by Katie May
Fuck. How could I be so stupid? She has no idea who I am, even though I’ve been with her for the past week.
“Whoa,” she gasps, her voice filled with awe. “I didn’t think the Afterlife would be so…”
“Beautiful?” I interject.
“Yeah. Beautiful works.”
I’ve never been an outdoors type of guy like my brothers were, but even I have to admit there is something to be said for the lush, rolling green hills and large oak trees that make up the grounds.
It’s midday, and the sun is high in the sky, peeking out from behind sparse, puffy white clouds. We mosey down a stone walkway that leads to the forest. Once inside the colorful canopy of trees, the stone gives way, leaving a worn path in its wake.
We follow along in silence. She keeps looking around like a kid at Christmas with a big smile on her face, as if she’s never seen a tree in her life. She’s so stinking adorable, and I kind of want to wrap her up in paper and gift her to myself on Christmas. But I have to force myself to remember that not only are these her first few moments in the Afterlife, but also the first time she’s lived without pain in God knows how long.
My heart breaks for her a little. I saw a small glimpse of what she went through in the final days of her life, and if the months before that were even slightly similar, then I can only imagine how relieved she is in her death.
Hadley skips along on the path and stoops to pick up a daisy growing from a small patch. Plucking the stem from the soil, she twirls the flower between her thumb and pointer finger before bringing the petals to her nose. A ray of sunlight filters in through the swaying leaves and settles on Hadley. Her golden hair shines brighter than the sun itself, highlighting the freckles sprinkled across her nose as she closes her eyes and sniffs the flower.
Such an innocent thing, picking a wildflower. Yet, to this girl, it is a monumental feat.
“How does it smell?” I inquire. So fucking awkward. I never could talk to a girl without sounding like an idiot.
One blue iris peeks out at me from between her black lashes, a smirk growing on her face, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.
Clearly this girl had braces. I bet she looked so adorable with them. I wonder if she wore her retainers? Nah. No one actually wears their retainers.
“Take a whiff yourself.” She holds the flower out to me, and I inhale the floral scent. “Sometimes in life, you need to enjoy the small things because you never know when it can all be taken away.” She tucks the flower behind her ear and links her arm with mine. “Come on. Isn’t there a tour you’re supposed to be taking me on?”
“Yes, princess,” I mutter under my breath, referring to the nickname I had coined for her when I was an invisible boy with stalker-like tendencies. She freezes, her head tilting to the side. Fortunately, she doesn’t look aghast, only mildly curious. But still, shit. I don’t want to look even more like a creeper than I already do. Having cute nicknames for a girl who doesn’t know me? That’s a standing over your bed and eating cereal level of creepy.
“What did you say?”
I gulp. “I- Umm… I said yes, freshness.” Fuck, I hope she buys it.
Because yes, freshness is ten times more appropriate than princess. It’s all about context, my friend. And flowers can be fucking fresh.
She gives me the side-eye. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Perhaps you should clean your ears then,” I suggest with a shrug of my shoulder.
She tries to keep a stern face, but ends up laughing. The sound is prettier than the birds that sang outside my bedroom window as a kid, the ones that showed up after the winter snows melted. She has one of those contagious laughs, the kind you can’t help laughing along with even if you didn’t get the joke.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
She tugs her lower lip between her teeth and chews on the plump flesh. I watch in awe, fantasizing about what her lips would feel like moving against mine. What flavor her chapstick might be.
Cherry?
Strawberry?
No. I bet she’s more of a bubblegum kinda girl.
My mouth waters, and I wipe away escaped drool by feigning a cough.
She smiles wider, letting that lip slide out from between her pearly whites. She shoots me a wink and heads off down the path, leaving me standing there with my jaw hanging open.
I need to watch out for this girl.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Hadley, wait!” I shout, jogging after her, but not too fast. From behind her, I don’t have to school my face while checking out her gorgeous ass, which fills out those white shorts perfectly. She’s gonna look fucking killer in the Afterworld Academy uniform. Short, pleated skirt. Knee-high socks. Tight, white button up shirt...
I wonder what type of panties she wears… Boyshorts? No… She’s too flirtatious. Thong? Eh, no. Who wants that shit up their ass crack anyway. Ohh! Maybe she’s a commando girl? I beg whatever God that might be listening to make that true. Because nothing would be hotter than—
“Preston! What the fuck are you doing back there?” I feel my face flush.
Fuck. I’ve been caught.
She spins around and places her hands on her hips. “Were… were you just checking out my ass?”
I can’t lie to her. “Maybe.”
She saunters over to me and tugs on my tie. I feel all the blood rush to my cock, and I pray it’s not noticeable.
“I’m not dead for even an hour, and already I’ve got a guy undressing me with his eyes.” My throat works as she leans into my neck, her hot breath fanning my ear, and her tits rest on my arm. “Maybe this Academy won’t be so bad after all,” she whispers. “I could use three more guys just like you.”
If she only knew.
She takes a step away, letting my tie fall through her fingers before heading back down the path.
I’d say that this girl is going to be the death of me, but I’m already dead.
Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself before trailing off after her. I fall in line with her, and she glances up at me and smiles. The trickle from a small brook reaches our ears, and a pair of squirrels chase each other in the branches above our heads as we walk.
“So. How long have you been here?” she inquires, breaking the silence.
“I’m a third year, so, three years.”
“Fuck. How many grades or whatever does this Academy have?”
I chuckle. “Four, but only the first three years are present at the Academy.”
She chews on that lip again, and I pull my eyes away. “The Administer person thingy, who is an asshole by the way, said that there are other types of dead. I know you’re a Reaper, but where are the Angels, Ghosts, and Demons he mentioned?”
I take a breath to reply when the trees open up and the huge, wooden bridge that connects the forest to the dorms comes into view.
“Whoa,” she says, quickening her pace. “What is that?”
“That is the bridge to the Afterworld Academy, Hadley. Welcome home.”
She grins at me from over her shoulder and heads to the bridge. Her dainty fingers grip the railing as she takes her first tentative step over the rushing waters below. I know how she’s feeling. I was a bit shocked at the enormity of the bridge the first time I saw it too.
Half the size of a football field, the bridge known as Pontem Veritatis—Latin for Bridge of Truth—stretches across a rushing river. It’s the only way to enter or leave the Academy by foot. After a few feet, she finds her confidence and walks to the middle of the bridge.
Resting her elbows on the railing, she cradles her head in her hands and watches the waters flowing beneath us. A cool breeze flits her hair above her head, making her look angelic.
No.
Reaper-gelic.
Yeah.
I’ve never been good with words, stumbling over pronunciation as much as I do my two left feet. But I will the right words to come to me just this once.
“
Are you okay?” I ask, standing next to her.
“Yeah. Just a lot to take in and think about.” She runs her fingers through her hair and tucks it behind her ear. “One moment I’m dying of cancer, and the next I’m in some fucked up Academy for dead people. An Academy for dead people that helps other dead people, nonetheless.”
She leans back on her heels and rocks up to her toes. “How did you die, Preston?”
My heart sinks into my stomach. I can’t lie to this girl, especially on the Bridge of Truth. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry, Preston. I shouldn’t have asked. I—”
“Shh,” I hush her, placing my finger on her perfect, pink lips. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” I drop my hand and gesture toward the opposite end of Pontem Veritas. “We should get going anyway. Don’t want to be late on your first day.” I head toward the dorms, and she hurries to catch up.
“Late for what?” she queries, raising one blonde eyebrow at me.
“The assembly.”
She groans. “I hate assemblies! The band that couldn’t quite play in tune, the screeching microphones, the pep talks that always had the opposite effect on me.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I can assure you that the assembly to which you will be a part of will be nothing like that.”
“Okay good, then I’ll go,” she concedes.
“Great. The Academy wouldn’t be the same without you, Hadley.”
A beautiful flush creeps up her chest, warming her cheeks. I think this girl struggles with compliments. I tuck that information in the back of my mind and offer her my arm as we leave the bridge and head down a flight of stairs embedded into the side of a large hill overlooking the Academy.
From here, we can see all the buildings that make up the school.
“Those are the dormitories,” I tell her, pointing. Spanning out from a central, circular building like the legs of a spider, are the dorms that belong to each division of the Afterworld and one designed specifically for the Dearly Departed. “One for each of the four divisions, and one for the Dearly Departed, like you. The central building is where you’ll go to hang out, launder your uniforms, and do light shopping for your room.”
The central building, called the Center, has windows spanning the length of the walls, and each door and window is ornately detailed. Turrets and gables rise from the brick structure, complete with stained glass windows. It’s a blend of styles—old-fashioned and modern—existing in uncanny harmony, while still giving off a very gothic feel. The bottom level houses the recreation room and a makeshift auditorium while the top two floors serve as the library.
“Beyond those buildings, through that patch of ancient evergreens, is the Academy itself,” I continue, as we slowly make our way down the hill, her little hand gripping my arm firmly for support. “That’s where you’ll take your classes and begin your training.”
One thing the Afterworld Academy has going for them is a beautiful campus, I’ll give them that. Woods encompass every acre of campus that isn’t a building, their thick tapestry obscuring the other buildings from view. However, there is a pathway that extends from the central building, past the dorms, and leads to the immense academic building with ivy growing on the walls and row after row of perfectly washed windows. To the left side of the academic building, connected by a glass walkway, is the cafeteria. On the right is the medical building, smaller than the other two, resembling a quaint cottage one would find in the mountains.
“Training?”
“Yep. But you’ll learn all about that at the assembly. Come on.” I quicken my pace, tugging her along with me.
We head towards the Center. I know, real original. The electric doors open for us, and a whoosh of cool air chills my skin. There are others inside, Reapers with their respective Dearly Departeds. This floor is usually a common area, but it has been retrofitted for the assembly. Rows and rows of white chairs fill in the large space, and a stage has been erected in the center.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
She pauses. “Ready for what?”
“To begin the journey of a lifetime.”
Well...a deadtime.
Chapter 3
Hadley
Reaper dude is staring at my boobs. Again.
Oh, he thinks I don’t notice, but I notice everything. Especially hot guys intently staring at my girls.
Well, dead girls now.
As he leads me to a seat near the front, I allow my eyes to survey all of the people present. To my surprise, there are numerous ages sitting around me. A man that looks to be in his mid-sixties with gray hair and a wispy mustache. A younger girl who can’t be older than ten.
Preston, noticing the direction of my gaze, leans in to whisper in my ear. I try not to notice his hot breath fanning across my skin. I honestly try. I mentally give myself a gold star when I don’t start advertising my vagina as open for business.
“Not everyone is chosen for Afterworld Academy,” he explains. This time, his eyes are actually focused on my own. “But the ones that are chosen are from various backgrounds. Different races, genders, and ages.”
“Interesting,” I reply back. A guy a few rows over catches my gaze and winks. He’s handsome, I’ll give him that, with white hair cut short and a square jaw. Even sitting down, I can tell he’ll have broad shoulders and a tapered waist. What startles me the most, though, are the two large wings sprouting from his back. The white feathers catch in the artificial light, glistening like thousands of minuscule diamonds.
When I was...well...dying, I didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy the finer things in life. The finer things meaning penises for those just joining the party. That isn’t to say I’m a squeaky clean virgin—I’ve had my fair share of hookups in my twenty years—but never a relationship.
The guy continues to stare at me, his gaze almost unnerving. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can’t decide if I desire his attention or abhor it.
“That’s Jake, a third year Angel.” Preston’s voice is dark with an indefinable emotion. “Fucking Jake. He shouldn’t even be here. He’s not a Dearly Departed or a Reaper.”
“What did Fucking Jake do to have your cock so twisted up?” I inquire, finally breaking eye contact with the strange man. No, not man.
Angel.
Preston squirms uncomfortably in his chair, but is saved from responding by a tall, domineering man in his mid-forties stepping onto the stage. Even if he wasn’t seven feet tall, he would still be the type of man to innately command my attention and respect. There is something about his dark, nearly black, eyes and lightly tanned skin that ensnares me and holds me captive. The usual fidgets and whispers one would expect in an assembly diminish entirely.
And of course, that could also be because of the bat-like wings protruding from each of his shoulder blades. Raised veins line the interior of his wings in a lighter shade of black. A part of me wants to look away, while the other part is utterly enthralled. What is it with the men here? Is there something in the water? The food we don’t have to eat? It takes me a moment to pinpoint what this ethereal man is. If Fucking Jake is an Angel, this man must be a Demon.
A Demon.
In the flesh.
Standing on a stage in a pressed suit with his hair slicked back.
I feel like I’m in an episode of Supernatural staring at a sexy-as-sin Lucifer.
“Oh God,” I whisper conspiratorially to Preston. “Don’t tell me that’s the devil.”
“What?” He sounds aghast, and I feel my panic abate. “The devil would never stoop so low as to talk to the school.”
And...the panic sets in again, tightening my stomach.
“That’s Stefan,” he continues, oblivious to my growing unease. “Headmaster and Demon.”
“And no relation to the devil?” I ask hopefully. What can I say? The devil scares the shit out of me.
Preston chuckles as if I’m the cutest girl in the world but doesn’t answer.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Dearly Departed, welcome to Afterworld Academy.”
The applause is instantaneous, a roar that reverberates through my body, and I instinctively flinch at the cacophony of noises. I’m not used to loud sounds. Crowds. People.
In my room at the hospital, I was greeted by the occasional nurse, the intermittent arrival of my doctors, the steady beeping of my heart monitor, and the drip of an IV. Sometimes, Ocean would visit me with friends. Other times, my family would gather around my bedside and hold vigil.
I honestly hated it. Loathed it.
The pity, the tears, the sympathetic glances when they thought no one was looking.
“Oh, the poor dying girl. I’m going to cry now for ten hours even though I only talked to her once in my life.”
Give me a fucking break.
It’s funny how when you’re dying, people finally start noticing you. They can’t find two shits to spare when you’re alive and well, but spend a night in the hospital and suddenly everyone loves you. That conditional love is depressing if you ask me. Who knew that the price of their love would be my death?
Shaking my head, I focus my attention on Stefan No Relation To Lucifer.
His piercing eyes scan the crowd, and I could’ve sworn they rested on me a second longer than normal. Of course, I probably imagined it.
“As your Reaper might have explained, you’ve been chosen to join the prestigious Afterworld Academy.” At Stefan’s words, Preston straightens in his seat and smiles smugly.
Catching my gaze, he points to his chest and mouths, “That’s me. Reaper Badass.”
“To clarify, it was not us—the professors or the students—who chose you to attend. The Fates have decreed it.” He pauses, and I begin to suspect that Stefan has a penchant for the dramatics. The silence is almost deafening, a palpable mist glissading over the students. Nobody dares breathe, the tranquility as fragile as fine glass.
“There are four divisions of the Afterworld. Four divisions required to make the Afterlife run smoothly.” Another pause, this one more pronounced. I actually want to groan. Can’t he hurry the speech along?
