Oh.” He grabbed the skull, gifting me with a look that fell somewhere between sheepish and This is all your fault! “Let’s get going.” He activated his scythe and bobbed his head once. Glad to see I wasn’t the only one who’d watched too many I Dream of Jeannie reruns.

I activated my scythe, tried twitching my nose and failed. So head-bouncing it was. I popped back into the women’s bathroom at the courthouse. It looked exactly as it had when I’d left only now it featured fewer people and more yellow crime scene tape. Blood and one formerly ensorcelled stapler still littered the floor. They’d sure cleared out fast. I checked my own death watch. Only ten minutes had passed since I’d last been here. I still wasn’t used to Coil and Hell time syncing up. Go, time lords.

But where was Dante? I squinted at the spot I’d last seen him, but now there was no glimmer at all. I surveyed the bathroom, turning this way and that. Was he behind me? In front? I ended up spinning around, but I was alone. I called out to Dante. If he was still there, I couldn’t see him. A third tear tracked down my damp cheek. Or was it my fourth? I’d lost track of my tears.

And I’d lost my boyfriend, my boss and my—what exactly was Judge Julius to me? Never mind. Not important. What was important was that I was lost, alone and desperate.

Again.

I stood there shakily, considering my options. Should I go back to Schotz’s office? Would Reaper Monroe have a clue? Or Sybil Serpent? Sue Sayer or Claire Voyant probably would, but they were at their monthly meeting of the Seers Guild. I checked my hellphone for messages that might have downloaded during my five minutes in Hell in case either of my psychic friends had called in advance to warn me I was going to have a problem. But nada. Damn seers. Never around when you needed one. You’d think they’d have known . . .

Should I try Vanier prison? Would the sergeant and the judge go there? What about the morgue where Theresa’s body probably lay awaiting—ewww!—an autopsy. I shuddered. I’d worn that body. I’d been Theresa. It’s always fun till somebody loses an I.

No, wait! I snapped my fingers. The hospital. Dante would follow the contract amendment and the sergeant knew how to work the GPS in our scythes so he’d follow Dante. Judge Julius would follow Schotz.

Toronto’s “Hospital Row” is formed by half a dozen hospital buildings lining either side of University Avenue, but I was pretty sure one of the EMTs had mentioned Mount Sinai while I spoke with Shannon. It was a place to start. I activated my scythe again and imagined myself at Mount Sinai Hospital.

I materialized in a hospital room. It looked familiar. Oh, it was the one I’d been in when I’d first been scythed. I stepped cautiously over to the bed, barely daring to breathe. Oh, wait. Never mind that last part. Bad habits again.

The bed housed a large balding man whom I didn’t know. I hoped he wasn’t in for anything serious. I told him pointlessly that I’d probably see him soon and went to look for my boyfriend and my best friend.

I tried looking at the giant white boards located at each nursing station, but in the interest of confidentiality, everything was in code, even patient names. No, the only way to find Shannon, and hopefully my dead posse, was to walk through every room on every floor. I so didn’t want to do that. As a Reaper I was comfortable with either life or death but I really hated the in-between part.

I girded my loins, whatever that meant, and began to stride through walls into patient rooms and operating theaters, trying not to look too closely at the people in either place. I’d ascertain if Shannon and my fellow souls were present and if not, move on.

Luckily, she was in the fourteenth room I checked. Whew! If I never again heard the shrill whine of a bone saw as long as I after-lived, it’d be too soon.

I’d been right about everyone being in the room Shannon was in. What I hadn’t figured on was that the room Shannon was in was actually Conrad’s room. After everything he’d done to her, Shannon still wanted to spend time with her dad?

Maddy’s body lay on the bed, handcuffed to the metal frame on either side. Shannon sat in one of the hard plastic guest chairs at the foot of the bed. A uniformed policeman sat on a second chair out in the hallway, politely eavesdropping. I’m sure he wondered why the skeg she’d want to visit her former cellmate and attempted murderer. Knowing that in reality she was visiting her father and attempted murderer, I couldn’t help but agree.

Dante stood by the bedside hale and hearty again. Was hale something like wan? I’d really have to look that up one day. Along with bombastic. He tossed the crystal skull in the air and caught it again, then pointed to something on the contract amendment Sergeant Schotz was trying to read with Judge Julius peering over his shoulder.

“Dante!” I exclaimed. I wanted to throw myself at him but refrained, fearing another face-plant in case he wasn’t corporeal to me.

“Oh, hi, Kirsty. Glad you could join us.”

Oh, so two could play cool as a bat. “I see the skull did the trick.”

“Yup.”

He tossed the crystal skull to me and I nearly fumbled it, memories of Rod’s fatal fumble surfacing again.

I tried to return it to Sergeant Schotz but he waved me off, focused as he was on the amendment.

Judge Julius stood up straight, hooked his glasses over his horns and smoothed his trained caterpillars into place. “Looks in order,” he said to Shannon. Apparently we were visible to her. I willed myself to manifest for her. I had the trick of it now.

“Oh, hi, Kirsty. When did you get here?”

“A second ago.” I gave her a little finger wave, not anxious to draw too much attention to myself.

“So you,” the judge continued, speaking at Shannon. “You get a twenty-five-year extens—What? Oh, I see. How am I supposed to know who’s in what body?” He harrumphed, put his glasses back on his judicious face and focused on Conrad instead. “Ah, yes. So you, Conrad Percival Iver, have found someone willing to surrender their remaining time on the Coil to you. I have communicated with Reaper Monroe at Hell’s Cells and he tells me the de-souled individual, one . . .” Julius flipped pages. I could see a note in Dante’s handwriting added underneath the bloody signature line. “. . . Madeline Ann Stryker, says she’d rather be incarcerated in Hell than here on the Coil. Says the view’s better.” He stopped to consider this, then shrugged and continued. “Plus while incarcerated down there she can earn an early release for bad behavior. So,” he summed up, “you get to keep the body you’re in. You’ve earned yourself twenty-five more years of earthly life in that nice, healthy—” He stopped, took in Maddy’s badly dyed hair, multiple tattoos and damaged throat. “Well, relatively young body, anyway. Congratulations.”

“But—” The word sounded so abrasive even the demon judge leaned away. “Can’t—Stuck—”

He managed to point both index fingers at his new body in spite of the handcuffs.

The judge activated his gavel and struck Conrad lightly on the head with it. It might not have been a sharp blow, but given that Conrad had already been severely brained by me less than an hour ago, it must have hurt.

Good.

The judge looked at some sort of read-out on the gavel. “Huh. Looks like you’re locked in. How’d that happen?” Julius’s gaze jumped from Conrad, to Shannon to me. I tried to hide behind Dante.

Dante merely stepped aside.

Traitor.

I stood up straight and adjusted my outfit, which I’d been wearing for three days now. “I think it must have been me,” I said in a tiny voice.

“What?”

“How?”

“Cosa?”

“I think I, er, um, stapled him into Maddy’s body.”

“Stapled?”

“With a stapler?”

“You found the stapler?”

“Yes, I had the stapler. Remember, Your Hon—I mean, Judge. My appeal? I told you Conrad had tried to trick me out of my soul with an ensorcelled stapler. Well, it was also the murder weapon used to end my life permanently. Because it was evidence in my murder trial, it was in the courtroom and I snagged it and when it looked like Conrad was going to get away with everything by jumping bodies again and displacing yet another . . .” At Dante’s keen look, I amended, “Displacing a soul. ”

“And then I grabbed the stapler and stapled his head right where it was bleeding. So I think I must have stapled Conrad’s soul into Maddy’s body.” My voice grew tinier and tinier as I finished my confession. I clasped my hands behind my back trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Are you going to punish us?” I said finally, voice cracking and quavering almost as much as Conrad’s did.

One of Julius’s eyebrows crawled up his face. He turned and stalked over to the corner by the empty bed and waved a c’mere gesture at us. We all started walking toward him. “No, no. Only Colin.” The caterpillar brow raced back down, going head to head with its compatriot across the judge’s nose, giving him an angry look. They were really well trained.

The judge and the head of the Reaper Corps conferred for what seemed like hours. A glance at my watch told me it had been three minutes, tops. I shook it and held it to my ear. Cerberus had nuzzled my arm last week, getting dog slobber all over it. But it seemed it takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Maybe time was out of sync again.

Or possibly, I was just impatient.

Impatience. Jealousy. I was creating my own personal hit parade of sins. I hoped I didn’t have seven and that they weren’t really deadly. Not that I could die again anyway, I hoped.

Finally the judge and our boss strode back over to Conrad’s bedside. I tried to hide behind Dante again. I was never good with authority figures.

Or with waiting. “Oh, please. Don’t send Dante back to the Coil. Or me. We’re good Reapers. We tried our best. We can do better. Please don’t separate us. We’re in love.”

The judge and sergeant looked pained while Dante looked embarrassed.

But he came through this time, stepping up beside me and grasping my hand. No matter how mad we were at each other, I knew we still wanted to stay together. How would we finish our fight if we weren’t? “Whatever punishment you see fit to visit upon us, we would be grateful if we could suffer together.”

What? No, I didn’t want to be punished at all. But still, Dante wanted us to be together. How sweet.

“They saved me,” Shannon rose, interjecting herself bodily into the conversation. “My dad would have let me fade right out of the death cycle. Is that the right term?” The judge and our boss scowled. I guess they knew that because of our—okay, my slow response in reaping Conrad, Shannon had been displaced from her own body. But I couldn’t be mad at her. She may have outed me as an incompetent Reaper, but she was only being honest. I’d have tried to obfuscate instead of admitting my mistake. I was obfuscating on thin ice right now. “But thanks to the quick thinking and personal sacrifice made by these two, I got my life back.”

“And go back—CEO—Iver PR—” Conrad croaked.

“Actually, Dad. That’s not—”

“Look,” Sergeant Schotz cut in. “Nobody’s getting punished. Well, ’cept him.” He tossed his sizable chin in Conrad’s direction. No, not literally. “If you give us a second here.”

He glared at us, looking exactly as if we were all getting punished. I squeezed Dante’s hand tighter but refused to let myself hide behind him again. I was no coward.

Meep!

“In fact, we’re pretty skeggin’ pleased with how this all worked out. Conrad here turned out to be a worse skegger than we thought.” Schotz rounded now on Conrad, who probably would have tried to hide behind Dante himself if his new, tattooed wrists weren’t handcuffed to the bed. “Lettin’ your daughter fade out of existence. Why, I oughta!” He raised his deactivated scythe, but I realized it was an empty threat. “Nah.” He said, turning away from Conrad and addressing his Reaper Corps again. “Me’n Jules here think you two have come up with a pretty creative punishment for this skegger. Now he’s gotta live out his twenty-five-year extension not just in a prison, but also in a woman’s body! And, you’ll never talk anybody into anything again with that voice. Bwa-ha-ha!” Schotz concluded.

“Bwa-ha-ha!” Judge Julius joined in.

“Bene!” Dante cried, fisting the air.

“Awesome!” I added. Wait. What’s so wrong with being in a woman’s body? Then something else occurred to me. “So I’m not in trouble for reaping Maddy?”

“What? Oh, no. Of course not. It’s right in the Reaper code: Thou shall not suffer a bitch to live.”

Conrad looked ashen as he struggled against his bonds, turning fifty shades of gray. “Just—kill—self,” he ground out.

“Oh, I’d advise against that course of action,” the judge told him. “See, your extension isn’t only a maximum number of years, it’s also the minimum.”

“What?” I said.

“How?” Shannon asked.

“Cosa?” Damn universal translator.

“That’s right, girlie. Er, Conrad. If you do damage to that body, you’re still stuck in it. If you do somethin’ fatal like jump offa building or drink poison, you’ll be stuck with coma-toes.”

“Been talking with Crystal, sir?”

“What? Er, right. Comatose, I mean.”

“Excuse me. Am I interrupting?”

We all turned toward the door where the uniformed cop was preventing Willa from entering the room. “I brought the contract.”

Contract? Oh, skeg. What fresh Hell was this?

“It’s okay, Officer Suzuki. She can come in.” Shannon beckoned her nervous assistant to enter. Willa sidled into the room, a large manila envelope in her hand.

“Thanks, Willa.”

Willa walked through me and opened her arms for a hug. “We’ll miss you, Shannon. You were a great boss.” She pulled back. “Except for the last day. But all the rest of the time.”

“I wasn’t quite myself that day.” Shannon glared at her father. Then she laughed and hugged her assistant back.

“Okay, here’s the contract.” After handing Shannon the envelope, Willa fled the room. But what had she meant about my friend having been a great boss past tense?

Shannon drew a sheaf of papers from the envelope—plain white bond and not parchment, thank Lucy. She flipped through the papers quickly, obviously familiar with their contents.

I crouched down and peeked at the front page. Ah, it was the contract she’d been reading when I’d first materialized. Was it only three days ago?

“It’s all in order.” She held up the document for her dad to see. “I’ve quit my job at Iver PR. I’m no longer the CEO. Or anything there.”

His new eyes bulged out of his new head. He made a retching noise I assumed meant “what the fuck?”

“That’s right, Dad. All your machinations were for nothing. I had our lawyers—no, not your buddy Gill Hammerhead. He never would have gone for it. But Ray Mora. One of their associates. Together Ray and I came up with a new business model where Iver PR is going to be run as a cooperative. A public-private hybrid.”

Conrad rasped and gasped, falling back on the pillows as if having a stroke. But between the recent revelation that he couldn’t die and the upright angle of the bed, it really lacked drama. We ignored him and Shannon continued.

“Everybody in the company was allowed to buy a share for five thousand dollars. It’ll be run as a democracy with the new CEO voted in and holding the office for a term of five years.”

“’Mocracy?” Conrad shrieked, sounding like titanium being torn in two. I covered my ears.

“The reason Frannie was so anxious to turn on me and get me put away was because she had accumulated so much personal debt from online gambling that she couldn’t raise the five thousand dollars any more than she could raise the dead.” She threw her hand over her mouth and blushed. “No offense.”

“None taken,” we dead folk chorused.

“I would have grandfathered her in but she’s far too vindictive and manipulative to keep around. After all, she studied under the master.” She glared at her father again, who beamed like he’d just been complimented. Skegger.

To avoid the reminder that I, too, had gotten my spin doctorate under Conrad’s tutelage, I changed the subject. “What will you do now?”

“I was never cut out for corporate life. I would have made a terrible CEO and the company would have foundered. Clients and employees would have been left out in the cold. My dad was actually right about that.”

Conrad smiled warmly at his daughter. On his new face, a warm smile was a terrible thing to behold. Shannon took a half step back.

But I’d seen her in action and I think she was underestimating herself. She’d really known the business. Still, if this was what she wanted she had my blessing, er, um, approval.

“So I’m going to follow my bliss. I’m returning to school to finish my Master’s in social work. And when I graduate, I’d like to work with inmates.” She gave her father a watery smile. “Probably at Vanier. But before I do that, I’m going to take all the money I made selling shares in Iver PR and use it to endow an educational grant for any inmate or former inmate who wants to study social work. It’ll be known as the Theresa Mudders Memorial Award. I think that’s only fitting, don’t you?”

“Oh, Shannon, that’s wonderful.” I hugged her tight. (Testing first that my arms wouldn’t merely fly right through her and I’d end up hugging myself. They didn’t.)

“And Kirsty, I, um . . .” Shannon pulled back from my embrace, but clutched my hands in hers. “I have to apologize. I believed my dad’s version of events even when, deep down, I really knew what had happened.” She bit her lower lip, but didn’t look away.

“It’s okay, Shannon. You were exposed to Conrad’s spell longer than anyone. It’s amazing you were able to disconnect from it as soon as you did.”

“Yes, Shannon,” Dante added. He stepped up beside us, raised a hand to lay on Shannon’s shoulder, but instead turned and caressed my shoulder. “It took Kirsty several months, Hell time, to come to terms with the manipulation she’d experienced. That you freed yourself of your father’s influence so quickly is remarkable.”

The jealousy and anger I’d felt had been slipping away, but now it kicked back in again. I tried to shrug Dante’s hand off my shoulder, but he only held on tighter, turning me gently toward him. My hands slipped from Shannon’s, so I crossed my arms over my chest.

“It is my turn to apologize, Kirsty. I should have been more supportive. While it is true that as Reapers, we must investigate every possibility, I was unnecessarily harsh with you. I should never have behaved like that. I will understand if you do not wish to be with me anymore.”

He hung his head, peeking out from under his overlong bangs. Something about his little-boy look melted my heart. I uncrossed my arms and stepped forward. His head shot up and hope shone in his eyes. I allowed him to wrap his arms around me briefly before I stepped back out of the circle of his embrace.

“Yes, Dante, you did behave badly.” I was about to get into it when I realized everyone in the room—including my evil ex-boss—was watching us like television. If popcorn put in an appearance, so help me—

We’d briefly been the couple that fought in front of their friends and coworkers. Now we were the couple that made up in front of our friends. And not just friends, but also in front of my evil ex-boss, our not-too-evil current boss and . . . what was Judge Julius to me?

“Let’s discuss this at home. For now, your apology is accepted.”

“We like the way this all wrapped up,” Judge Julius said, caterpillars assuming the happy face position.

“You’re pleased?” Shannon said, cheeks pinking up. “So you can all go to Hell now. Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant—”

“’S okay, girlie. No offense. We all wanna go home. I’ll bet Dante and Kirsty more’n anyone. Right?”

Dante grabbed my hand once more. He activated his scythe saying, “Request permission to go to Hell, sir!”

“Permission granted, Reaper Alighieri.”

I stuck out my tongue at Conrad as I dematerialized. Last thing I saw was him holding up a significant finger at me.

I didn’t need the universal translator for that.

Chapter 17

The Good, the Bad and the Snuggly

HOME. WE WERE going home again. I felt as if we’d been gone forever.

And we were all nice and in love again. It looked like I was going to get off Scott free even though I might have been possibly, perhaps, maybe a teensy bit in the wrong.

And by the way, who’s Scott and why does he get away with stuff?

We materialized in our front hall. I immediately grabbed Dante and tried to kiss him.

Only to have him push me away.

“What? I apologized already for behaving badly. It all worked out.” I tried to kiss him again but he planted his palm in the middle of my chest and straight-armed me, leaving the fun parts on either side untouched. I couldn’t get to him so I stepped back and waited.

“Kirsty. Cara. Your family is now living with us. Ricordi?”

Oh, right. My aunt and Leslie. We couldn’t have wild monkey sex just anywhere anymore.

Does this pout make me look fat?

Still pouting, I hung my Reaper robe on its hook by the door. I swapped pouting for a proud smile when, for the first time ever, I hung my scythe beside it. I was a real Reaper now. I’d captured my very first soul and helped orchestrate a second one’s creative punishment. My new career was in great shape.

Too bad my sex life wasn’t.

I guess if I had to sublimate sex, I might as well eat. I headed for the kitchen, calling, “Carey! Leslie! We’re home.”

Silence. Maybe they were out. They needed to earn a skegload of points to get out of karmic debt and into a restaurant franchise. I grabbed a huge, freshly baked cookie from a tray on the big plank that served as our table. One great thing about having Leslie around is that she loves to cook.

“Mmm. Geese are who die whore,” I said.

While the universal translator was pretty accurate, it could not handle a mouthful of gingersnap. I chewed, swallowed and re-enunciated: “These are to die for.”

Dante grinned, only a tiny bit of cookie peeking out.

“What’s that?” In a flurry of crumbs, he gestured with his half-eaten cookie at a piece of paper on the counter. It had Dear Kirsty and Dante writ large across the top.

I shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth in order to free up my hands. Brushing crumbs on my days-old outfit, I unfolded the page.

Dear Kirsty and Dante,

Thanks so much for your hospitality. We enjoyed being welcomed into your lovely home.

However, due to a real lucky streak (and possibly a bit of help from Claire Voyant), we hit the jackpot at the karmic casino. I cleaned up at the floating carps game (it was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel), while Leslie hit the jackpot at the karmic wheel of fortune.

We ended up with enough to pay off our karmic debts, buy the franchise and rent a small apartment near the new restaurant. Claire introduced us to this great surreal estate agent.

We’ll be back to visit soon but all our efforts right now are going into readying the restaurant for business.

So once again, thanks from both of us. Without you, we’d never have realized we’re better off dead.

Lots of love,

Carey and Leslie

P.S: We have Jenni with us so you don’t have to worry about feeding her.

Dante came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. He rested his chin on my shoulder and read the letter. “Bene. This is good news on many levels.”

And here in Hell, we knew about levels.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, sniffling. Again.

“But cara! They have succeeded in only a few days what we expected to take several lifetimes. Is this not good news?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. After three days’ wear, this shirt was bound for laundry. “It’s just—I liked having them here. I hadn’t lived with them in years and I only lately realized how much I loved them and just when I’d have a chance to show them, they move away and now they’re goin’ to spend all their time at a skegging restaurant. Again!”

I may have wailed that last part.

I spun in Dante’s arms and cried against his chest. His shirt was also going in the wash.

You might think I was overreacting, but arriving home to find Carey and Leslie gone was a little too similar to the day I’d found out my parents had been killed in a car accident. I wasn’t just sobbing for my current sadness, but also for my parents and for the little orphan I’d once been.

And then I stopped. Just like that.

Because it had occurred to me that with my family moved out, Dante and I could go back to our cozy little afterlifestyle à deux.

We could go back to showering together.

We could go back to wandering around the apartment looking like we’d just had sex.

We could go back to having sex all over the apartment.

Like, for instance, here. Now!

Anxious to show how sorry I was for behaving badly (not to mention anxious to not have The Talk about how I’d behaved badly), I shoved Dante up against the nearest hard surface and drew his lips down to mine. We spent long moments kissing. I pulled back, knowing my lips were now as red and swollen from kissing as my eyes and nose were red from crying. I felt like a scarlet woman. I let my beautiful white hair fall across my face to mask a multitude of redness.

Dante began to lick and nibble at my neck and caress my back. He drew my shirt off over my head. Phew! I needed a shower. And if things went right, I’d need one even more in a few minutes.

The way I was feeling, a few minutes was all it was going to take.

I pulled back and hopped up on the table. Dante’s eyes gleamed wickedly as he followed, coming to stand between my legs.

“Are you still mad at me, cara?” He slid his hands over my thighs.

Okay, looked like we were going to have The Talk after all. I sat up straight and stilled his questing hands, answering his question with one of my own. “Are you still mad because I touched your scythe?” And by “touched your scythe,” I meant all the bad things that had been fallout from my teensy little error in judgment. I considered touching his scythe again, euphemistically speaking, but decided to hold his gaze and his hands instead.

“All’s well that ends well, cara. You are now a bona fide Reaper with two souls squared away. You can carve a couple of notches on your scythe. Kidding. Kidding,” he reassured me when I opened my mouth to protest. “No scythes will be harmed in the making of your Reaper career.” He slid one of his hands from my grasp and caressed my cheek. “I would say this was a win-win for us.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it?” Done with the talking part of the conversation, I raised my face for another kiss. Our lips met for long moments while he expertly unfastened the top button on my jeans and then worked the zipper down. Stepping back, he grabbed my pants at the ankles and pulled gently but firmly, sliding them off. My panties followed suit shortly thereafter.

With my shirt dangling from one wrist and his jeans pooled around his ankles, we restated our love for one another in the best possible way.

I gasped, he groaned and the universal translator gave up altogether.

Afterward we dined like kings on the Tupperware bounty my family had left behind. (After I’d disinfected the table, of course.)

Leslie had cooked up a storm, no doubt enjoying all the fun new ingredients we had here in Hell. Mushrooms and plants that had been poisonous up on the Coil now added zest to a buffet of interdimensional cuisine that was also to die for. From. Whatever.

I felt pretty good about the way things had turned out, including how easy on me Dante had been. I grew uneasy, though when Dante put down his fork and gave me a serious look. Was I about to get The Talk, Part Deux?

“You must trust me, cara. We cannot have this”—Dante paused, allowing me to fill in the appropriate pejorative adjective—“jealousy, between us. It is good for neither our professional relationship nor our—” He paused again, then his face lit with a wicked smile. “Our unprofessional relationship.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. For a second. Then jealousy tugged at my heartstrings again. “But what about Beatrice? Who is she to you?”

Now his expression lost its sexy overtones, his smile becoming more wistful than wanton. “She was my muse. I spent most of my last incarnation thinking about her.”

A dull ache replaced the hot, green jealousy. Was he just earning enough points to get into Heaven so he could be with her again? “You loved her?”

“I did, but not in the way you think. It was courtly love, not romantic love. I only met her twice while living, although we’ve spent some time together at interfaith sporting events.”

He was referring to the weekly ice hockey games that were used to settle disputes between Heaven and Hell. It cut down on the chance of an apocalypse breaking out, although sometimes fights between the players did. Gabriel found blowing the holy trumpet a challenge with his front teeth knocked out.

“Courtly love? Like in tennis?” I didn’t know much about tennis, but it was played on a court and they bandied “love” about, along with balls.

He took my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of mine. “No. Courtly love was a concept of my day meaning admiration and respect. Essentially, I used the idea of Beatrice as a muse, an inspiration for some of my work.”

I still hadn’t a clue, but I wanted to understand. I stomped down all my insecurities and their cascade of emotions and just squeezed his hand. I thought I might cry.

He raked his bangs back with his free hand. “Okay, cara. Let me try again. You know how everyone admired Theresa Mudders. We instantly felt she was worthy of love and respect, sì?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“I suspected that she was in her final incarnation because I had experienced it before. She radiated goodness.”

Something that must have departed with her soul, because I’d just been plain old Kirsty once I’d donned her empty body like a size seven onesie.

“It was like that with Beatrice. I first met her when we were both children. She made a wonderful impression on me. When I began to write, I held that memory in my heart and it inspired me. But I didn’t know her at all. In fact, because I didn’t know her, I was able to project everything I wanted the ideal woman to be onto her image in my mind. I met her again years later when we were both married to other people.” He blinked at me. No, I wasn’t going to ask about his wife. I might be working at getting past my jealousy, but don’t expect miracles. Not from me, anyway. Now Ira, perhaps . . .

“So it’s the idea of Beatrice that you found appealing, more than the actual, living human, right?”

“That’s it exactly, Kirsty. She was my muse back then, and when I slip up and call you by her name, it’s only because you are my muse and inspiration, now.”

“Oh, Dante. That’s so romantic.” Shoving the dinner dishes aside, I leapt on him, laughing, crying, hugging and really, really sorry I’d been such a dick.

He laughed, too, and it looked like we’d be okay. Maybe even live happily ever after. Er, be dead happily ever after.

Whatever.

Then we made really, really sure we’d need that shower, showered and crawled into bed.

We had paperwork to fill out tomorrow on both Conrad and Maddy but we had tonight to ourselves.

If we needed another shower by morning, nobody knew but us.

Acknowledgments

ONCE AGAIN I’D like to thank the people who helped me with this book. Great big thanks to Kate Freiman, Joan Leacott and Lauren Stephenson for their editorial assistance. It’s because of you this book dares go out in public.

Thanks to the members of the QuinceApple brainstorming group for their input on bits and pieces and marketing materials along the way. Special thanks to creative stimulators Bonnie Staring and Tina Christopher.

Grazie to Elisa Rolle for superspeedy help with the Italian translations.

Thanks to my awesome agent, Rosemary Stimola, and her equally awesome assistant, Allison Remchek. The amount of time and effort they put into this series speaks of their faith in my potential. And thanks to my fabulous editor at Simon & Schuster, Adam Wilson, for liking my book enough to publish it. And to Adam and Julia Fincher along with their proofreaders for working with me to make it the best book it can be.

Special thanks to cover artist Richard Woo for the terrific cover artwork.

Thank you all, from Dante, Kirsty and me!

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GINA X. GRANT

Gina loves the absurd, the funny, and the fantastical. Sometimes it’s hard to find books that combine these elements, so she decided to write what she wanted to read. Despite a degree in business management, Gina has kept her quirky sense of humor, which bleeds through onto everything she writes.

She lives in Toronto, Canada, just blocks from the house she grew up in. She’s married to a friendly curmudgeon from a mining town in northern Ontario.

Together, they live with a miscellany of rescued pets all named for famous jazz musicians.

Visit her online—www.ginaxgrant.com/

Follow her @GinaXGrant—www.Twitter.com/GinaXGrant

Visit her Facebook fan page—www.facebook.com/ginaXgrantAuthor

Content

Esprit de Corpse
The Reluctant Reaper 3
by
Gina X. Grant

Prologue:

Chapter 1 Blame on You!

Chapter 2 A Scythe for Sore Eyes

Chapter 3 Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow

Chapter 4 Infest Wisely

Chapter 5 The Moral Low Ground

Chapter 6 The Ego Has Landed

Chapter 7 The Wages of Spin

Chapter 8 Jails Pitch

Chapter 9 It Ain’t Docket Science

Chapter 10 If Words Could Kill, I’d Sentence You to Death

Chapter 11 Deus Ex-Girlfriend

Chapter 12 Immaculate Deception

Chapter 13 Clearing the Heir

Chapter 14 Fatal Distraction

Chapter 15 Swap till You Drop

Chapter 16 Putting the “Pun” in “Punishment”

Chapter 17 The Good, the Bad and the Snuggly

Acknowledgments

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