by Brux, Boone
Styx & Stoned
A Grim Reality Novel
By
Boone Brux
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright ©2015 Boone Brux. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For more information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at [email protected]
Edited by Book Alchemy, LLC, www.bookalchemyinc.com
Cover Art by Jennifer Meyer
For Patty Ann and Suzie Q. Thanks for all your support and love.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
To Catch Her Death Excerpt
About the Author
Chapter One
Las Vegas! All expenses paid!
Normally, a trip like that would be a dream come true for an overworked, widowed, mother of three. Here’s the thing, though; situations rarely worked out as I imagined. And usually not in my favor. So, when my boss, Constantine, offered—well, not actually offered…more like handed me—the plane ticket to Vegas and told me in no uncertain terms I’d be attending the GRS annual convention, I was instantly suspicious.
GRS stands for Grim Reaper Services, of which I, Lisa Carron, am their newest grim reaper. And sadly, the least adept. I was getting better, but I’d been a reaper for less than a year and had nowhere near the skills my partner Nate possessed.
And don’t get me started about Constantine. He’s our crazy hot Alaskan leader, but I still hadn’t decided if he was human. Actually, I’m scared to be alone with him. Not in a hockey-mask-psycho-killer way. More like, if I was ever pressed up against his body, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop my hands from roving to his forbidden zones. I just couldn’t be trusted in a situation like that.
So here I was in sunny Las Vegas, seven kid-free days, and none of it costing me a dime. I should have been giddy, spinning around the baggage claim area like Maria in The Sound of Music. But, like I said, circumstances were never what they seemed. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this week had nothing to do with Lisa time and everything to do with other people’s agendas. Even so, I planned to take advantage of the numerous luxuries the hotel spa had to offer.
The airport’s electronic doors slid open and the hot desert air enveloped me. Exhaust clawed at my throat. I gasped and squinted against the blinding Vegas sun. How did people live in this heat? The better question might be, why? Sixteen degrees and accumulating darkness—that’s what I’d left behind in Anchorage. Las Vegas was like anti-Alaska.
I hauled my ancient, massive suitcase toward the line of taxicabs, beads of sweat instantly forming across the bridge of my nose and forehead. The material of my long-sleeved T-shirt clung like a second skin, and the sun reflecting off the pavement, plus all the altitude changes, made my head throb. My flight had left Anchorage at midnight and I’d spent several hours wandering around the Seattle airport, waiting for the tram to start up so I could get to my concourse. Tired didn’t describe my current condition.
Now I understood why people huddled like vampires inside the dark, cool casinos. Sit at a slot machine receiving free drinks, or venture into the blistering heat to stare at Hoover Dam. I know what my choice would be.
“Cab?” A valet waved me over and pointed at the first cab in the long line waiting at the curb. His tone was all business. “Right here.”
I lopped toward him, but he’d already focused on the person behind me, and was moving to the next cab. I shoved my bag toward the cab driver. “The Venetian, please.”
“Excellent.” He grinned, his white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “Please, get in and enjoy the air-conditioned comfort of my cab.”
His thick Indian accent and invitation made him sound like a commercial for the cab company. While he manhandled my suitcase toward the trunk of the car, I climbed into the back seat. A sigh hissed from me when the cool air hit my skin. I tossed my jacket and purse next to me and leaned my head against the back of the seat. My eyes drifted closed. Several thumps vibrated against the back seat, sending a pang of embarrassment through me. No matter how many times I’d packed and unpacked to thin out what I’d need, I still ended up with far more clothes than I could possibly wear in a week.
I lifted my head and opened my eyes, squinting against the sun streaming through the front window. For the first time I noticed the older man sitting in the front passenger seat. “Oh, hello.” He didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t speak or understand English. Now committed to the acknowledgement, I repeated my greeting. “Hi.”
His head snapped around, his eyes widening. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, I am.” Mystery solved about not understanding English. I smiled. “You’re smart to stay in the car. That heat is killer.”
“Very funny,” he said, glaring. Then he shifted to face me.
“Crap.” The downside of being a grim reaper was that I was always on the job. The right side of the man’s head wavered like one of those heat mirages on the road. “You’re dead.” I scowled at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” His lips pursed for a second, looking dubious. “How can you see me?”
“Just one of the perks of my job.” The trunk slammed, making me jump. Conversing with ghost tended to be off-putting to those who couldn’t see them. I rushed on. “I’m a grim reaper. If you’d like to cross over, I can help you with that when I get to the hotel.”
The cab door opened and the driver slid in, cutting off my conversation with the spirit. “Venetian, you said?”
“Yes please…” My gaze cut from the rear view mirror to the identification card fixed to the dash. “Rashid.”
“Yes, very good.”
“Cross over?” The spirit launched into a tirade as the cab pulled away. “And leave this bonehead to run my company into the ground? No thank you.”
Family drama, so not what I needed right now. After a minute of trying to ignore the ranting specter, I realized the only way to shut him up was to talk over him. “Rashid, does it always get this hot in Vegas?”
“Oh, yes.” The cabbie smiled into the rear view mirror. “But you’re in luck—it’s not supposed to get above ninety this week.”
“That’s lucky?”
His white-toothed smile reflected back at me, his head nodding vigorously.
I groaned. “How can you stand it?”
“I’m from India.” His gaze darted from the road to the mirror, and then back again. “My parents moved us here when I was twelve and opened the taxi business. When my father passed away a year ago, I took over.” His smile widened. “Las Vegas is my home now. I love it here, heat and all.”
“And if you spent less time enjoying the sights and more time working—” the ghost grumbled.
Again, I cut the spirit off before he hurled himself into another lecture that only I’d be privy to. “I think it’s wonderful you love where you live.” Glancing at the ghost, I add
ed, “I’m sorry about your father’s passing.”
“Thank you. It was a great loss for the family,” Rashid said.
“Of course it was.” His father straightened, jutting his chin upward and crossing his arms over his chest. “I held this family together. Obviously, the entire household is lost without my guidance.”
“But…” Rashid caught my eye in the mirror again and grimaced. “To be honest, he was a miserable man.”
“Miserable?” The spirit’s head whipped toward his son.
I sunk deeper into the seat, bracing myself for the wave of anger I knew would hit me in a few seconds.
“If working eighty hours a week to put food on the table for my family made me miserable, then I’m guilty.” Like a blast of Vegas heat, the ghost’s resentment pounded me—yet another the neat side effects of being a grim reaper.
“He was never happy with anybody or anything,” the cabbie continued.
“What was there to be happy about? You’re all a bunch of boneheads. Never listened to anything I said.”
“On and on he’d rail about how we didn’t appreciate what he’d built for us,” Rashid said.
“Yes, I’m getting that,” I mumbled to myself.
“Because you didn’t.” His father waved his hands in the air. “I’d barely been dead a month before this one—” He jabbed a finger at his son. “—started taking Sundays off. No respect. No respect!”
“Call me optimistic, but I like to think he’s happy and in a much better place now.”
Instead of the sarcastic snort I wanted to make, I pressed my lips together and nodded, giving him my best empathetic expression. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Lazy dogs, every one of them.” The ghost glared out the front window. “Your mother and I should have never reproduced.”
“I’m certain he’s exactly where he wants to be,” I replied. That wasn’t a lie, just the comforting truth Rashid, and every other person who’d lost a loved one, wanted to hear.
“I loved my father and I miss him, but I don’t miss his constant complaining.”
“Ungrateful…” The spirit faded, taking his angry mojo with him.
That’s one downside of being a grim reaper. People think the ability to see the dead is cool. What they don’t realize is that the afterlife isn’t all white light and feathers. Sometimes it’s just a lot of cranky ghosts that have their ectoplasmic panties in a wad.
Laying my head against the back seat, I let my eyelids drift shut. The driver switched topics and began regaling me with Las Vegas trivia. The combination of the cool air and my exhaustion made concentrating on what he said impossible, and after a few seconds, I dozed off.
When the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the hotel I snapped awake, sitting forward with a jolt. A young man in a gray suit yanked open the door. “Ma’am.”
“Oh…yeah.” I blinked a couple of times, my lids scraping across my eyeballs. Still trying to get my bearings, I scooped up my purse and jacket, and scooted out of the cab. “Thanks.”
Either Las Vegas had denser gravity or my exhaustion was making it difficult to move my legs. Though Rashid had parked under the hotel’s covered entrance, out of the sun, it was still hot, and I was anxious to get to my room and crank up the AC.
“You made it.” Nate’s voice sounded behind me. “I was getting worried.”
I pivoted to face my partner and couldn’t help scowling a little. He’d arrived the day before and had time to rest. As usual, his sandy-brown hair lay perfectly tousled, looking carefree yet stylish. “Were you worried or irritated?”
“I’ve checked us in.” He smirked, not answering my question, and then handed me a small envelope. “The room number is on the inside of the booklet.”
“Great, but…” I glanced at him. “We’re not rooming together—right?”
“You wish, Carron.”
“You wish I wished, Cramer.” Okay, it wasn’t the best comeback, but I was tired and either needed alcohol and something covered in cheese, or a bath and twenty-four hours of comatose sleep.
The sound of my suitcase hitting the ground thunked behind the cab, followed by the rattle of its wheels running across the tiled drive. With a pearly white smile in place, Rashid wheeled the bag to me. Before I could fish money out of my purse, Nate handed him a stack of folded bills.
“Thank you, sir.” Rashid’s smile widened. “You’re very generous.”
“And thank you for a clean, air-conditioned ride.” I said, hooking my hand around the handle of my suitcase. “And information about Las Vegas. Truly enlightening.”
“My pleasure.” Rashid gave a slight bow and pulled a business card out of his front shirt pocket. “Call me for all your taxi needs—except on Sunday.”
Nice. My own personal driver. I had no intention of leaving the casino, but I’d learned long ago my plans and fate usually raced along different tracks, sometimes colliding. I accepted the card. “I certainly will.”
“Here, let me get that.” Nate took the suitcase from me and wheeled it into the hotel.
My eyes narrowed on his broad back. Something was up. He was being exceptionally considerate and I didn’t like it one bit. I strode into the hotel after him, my senses on high alert. Again, lovely cool air greeted me when I entered the lobby. A myriad of dings, rings, and bleeps filtered in from the casino. At the sound of their taunting call my energy rallied. Maybe a few rounds of slots would help me unwind before crashing.
Scanning the grand entrance, my gaze skated over the opulent décor and landed on the milling crowd. My steps slowed to a stop. “Whoa.”
Nate turned to me. “What?”
“Is it just me or are there a ton of ghosts in here?” At least half the people were spirits, floating through the living, talking, and some looking rather lost. Alaska didn’t have near this number of spirits. “Is this usual of Vegas?”
“Probably.” Nate guided my suitcase toward the elevators. “Don’t worry about it now. We need to get to the GRS meet-and-greet.”
“No.” I groaned, my shoulders slumping as I stomped after him. “I need a shower and sleep.”
“Later.” He pressed the up arrow. “Put your suitcase in your room and come back to the third floor.” His attention zeroed on me. “Attendance is mandatory—especially yours.”
A niggle of foreboding surfaced and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I cocked my head. “Why especially me?”
The elevator to our right dinged, settled, and the doors slid open. We shifted, staying out of the way to allow the car to empty, and then entered.
When the doors closed, Nate punched the three and twenty-six. Still not looking at me, he said, “There are some people you need to meet.”
The elevator lurched and started upward. I gripped the handrail, breathing deeply. Normally, I avoided elevators whenever possible. My induction into reaperhood had involved a convenience store shooting, an angry ghost, and the elevator to Hell. Even though I accepted my fate as a reaper, sometimes I still had problems reconciling the whole other world concept, and elevators seemed to be my trigger.
I focused on Nate and ignored my roiling nerves. He had a way of talking around things and I’d learned direct questions got the best results. “What people?”
“Other GRS personnel.”
“Can’t I meet them tomorrow?” I watched for any sign that he was keeping something from me. His lips pressed together and for a second his nostrils flared before he schooled his expression again. Bingo. Flaring nostrils were always a dead giveaway. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” He scowled but didn’t meet my eyes. Liar. The elevator hiccupped to a stop on the third floor and the doors glided open. Before exiting he looked at me. “Thirty minutes, Carron, right here.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I punched the close door button three times, causing Nate to hop over the threshold as the metal slabs slid shut. “Jerk,” I said to the empty car.
The elevator spit
me out on the twenty-sixth floor. With no small amount of effort, I wrestled my suitcase through the doors that kept trying to close on me, and down the carpeted hall. Finally, I found my room. After a couple of attempts with my keycard, the light flashed green and I pushed the door open. At last, home away from home.
The room was gorgeous, decorated in shades of beige and gold, with a few accents of red artistically tossed about. The furnishings were a little over the top, but I wasn’t about to complain.
First things first. I found the thermostat and cranked up the air. The motor kicked on. Nice. A sigh eased from me. Next, unpacking. Some people lived out of their suitcases when they traveled. Not me. I needed to nest—make the room my own.
I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out my cosmetic bags—yes, I had two. Like my clothes, I hadn’t been able to pare down the contents and I’d ended up dumping all my girl supplies into my bags. Better safe than sorry. I strode into the large bathroom and began unpacking my arsenal of beauty paraphernalia. Makeup, perfume, and lotion lined the sink like tiny soldiers, ready for any cosmetic mission.
I picked up the fancy soap provided by the hotel. A list of organic products went into making the luxury bar: oatmeal, avocado, olive oil. I didn’t know whether to bathe with it or eat it. I gathered all the products and tossed them into my cosmetic bag, hoping tomorrow the maid would replenish my supply. By the time I went back to Alaska, I’d be fat with luxury hotel products. Did I mention I might have hording tendencies?
Sounds from the hall drew my attention. Leaning my head out of the bathroom, I listened. Someone was talking—or loudly slurring—directly outside my room. I inched forward and pressed my eye to the peephole. A head full of blond curls swayed into view. I couldn’t see if there were more people with her, but no doubt the woman was drunk and probably trying to find her room.
As quietly as possible, I folded the safety latch over the door. It was doubtful the drunken woman could get in, but I wasn’t taking any chances. On and on she mumbled about finding her key, tottering back and forth. She was persistent, I’d give her that much.
