by Lisa Medley
“Whatever. Back when I can,” Nate said, and then vanished into the consecrated subway.
As soon as he was gone, Kylen summoned the imps. They burst through the street-level window in a shower of glass, and streamed in—a muddy river of black, oily flesh and teeth. Landing with a wet thud on the concrete floor, they descended on the bodies like piranhas. Kylen was confident there wouldn’t be anything left for Nate to take back on his second trip.
He squatted, leaning back against the cool concrete wall—the one place in the room that was illuminated by the sole streetlight left on the block—and watched for a while as the imps went about their work. Satisfied with their progress, he pulled the wad of paper from his pocket and picked at its folds, careful not to tear it more than necessary as he worked it open.
It was a list.
Several words were no longer legible, but most of it was still decipherable.
She had given up too easily.
He read it in order, taking note of each item that had been scratched through with a ruler-straight line. He scowled, listening to the hosts’ bones crack and crunch, as he considered the final fourteen items, which hadn’t been crossed out. A few were especially troubling.
Like #58.
The words hell and no came to mind.
* * *
Olivia screamed and bolted upright on the couch in Ruth’s living room when Nate appeared before her with a rolled tarp over his shoulder. She jumped to her feet and backed away from him, her heart all but exploding from her chest.
“Sorry,” Nate said, a lopsided smile forming on his face. He shifted the package and took a step forward. “Do you know where Ruth is?”
“Shower,” Olivia answered, as soon as she’d calmed down enough to speak.
“Okay, I have to take care of this…um…just tell her I’m back. She can find me in the basement.” He smiled again and headed toward the back door.
As he walked away, she noticed that the package seemed to be shaped like a body. What had she fallen into here? Were her last few days on Earth really going to be spent with unearthly beings? Or worse…murderers? Didn’t that make her an accessory?
Either way, it was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to her. She was tempted to stay, if they’d have her. The reporter side of her was intrigued. If only she had more time! She’d stumbled upon a career-making story here—one that could catapult her well beyond the “Food & Cuisine” page.
But that was the one thing she didn’t have.
Time.
None of this was on her list. Reapers? Nope. Demons? Nope. Supernatural travel through invisible subways? Nope. In fact, her time was running out for the things that were on her list.
Of the fourteen that were left, she could only mark off #49 volunteering at a homeless shelter, #50 have a pet and, with any luck, #51 make the best dessert ever. She’d baked an apple pie crumble dessert that was even now cooling on the kitchen cabinet. Hopefully it would be good enough for her to knock that item off her mental list. Ruth had shown her all the ingredients Nate had assembled, giving her the Wiki version of the Mabon celebration they’d already been planning. The box of apples had all but begged to become a dessert.
Still, the question of what was rolled in the tarp wouldn’t leave her…
Fatigue settled heavily upon her, though, making her thoughts slow and sluggish. She lay back on the couch and closed her eyes. The energy that had flowed through her all afternoon was long gone, and weariness pinned her to the couch like concrete blocks on her chest.
She was so tired.
Her eyes refused to open even when she commanded them to do so. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, but was helpless to stop it. A nagging wish played in the back of her mind that Kylen had been the first to return home instead of Nate. Vaguely, she wondered why.
Chapter Thirteen
Deacon had never been as happy to deliver his cargo as he was tonight. When he stepped into the main terminal of Purgatory, Rashnu caught sight of him and stepped down from his platform, motioning the long queue of reapers waiting to unload their quarry toward the other end of the tunnel. There, at another platform, stood…Rashnu. The angel had split himself in twain many millennia ago so he could sort souls at a more expedient rate.
He didn’t trust anyone else to do the job.
The place was rocking tonight. There were thousands of reapers from dozens of species milling around the station. Some were waiting to deliver souls in the now-enormous line, and others had already deposited their cargo and were enjoying some bar-side camaraderie. The same creatures that would eat one another alive top-side drank and bullshitted down here.
Tonight, none of them looked even remotely human.
Which meant that a lot of humans must be dying tonight, keeping the reapers of humans too busy to socialize. But Deacon had too many pressing problems to ponder that one closely.
Purgatory was the no-man’s-land of reapers. It was a forced détente, and no violence or discord was tolerated. Cross the line and Rashnu would smite you to oblivion. Deacon had witnessed it happen more than once.
A thing like that made an impression.
When Deacon caught Rashnu’s eye, the angel nodded to the door at the outermost end of the terminal. This was not Deacon’s first rodeo. He’d been through this door and down this particular hallway several times now—each time he’d consumed a demon.
Grim—yes, the Grim—had ascended to Seraph, leaving the opening for Deacon to become a Powers. So far, things had not been going his way. It was infuriating. They knew Camael was responsible for all the recent demon activity on Earth, but so far they hadn’t found a way to shut him down permanently. The power it took to make a release portal large enough to free dozens of demons left a mark and Grim could locate and close those quickly with Deacon’s help, but the smaller exit portals were trickier to find and shut down. One demon sliding through an exit portal was like a piece of sand in the bottom of the sea, a small and insignificant presence.
Deacon didn’t even want to know the politics behind it all, but he would have appreciated a little more help from up top. Grim was still his mentor and would be for the indefinite future, but some days it seemed like he was being left to hang. If the higher-ups weren’t motivated enough to help track down and destroy all the demons that were currently tormenting the citizens of Meridian, Deacon didn’t even want to know how much worse it had to get before their attention was piqued.
Deacon followed Rashnu down the brilliant white stone hallway to Grim’s chamber.
* * *
Grim was not the black-robed character of storybooks.
Never had been, in fact.
Still, he inspired a healthy respect among the Purgatory crowd. And now that he was a Seraph? The guy was even more intimidating. He was standing—or, rather, levitating—on the far side of the chamber when they walked in.
Deacon was grateful the guy had found a way to tone down his overwhelmingly bright glow, but his eyes were still searing when he looked directly at the Seraph. Three sets of wings peeked out from behind Grim, but Deacon could only see the feathered shoulders of the wings that were folded against his back. The first time Deacon had laid eyes on him, the wings were fully extended, stretching a good twelve feet on either side of Grim’s body.
“Good luck,” Rashnu said, pulling the door closed as he left the room to wait in the hallway.
It was hard to get a fix on Grim’s actual appearance, since there was no way to properly study him without going blind. As it was, Deacon would be seeing spots for the next few hours.
Grim’s face morphed between a man’s visage and a child’s, sometimes becoming almost animalistic. He tried not to dwell too much on the animal part. A long white flowing robe covered the rest of the Seraph’s body.
“Deacon,” Grim greeted. “Come, let us dispatch of this unpleasantness.”
Grim had taught Deacon to consume the demons and eat their power, but it was a tric
ky task when he was also full of souls, particularly this many of them.
He welcomed the help.
Deacon closed his eyes as Grim approached. A warmth enveloped him as the Seraph enclosed him in a sphere of purple light. The light pressed against him, pushing the souls and demons from him. He opened his eyes, watching as the souls streamed from his mouth in a long line, one after another for what felt like an eternity. They passed through the light, circling around Grim’s head with reverence. The demons were expelled from Deacon’s heart chakra in a long black stream, but they couldn’t pass through the field energy.
Grim helped him free the souls but retain the demons. Grim had promised that with time he’d be able to do it himself. Deacon had no doubt that he was right. The power he’d pull from consuming these demons might be enough to push him over the edge.
Doubtlessly understanding their fate, the demons churned like dervishes, beating against their purple cell.
Grim waved his hand above his head, pointing to the chimney in the center of the room. The souls hovered, reluctant to leave his light, but they eventually streamed toward the tunnel, up and away.
That particular chimney, Deacon had learned, was a one-way street to Heaven. Like Hell, there were various levels and circles. This tunnel was a fast track to redemption.
They were the lucky ones.
Deacon didn’t like to think too hard about how many souls the demons had already taken straight to Hell. And he especially didn’t like to think about how many his friend Kylen had been responsible for poaching over the past hundred years. Deacon shuddered. He’d been to Hell. He hated to think of innocent souls being marooned there for eternity.
* * *
Deacon’s body trembled, craving the power just within his reach.
“A bit more business, I see. Energize the sphere, Deacon.”
Desperate for relief, Deacon pushed out a long cleansing breath, and then drew in another. Spreading his arms wide, he sent the force of his light into the sphere. The black streams of smoky haze coalesced into one tremulous mass before being drawn back into his sternum through his heart chakra.
The purple sphere of light surrounding Deacon went supernova and flashed, diminishing even Grim’s radiance to a weak glow before winking out. There was an explosion of bright white fireworks behind his lids when he closed his eyes.
Deacon’s chin fell to his chest briefly, and when he opened his eyes, a triumphant grin spread across his face.
This was what success felt like.
“Well done,” Grim praised.
He lifted his gaze to Grim’s. Power leaked from him as purple light sizzled down his arms and out the tips of his fingers. He was the Potentiate, the Powers. And at this moment, he felt like it.
“Impressive, Deacon. Five demons is a notable haul. How were you able to capture so many?”
“Kylen can track them, sir. We’re not sure how or why, but he’s been invaluable.”
“That one is on a precipice, Deacon. Watch him. He has not yet chosen his path, and nothing is predestined.” Grim floated toward a long bar and poured himself a drink. The amber liquid filled his tumbler, flakes of gold floating and swirling inside as if it were alive.
“If he could see Kara, I’m sure she could set him back on the path to righteousness.”
“Kara is well on her way to the fourth Heaven. You know what it would cost her to meet with him. We’ve discussed this.” Grim sighed.
“Isn’t every soul worth saving if it can be redeemed?” Deacon continued, hoping he hadn’t crossed some unseen barrier of angel etiquette.
“Deacon,” Grim crossed the gap between them until Deacon had to close his eyes against the harshness of his light. “Your intentions for your friend are pure, although he may soon be beyond redemption. Even now he dabbles in the darkness of his previous life. The residue clings to him. He made a choice once, and soon he will need to make another.”
“He made that choice to save someone he loved,” Deacon pointed out.
“Damning himself in the process.”
“At least consider it?”
“Your request has been noted. It’s really up to Kara.”
Chapter Fourteen
Nate returned to the concrete basement downtown to find a whole lot of nothing. No Kylen. No bodies. Not even a pool of black blood on the floor. Things were going from weird to weirder. As if that were even possible.
He’d stuffed the body into the furnace after cleaning out the ash and bone from the previous one, and then stoked the fire until the newest addition was well on its way to cremation. He was getting way too good at burning bodies. Maybe he should have been a mortician. Despite the gruesomeness of the task, something about returning the bodies to ash was…rewarding.
By the time he made it upstairs to flash back to the basement, Olivia was asleep on the couch and Ruth was in her bedroom. Now that the first body was on its way to consumption, he had planned on flashing the remaining ones back one at a time, leaving them in a stack. He would bring Kylen home last. Now that he was here, though, there was nary a sign of either the reaper or the hosts.
He spun around at the sound of scuffling in the dark corner behind him, drawing his knife. Yellow eyes winked in the darkness, and then inched toward him. He backed out of the puddle of light shed by the broken basement window.
What happened to the window?
A black cat emerged from the darkness and hunched down to lap at a shiny spot on the concrete floor, but it let out a sudden growl and bolted from the room. Nate released a relieved breath. He didn’t like being here alone. A cold shiver rolled down his spine as the light behind him sputtered then dimmed. Someone or something had crossed by the window. He moved deeper into the shadows from where the cat had emerged and waited. He could flash back if need be, but something felt…off.
A second growl was followed by a sharp crack and thud. It sounded like someone had dropkicked the thing across the alley just outside the building’s doorway. He held his knife down at thigh-level so that the light wouldn’t glint off its blade, giving him away.
Nate couldn’t believe his eyes. A woman had walked into the room, and she was…breathtaking. Dressed in black leather pants and a tight, black wifebeater tank, she had even more knives strapped to her body than Kylen carried around. Every visible inch of her was steeled muscle. She turned to face him and smiled, her white teeth glowing almost iridescent in the pale column of light. Long, straight, ink-black hair swayed to one side as she tilted her head to look at him. He knew who she was instantly: Maeve, the replacement reaper.
Even though she’d been around for months, only Deacon and Ruth had actually met her. Ruth worked with her most nights and Deacon had crossed paths with her on his many trips to Purgatory. Because of Nate’s inability to harvest or carry souls, he was left out of the Purgatory loop, and Kylen’s Purgatory card had been revoked. Despite his infraction with the souls in the alley, Kylen was still on soul probation, and would be until Deacon decided otherwise.
“Are you gonna hide in here all night, or do you want to come out to play?” she asked, clutching a knife in each hand.
Nate took a tentative step forward. “Maeve?”
“Who are you?” She tensed and her eyes flashed in the moonlight.
“I’m Nate.”
Recognition crossed her face. “Deacon’s friend? The non-reaper?”
“Right.” Nate held his ground, waiting for her to back down.
She continued to work the switchblade in her right hand, assessing him as she flipped it open and shut, open and shut. The other knife she slid into the sheath on her left thigh.
“What’s going on here? I found an imp in the alley, and this place reeks of death and sulfur.” She walked the perimeter, inspecting the floor and corners before pausing beneath the street-level window.
Searching for his voice, Nate cleared his throat. “We found a nest of demons. We killed them all, and Deacon brought the demons and the souls they we
re carrying to Purgatory. Kylen and I were going to take care of the bodies. I took one home, and this is what I found when I got back…”
“Nothing?” she finished.
“Nothing. Unless you count a cat… And get this, the place was a bloodbath when I left. How could it be this clean now? And what happened to Kylen?”
Maeve toed several shards of broken glass into a pile against the wall with her boot. “Was this window broken the last time you were here?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she dragged her index finger across the window ledge and held it up in the light. Black blood glistened on its tip. “This is from an imp.”
“An imp? They must have been the demons’ imps…” Nate suggested.
“Not necessarily,” Maeve swiped her hand across her pants, wiping it clean. “Once their demon dies, there’s no master left to command them. They wouldn’t stick around, unless…”
“What?” Nate asked, taking a step closer to inspect the window.
“Unless they were summoned. They are hungry buggers. And thorough. They could have cleaned up the bodies.”
“Isn’t that convenient?”
“Yes. But it’s dangerous, too. They are indiscriminate and insatiable. Unless they’re commanded, they can easily get out of control. I’m surprised you didn’t see the one in the alley.” She tilted her head at him again in question.
“I’m not a reaper, remember? I can’t tell a cat from a hell beast. They all look the same to me.” He had seen them in all their glory in Hell, but he didn’t feel like offering up that little nugget of intel.
“Well, that’s damn unfortunate.” She kicked the pile of glass, scattering it back across the floor as she continued to circle the room. He had no idea what she was hoping to find.
“How many were there?” she asked, her brow crinkling.
“Demons? Five.”
“Five? You killed five demons here?”
