by Tess Oliver
I walked to the bow and Maximus followed. I stared out at the endless black ocean. A row of lit cottages lined the beach past the cliffs. "You live over there on Whitecrest Beach, don't you? I see you guys surfing sometimes when we're taking the trawler out for the morning catch."
Maximus stared over at me. "You've been out here all this time. Why have I never seen you before?"
I smiled up at him. "Maybe you haven't been looking. Besides, I rarely go into Cliffmoor or the Seven Sins."
He turned to lean against the railing of the bow, waiting for me to tell my story.
"My great-grandfather took the job of ferryman when he was a young man. He'd survived a horrible case of smallpox, but it had left him so disfigured he couldn't find work. No one wanted to hire him. His wife and son were starving, and he couldn't bear to see them suffer. He rarely left the house in daylight. He couldn't stand to see people look away in revulsion. One late night, he was out collecting fallen branches for kindling and he saw four men riding through the forest. They were huge, savage looking men armed with crudely hammered blades and axes. He hid behind a tree and watched to see what they were hunting with their fierce armory. Their horses thundered through the forest and then, suddenly, they disappeared. He raced to the place where he’d seen them vanish, but only a trace of bitter smelling smoke lingered in the air."
"Boys of Wynter," Maximus said quietly. "He spotted them going into the underworld."
"Yes. The next night he waited for the men again. But this time they reappeared. They had returned. He watched for several nights and then one night he decided to follow them. He was caught, of course, and taken straight to Feenix. As fate would have it, Feenix was in need of a ferryman. The ghouls had been running the ferry up to that point, and, as you can imagine, they were really bad at it. My great-grandfather Trex couldn't pass up the offer. As horrid as his new workplace would be, it paid well. As you know, when death brings the souls, they've been given two gold coins. Most of the gold goes to Feenix to pay his workers, Vapour and Cashel”—I looked pointedly at Maximus—"The Boys of Wynter. But one in every fifth coin goes directly to the ferryman. It was an alarmingly good income for a man who could not even get a farmer to hire him to scythe his fields. My grandfather took over when Trex grew too old. They decided then that it was best to keep the ferryman's true identity hidden. So my grandfather still called himself Trex, and he kept his face concealed. His real name was Walt and when he's in the mortal world, my dad is Walt Jr.."
"But why keep his identity hidden? I don't understand."
I waved my arm around to highlight the boat we were standing on. "We are mortals. Our family lives in the human world. When the ferry is docked, we go about our normal lives. My father has three men working for him who run this fishing trawler when he's on the ferry. Even those men know nothing about where my father disappears to for long stretches of time. Besides, it wouldn't be right to show our faces in the underworld. Neighbors and acquaintances often show up on the ferry. Although, it is tempting sometimes to rip the veil off and yell, 'surprise! I guess you should have done a little better job at being human'."
Maximus's laugh was a low, deep rumble that rolled smoothly over the deck. "That would be cool."
"My dad was really put to the test one day. Growing up, he had this wretched aunt. Her name was Aurel, and as he liked to say, she was as vile as a viper. She would babysit him during the week, and she beat him constantly. She also had an irrational fear of germs. She would make my father wash his hands in boiling water. They would blister and crack from the heat. She also made him wash his face with turpentine before and after meals. It got to a point where he couldn't even eat anything without smelling turpentine. His parents didn't believe him at first, but his blistered hands proved that he wasn't lying. So when vile Aunt Aurel showed up on the ferry, petrified in fear and heading to an eternity in a place that was the very essence of filth, Dad came dangerously close to lifting the veil so he could laugh in her terrified dead face. But he never revealed himself. And until yesterday, when that damn wraith screwed up everything, the family secret had remained just that . . . secret. That's why you must keep this to yourself. Please." I hadn't even thought about what I was doing until my fingers curled around Maximus's hard forearm. The transfer of heat between us was inexplicably intense. It seemed he felt it too. I pulled my hand away.
"Is your father dead? Is that why you stepped in to run the ferry?"
"No, that's where I could use your help. Two months ago, my dad left for his shift on the ferry, like always, but he never came home. For two days, my mother and I waited for him to return, but there was no sign of him. So, I pulled on one of his cloaks and covered my face and I walked through the portal that Feenix had set up for my great-grandfather and his successors to enter the underworld. There was no sign of my dad, but the souls had begun to pile up. The river was clogged with souls waiting to be taken to their eternity. I had no idea where my dad was, but I wanted to make sure he didn't lose his position or his income. Running the ferry has allowed me to keep my eyes and ears open for clues about my dad's disappearance. I mean it's not like I can tell the police or hire a detective. I'm on my own."
"Have you told Feenix? Maybe he knows where your dad is."
"I can't stand to go near him. He thinks my dad is still running the ferry, so I don't think he knows anything. No one knows it's me under that veil except you. Will you help me?"
Maximus looked out at the ocean and the coastline with its array of lights. "I'll help you. I can start prying some information out of the wraiths and the banshees. They might be pests, but they always know what's going on. They are like the world's nosiest neighbors." He turned to look at me. "One more question."
"What's that?"
He crossed his arms and gazed down at me. "I couldn't figure out why the hell Trex had started to bust my chops about everything lately and now I discover that it wasn't Trex at all. It was you. Why is that?"
I shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I treat all of you Boys the same." I knew damn well that was a lie.
"Uh no, no you don't." He lowered his chin to make his voice hoarse. "Don't sit down there, Max. You're tipping the ferry. Don't bring your wolf stink on my vessel. You walk too heavy, you're going to put a hole in my deck." He tilted his head and his voice returned to normal. "Should I go on?"
"First, that's a terrible imitation of the Trex voice. Maybe you're right." I had to quickly come up with a plausible reason, and it was standing right in front of me. "It's just because you're so damn big." I circled my arms. Not that a visual was needed, but the turn in topic had brought back a case of nerves. "It's just annoying. You take up too much space on the ferry. That's all."
He squinted a brown eye, letting me know he wasn't buying any of my hasty, slightly frantic sounding explanation. "I'll try to take up less space then."
"And I'll try to be more cordial." I flashed him a forced smile.
He turned to leave but then looked back at me. "Are you sure it's not because deep down—" He circled his arms mimicking my silly gesture. "You want some of this?"
Even in the cool ocean air, I could feel my cheeks warm. I only hoped it was too dark for him to notice the blush. I laughed a bit louder than I'd expected. "I see you have just the right amount of arrogance to go with that massive build. I assure you that is not the case." If lies meant a longer nose, then mine would have grown two inches with the last statement.
"Too bad. I guess I'll be on my way then. I'm back on my shift in a day. I'll see if I can find out what happened to your dad." The deck rose up a good inch when Maximus climbed out of the boat.
He stopped to look down at me. "Sure as hell would never have guessed that your face was behind the veil." His broad back nearly spanned the width of the dock as he walked back to his motorcycle.
Five
Maximus
Flint was the only one of my pack mates still hanging out at the Seven Sins after my trip to the
marina. The local motorcycle club, a group of mostly retired adventure thirsty guys had staked out their usual tables near the bar. The upside down copper kettle pots Jemma had hung as 'rustic' light fixtures over the tables reflected their mostly bald and shaven heads. They usually spent a mild fortune at the Seven Sins, so Jemma was always glad to have them. Especially on slow nights like tonight when even the Wynter Fare were scarce.
Flint lifted his chin to motion me over. As bad as I was at keeping quiet about things, Flint was equally good at prying shit out of me. And man did I have some shit to tell. But I'd promised Rikki I wouldn't say a word, and I was going to keep that promise. Fortunately, tonight something else had happened that had Flint's full attention.
I headed to the table in the back corner where Flint was nursing a bottle of whiskey. Reagan, one of the Wynter Fare who regularly liked to hang with Flint, had fallen asleep with her head on his lap.
Flint caressed her cheek, causing her lashes to flutter, but she didn't open her eyes. "I didn't have the heart to wake her. Apparently she had a rough week. Some big merger fell through and corporate was coming down on her. Those big business jobs kind of make our jobs look like working in an ice cream shop."
I picked up the whiskey bottle. "Yeah, if the ice cream shop was serving wraith venom and goblin blood."
Flint's eyes widened, and he motioned to the sleeping woman in his lap. "Big fucking mouth to go with that big fucking head."
"She looks dead to the world." I gulped back some whiskey. As I lowered the bottle, Flint stuck a folded piece of paper in front of me.
"It's from Rafferty. He and the pack were in the Seven Sins tonight, drinking a few beers and waiting for their shift to start. Some unexpected visitors showed up."
"Mayhem?" I asked as I opened the paper.
"Yep."
Rafferty had hastily scribbled a few lines. "Keep an eye out for five assholes on bikes. No idea who they are. Jemma wouldn't let them in the club, but something tells me they'll be back. Something not quite right about them. Raff." Rafferty, Tracker, Zander and Colt were the four Boys of Wynter who rode on the nights we had off. We rarely crossed paths, but we left messages with Jemma whenever necessary.
Jemma saw me open the note. She dropped a white hand towel over her shoulder and crossed the room to sit with us.
I scooted over. "Take a load off, beautiful." The lines around Jemma's almond shaped eyes grew deeper each year. All the creases added character to her face. She had, after all, been a guardian angel before she'd been banished to the mortal world, and angels might have been a little pious and way too snooty, but they were always lovely to look at. And this fallen angel was no exception. Tonight I'd seen another angel on earth, who had nothing to do with the angel's realm. And I'd vowed to help her, only I wasn't exactly sure how.
"So you don't know these guys either?" Jemma brought my attention back to the note.
I shook my head. "Nope, all I know is that Kay was gushing about them the other night."
Jemma rolled her eyes. "Kay, that woman is all kinds of crazy."
"Tell me about it." I folded up the note and took another swig of whiskey. "I'm planning to avoid her from now on."
"That might not be a problem," Flint said. "I saw her walk out to meet that Mayhem club on their third circle around the bar. Jemma was standing sentry with her rifle. Wilder and I walked out to stand with her. They took a few laps around, but they had bandanas pulled up around their faces. I agree with Rafferty though. Something isn't quite right about them. I can't put my finger on it."
"They make the hair stand up on the back of my neck," Jemma noted.
Flint pointed at her. "That's it. Raised my hackles right up. I made eye contact with the biggest one. He had these weird eyes that looked flat and lifeless and mean. And they were pale in color, almost white as if he was blind. But he was looking right at me."
Jemma leaned back against the seat. "Kay climbed onto his bike too. The one with the dead eyes."
"Stupid woman. I told her she was messing with fire and that she was going to end up hurt."
"Yeah." Jemma whistled low. "She's a loon. I think the other girls are trying to find a way to get rid of her. Maybe she just found her own way out. If she's hanging with those guys, she's not stepping foot inside this bar again."
Flint leaned forward, momentarily forgetting the woman using him as a pillow. Reagan moaned and yawned and went right back to sleep. "Jemma, what if we let them in?"
Jemma laughed. "No thank you."
"I mean when we're all here, of course. Then we can check them out and see just what they're up to."
Jemma shook her head. "Nope. The last time you four had a brawl in this place, it took me weeks to clean up the mess. Let's just leave them out there. Eventually, they'll get bored and move on."
Flint sat back, disappointed his idea didn't go over well with Jemma.
Jemma moved onto another subject. "I hear Mirra found some rich movie director." She patted my arm. "Sorry about that, Max."
"Nah, nothing to be sorry about. We had a good time, and I'm going to miss her. I'm happy for her. It's the fucked up part about living half our lives behind the ugly plasma curtain."
A mewling sound rolled up from under the table and Reagan sat up. Her lashes looked too heavy for her eyes as she struggled to keep them open. My eyes widened as I noticed a yellow spot on her cheek. I kicked Flint under the table, motioned with my head to Reagan and discretely touched my cheek to let him know his sleeping lady friend had glowing wraith's blood on her cheek.
Jemma was already on the move with her white towel to wipe it away. "Sweetie, you have a little dirt on your face." Jemma wiped off the wraith blood quickly and shot Flint an admonishing glare for being so careless.
Reagan absently brushed a strand of hair off her face. "Sometimes you boys talk about the strangest shit. What's a plasma curtain?" she asked groggily.
Now it was my turn for Jemma's admonishing glare.
Flint laughed and put his arm around her to draw her against him. "You're hearing things, sleepyhead. I'm going to take you to my place so you can get some real sleep."
Jemma snorted. "Right. Real sleep."
I looked over at her. "You sure are in an uptight mood tonight."
Jemma rubbed her forehead. "Yeah, sorry. Those strangers on the bikes have given me a headache." She stood up from the table. "I'm just glad it's a slow night." She headed back to the counter.
Flint tapped my foot with his. "Where were you tonight?"
I hadn't expected the question and I was terrible at lying, especially to Flint. "Nowhere."
"But you're all clean and spit-shined like you prettied yourself up for something. Even put that stupid ass long hair of yours in a braid."
I picked up the whiskey again. "Exactly. I went home and showered off the—" I stopped myself and looked over at Reagan. Her lids were heavy but she was listening to the conversation. "Road dirt. Not all of us can wear slob as well as you, Flint."
Flint's gray eyes squinted to slits. He was trying to figure out what I'd been up to but no matter how smart he was or how good he was at knowing what I was thinking, he wouldn't have been able to guess this in a million years. I was still having a hard time believing it.
After a long moment of scrutiny, Flint was just tired and drunk enough to give up the quest for information. "Yep, Max, you're right. Not everyone can pull off slob with finesse like I can." He pulled Reagan closer and kissed the top of her head. "Let's go, sleeping beauty. Time for rest and relaxation."
Six
Rikki
I was taking my last group across the river. It had been a slow day on the ferry. That thought made me smile. It wasn't like I was running a donut shop or a shoe store. I couldn't even blame a heat wave or bad weather. Apparently death was just having an off season slump.
Catch stared down at me from the dock. He leaned casually against one of the pylons, tossing something shiny on the palm of his hand. Catch was more
clever and much more handy than the other goblins, which was why he had been given the undesirable but, nonetheless, important job of soul driver. He never seemed to mind dragging reluctant and often ornery souls to their eternity. In fact, it seemed he took pleasure in it.
My dad had talked often of the squirrely, long nosed creep. He said Catch was great with the horses and terrific at his job, but he was still, after all was said and done, a goblin. And they were never to be trusted completely. My biggest worry had been that Catch would discover that I was not Trex under the cloak and veil. Twice, I'd let my real voice escape through the forced gravelly whisper that had become the signature voice for Trex. Talking low and disguising our real tone was something my great-grandfather had started. He'd had an exceptionally deep, baritone voice, one that pushed him to near stardom in the church choir. One day, the soul of a sour old neighbor boarded the ferry, and great-grandfather worried the man might recognize his highly distinguishable voice so, just like his face, he disguised it.
Catch tossed the shiny coin on his palm as he stepped to the edge of the dock. "Welcome friends, to your final destination." With his free hand he held up his list. "Once you have departed the ferry, I'll line you up for the journey." Catch glanced at his list and clucked his tongue loudly. "Oh boy, I see we have two souls heading to Vapour's realm. Terribly sorry about that—" He squinted his already beady eyes at the paper to read the names under the flickering flames of the torches lining the river. "Unser Turnbill and Miles Rotten, you have been very bad, and well, what can I say except you've earned what's waiting for you. Of course, Miles, you were sort of predestined with a name like Rotten, eh?" Catch's sharp laugh frightened the already terrified souls. He waved at them with his pointy fingernails. "Step on up. I don't have all night."
