Esprit de Corpse trr-3

by Gina X. Grant

  “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 pou
t 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.
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  “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.