by Katie May
If I were alive, I would probably have to piss by now. I suppose it’s the one good thing about being dead. Oh, and lack of menstrual cycles. The last thing I want is for the volcano to erupt in the Afterlife.
“Reapers are in charge of bringing souls to the Afterlife and sending them to the Judgment Hall.”
The Judgment Hall sounds scary as fuck. Someone to judge me and my past sins? No thanks. A hard pass from me. I prefer to sin in silence, thank you very much.
“From there, the Reaper will guide their soul to Heaven or Hell, depending on what the Judgment Hall decides. Angels run Heaven, administration, and housing, and maintain order. Same with the Demons in Hell. Ghosts are in charge of watching over the mortal realm, though I will admit that most have some sort of unfinished business that keeps them tethered there. But more on that in your classes.
“The first week of school is going to be a standard orientation. You will meet some of your professors, mentors, roommates, and fellow classmates. While food is no longer necessary for survival since you’re souls now, we realize it’s a novelty that some may enjoy. As such, there is a cafeteria beside the main academic building.
“The second week, mentorships and normal classes will begin. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, you will attend your classes, as indicated on the sheet of paper in your folder.”
As if summoned by magic, a red folder materializes in my hands, a golden crest of wings adorning the silky surface. Inside, a single paper sits.
A class schedule.
My eyes scan the classes listed, widening imperceptibly with each new name.
Afterlife 101 - The Fundamentals
Combat Training
History of the Afterlife
Demonology and Angelology
Reapers
Ghosts and Exorcisms
One thing is certain—I’m not in Kansas anymore. At least there’s no math or chemistry. I fucking hated those classes when I was in high school.
There are hushed murmurs emanating from my fellow students. Only the Reapers and Fucking Jake appear unimpressed.
Clearing his throat, his voice strident, Stefan continues, “On Tuesday and Thursday, you will begin your mentorships with the third-year students.” He once more penetrates the crowd with a smoldering glare. “The Reaper who guided your soul here will serve as your Reaper mentor. Get to know him or her. You will be seeing a lot of them.”
Preston positively preens, his smile widening until I’m blinded by his white teeth.
“It seems you’re stuck with me,” he whispers, his voice infused with something similar to elation. I feel myself instinctively smile back.
As Reapers go, I didn’t get a horrible one. Good looking and funny? Not a bad choice.
“Starting next week, you will work with your Reaper mentors. They will show you the ins and outs of reaping souls. The following week, we will assign you an Angel mentor. The next will be a Demon mentor. Finally, you will work with your Ghost mentor. This schedule will repeat until the end of the first year.”
This time, I can make out individual voices in the crowd. Excitement. Fear. Worry.
I know my stomach is a tumultuous combination of excitement and dread. Will I be able to see my family again? Ocean?
Stefan raises his hands, and the noise gradually recedes. Everyone looks up in rapt attention, eagerly hanging on to his every word.
“You will get your mentors in the coming days and are more than welcome to seek them out for any questions with your classwork.”
His thin red lips curve upwards.
“At the end of your first year, the Fates will determine your final placement. Demon. Angel. Reaper. Or Ghost.” He claps his hands together. “Now, Reapers? Show your charges their new rooms.”
Preston leads me to the building he’d indicated as the dorms for the Dearly Departed. Pushing open the door, he steps aside to let me through with a dramatic bow.
“For you, m’lady.”
“Why, thank you.” I accent my voice in a poor impersonation of an eighteenth-century British lady.
We enter a grand, opulent lobby with a three-tiered chandelier and a single desk against the far wall. What looks to be a Demon sits behind it, his eyes slitted indolently. He manages a nod as we step through.
“Wow. The Afterlife really went all out with this,” I marvel, spinning in a wide circle. Two couches are in a tiny alcove off the main lobby, a television mounted to the wall. On the opposite side, a pool table and a ping-pong table take up the majority of space.
“They like to keep their little workers happy,” Preston comments, chuckling good-naturedly as he leads me down a long corridor. Door after door line either side, each one inscribed with a number and two name plaques. We stop at the farthest one down, and I’m shocked to see my own name glaring back at me.
Hadley Jameson.
I frown at the second name beside it.
Do I have a fucking roommate?
Dear God, no. As per the whole “only child arrangement,” I have never had to share my room before. Not even at the hospital. My parents—read as: my grandparents who I never spoke to but peppered me with gifts—were well off and secured me a private room. Sure, a sibling would’ve been nice, but I’m extremely possessive of my things. A little sister stealing my sweater? Hell no. I would have cut off her hand and stuffed it up her anus.
“So, um, I guess I’ll leave you here,” Preston babbles. He spears his fingers through his hair, the brown strands becoming wildly disheveled.
“Yup.”
I glance inside my folder, surprised to see a golden key glimmering in the dim light. It's nondescript, simple, with my name carved into the side.
“Magic folder,” I muse, holding the key with something akin to reverence.
“So...do you need any help?” Preston rocks back on his heel and nods towards the key. “With that?”
“I know how to open a door, Preston.”
“Right. Well, you just put the key in the lock like this.” He raises one hand and curls his fingers into a circle. With the other, he pantomimes placing a key into the hole using his finger and makes a twisting motion.
Over and over and over again.
He freezes, his finger inserted into his makeshift finger hole, and the color drains from his face.
“Um...I should stop now, shouldn’t I?”
I chuckle. Something about this Reaper boy...
Well...
He amuses me.
I actually enjoyed his company, a feat I didn’t think was possible.
“That would probably be a good idea,” I answer. Feeling his eyes on me, I dramatically place the key into the keyhole and let out a low moan.
Preston’s eyes are saucers in his face, twin pools of mossy green. He nonchalantly readjusts his pants.
“I’m going to, you know, go now.”
“You do that.”
Without another word, Preston runs as if the hounds of Hell are on his heels.
Huh. Are there such things as Hellhounds?
I suppose that would be a question for my Demon mentor.
With bated breath, I open the door and brace myself for who will inevitably be my companion for the rest of the semester.
I had mentally prepared myself for a lot of things—preppy girls, shy girls, pimpled-face girls just as awkward as me.
What I didn’t expect, however, was a naked lady jumping on the bed.
A naked, eighty-year-old lady jumping on the bed.
Fucking hell.
Chapter 4
Hadley
Very few things scare me.
Bugs? Fuck yeah. Those nasty critters can crawl back into Hell where they belong.
The dark? Nah. I learned long ago that monsters hide in plain sight.
Naked old ladies jumping up and down on the bed, saggy tits...well...sagging? That is a fear I never knew I had.
“Um...” I stutter, pausing in the doorway. Because, really, what does someone say to som
ething like this?
The woman smiles down at me, finally ceasing her excessive jumping. As I watch in a mixture of horror and enthrallment, she plops down on her butt and smiles warmly at me.
“You must be Hadley, dear. My name is Angus Thornberry. But you can call me Aggie.”
Does it make me a horrible person that I mentally warped the name to Saggy Aggie in my head?
Returning her smile with a forced one of my own, I shake her proffered hand before stepping back to stand near the door.
Don’t look at the boobs, Hadley. For the love of cupcakes, don’t look at the boobs...
And I’m looking.
Honestly, I can’t look away. They just kind of hang there like two depleted sandbags.
“Letting the toots and hoots run free,” she says conspiratorially, obviously knowing where my mind went. She points first to her breasts and then to her ass as she stands.
“That’s...um...good.”
I mentally slap myself.
“Letting the sausage maker and sausage taker get some air,” she explains seriously.
“Oh, wow. How interesting,” I deadpan. She nods her head once.
“Need to give them some freedom or else they’ll rebel. Don’t want the LEGO tower pruning up.”
At this point, I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about. And what the hell is a LEGO tower?
Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. At all. That’s a major no, slam the front door, duck my head in the sand until I suffocate type of no.
“You should do it too,” Saggy Aggie continues earnestly. “Free the Kraken.”
“Um...”
“Let the beast prowl.”
“Uh...”
“Assist the cyst.”
Now I’m positive she’s just making shit up.
Her lips curl into a devious smirk as she crooks one finger at me in a come-hither gesture.
I remain rooted to my spot near the door. You know, for easy access if I have to make a break for it. I’ve already seen way more of my roommate—if that’s what she is—than I ever wanted to. “Scarred for life” should be printed on all my shirts.
Aggie cackles suddenly, reaching behind her to grab a silk robe off her bedside post.
“I’m just fucking with you. You should see your face.” She laughs again, the sound maniacal. The laughter dissipates as quickly as it begins as she levels me with a serious frown. “But in all seriousness, don’t tame your monster.”
“That’s...um...good advice.”
I mean, it would be if I didn’t know she was referring to her pussy.
Yup. Traumatized.
Now that her robe is on, I study the room.
It is small, smaller than my room back on Earth—still freaks me the fuck out to say that—with two beds on either side of the small space. Desks flank each bed, meeting each other in the center of the room. On either side of the door, two wardrobes rest. The room is oddly cozy, my bed already made and pictures from home plastered on the walls.
I marvel at my surroundings and peer into the closet, shocked to discover my clothes are already hung up.
Aggie watches me with veiled amusement.
“Angel,” she states suddenly, her eyes brightening like she had a grand epiphany. I merely quirk a brow at her. “You look like you’re going to be an Angel. That’s my guess. At the end of the year, you’ll have fluffy white wings, a halo, and golden lace woven into your vagina.”
What the fuck?
“Um...” I turn back towards my closet, nonchalantly perusing my clothes as I think over her words. Me? An Angel? It’s laughable.
But then again, this whole experience feels like something out of a dream. I keep expecting to wake up in the hospital bed with scratchy blankets and the artificial smell of chlorine permeating the air.
“Maybe,” I reply, deciding on a response at last.
It still strikes me as odd that Fate has chosen me, of all people, to help run the Afterlife. Obviously, they have no idea what the fuck they are doing. Me trying to run anything is the equivalent of a semi-truck ramming straight into a cement wall.
I consider myself more of an observer than a leader. More of a middle-management type of person. Not good enough to be considered angelic, but not evil enough to be called a devil. I don’t have the patience to handle souls, nor the “unfinished business” shit to be considered a Ghost.
My conclusion? Someone fucked up marvelously.
“I’m hungry,” Aggie whines dramatically even though I know being hungry is not possible. But her whining does the trick and garners my attention yet again. On closer inspection, I see she has thinning white hair, a wrinkled face, and knobby hands. With an elaborate flourish, she rips off her robe—and I’m talking Clark Kent becoming Superman type of rip—and grabs a dainty school girl’s uniform out of her closet. “Get dressed, and let’s eat.”
Frowning, I turn back towards my closet and notice something I had missed in my initial inspection. A uniform hangs from the closet—short skirt, white blouse, and knee-high socks. It’s the stereotypical school girl attire, and I instantly want to vomit. Someone has watched way too much porn in their lifetime.
Growling in displeasure, I dress in the horrendous uniform and brush my hair out of my eyes. I probably should do something with the disheveled tangles, but Aggie’s right. The prospect of food is too enticing to wait a moment longer. I’m not hungry—the Afterlife has assured me of that—but phantom pains linger in my stomach.
“This way,” Aggie instructs, leading me out of the dorm room and through the building. A few people are still settling in, the sound of furniture moving around and excited murmurs reaching me. A few third year Reapers linger, watching their charges with clinical detachment. I feel a pang that resembles disappointment when I don’t spot Preston in the sea of students.
I do, however, make eye contact with a familiar, white-haired Angel.
“Are you stalking me?” Fucking Jake asks with mock disapproval. His easygoing smile belies his angry words though.
“Maybe,” I retort with a grin.
Aggie’s eyes volley between the two of us like we are an exciting tennis match.
“So, you’re a Dearly Departed,” he notes, that easy smile still in place. “And Preston is your Reaper?” At this, something flashes in his eyes. Something almost dark that sends the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Pushing the strange feeling down, I nod.
“Yup. And you’re an Angel?” Apparently, we’re just pointing out the obvious.
Smirking, he quite literally ruffles his feathers. I have the distinct feeling it’s the equivalent of a man puffing out his chest in a macho display or whipping out his dick.
“Maybe I’ll be your Angel mentor.” He takes a step closer, his whiskey colored eyes roaming over my face.
I lick my suddenly dry lips.
“Maybe.”
“Jake!” a rough voice snaps, pulling me out of my reverie. I blink, startled, and turn towards the new voice. My mouth instantly waters.
Does every guy at this school have to be so incredibly attractive?
The new man has the white hair I’m beginning to associate with all Angels. Unlike Fucking Jake, this guy has muscle upon muscle adorning his arms, chest, and legs. His sculpted face is all sharp angles, honey-toned skin, and brilliant blue eyes. Two large wings extend from his back, larger than any wings I have ever seen before. I wonder if wingspan correlates with...um...other anatomical body parts.
Nope. Not going there. Just because my vagina is a shameless hussy doesn’t mean my brain has to be.
“You know you have to be at the assembly for third years,” the new guy seethes. He barely spares me a glance.
“Fuck off.” Jake’s face twists hideously.
New guy straightens, his large muscles bunching. Jake isn’t small by any means, but he’s nothing compared to this guy.
Good grief. He could crush him if he wanted to.
I mean, he’s
more than welcome to crush me whenever he wants…
I shake my head, ending my inner musings.
Jake and Muscles engage in a stare off, the air around them practically vibrating with electricity. I wonder if that’s an Angel power or just the palpable tension between them.
It’s Fucking Jake who looks away first, his scowl deepening. When he sees me looking, the scowl diminishes and is replaced by his signature cocky grin.
“See you later, Hadley babe.”
Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, he saunters off in the direction Muscles had entered from.
The new guy remains for a second longer, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me.
After a long moment, he sighs heavily, running long fingers through his white hair. His wings flap once, twice, and then he’s hurrying out the door without a backwards glance.
The entire exchange leaves me baffled.
“Well, hot damn.” Aggie fans her face. “The last time I had two guys fighting over me was in eighty-one on the roof of a Mexican restaurant.”
She links her arm with mine, chatting excitedly about what she calls the Great Siesta of Eighty-one, but my mind wanders, stuck on something. Something I can’t pinpoint.
It’s only when we’re in the cafeteria, with the smell of cinnamon and roasted chicken wafting to me, when I realize what struck me as odd.
I never told Jake my name.
Chapter 5
Auston
If you had told me the sweet girl I’d been guarding for the better part of the last several months would have her soul doomed to “live” here at the Afterworld Academy, I would have told you to fuck off. No one said the responsibilities of becoming a Guardian Angel would be easy. Hell, even spelling guardian is difficult. That damn I and A usually mix me up. Luckily for me, grammar and spelling are not necessary qualities for us Guardians. I’ll leave that shit up to the authors.
Hadley was a firecracker when we first met. Well... when I started guarding her, I guess I should say. Fierce and loyal to a fault, even if that loyalty only branched out to a few people, and sexy beyond belief. And fuck, if she didn’t always find herself in trouble. My poor dead heart would awaken and thump against my chest when she found herself in another precarious situation. The idiot girl would often sneak out of the hospital, partaking in illicit activities that would make a lesser Angel blush. Her excuse? She wanted to live before she died. She wanted to see the world and allow the world to see her. I couldn’t fault her on that, even if I did lose my damn mind.
