“Going to the Reaper Academy is a good idea, cara. And if, by the time you finish your course, you choose to pursue your appeal, you will be well positioned to retrieve the stapler yourself.”
I nodded. That wasn’t my plan, but it was close. The timing would be awfully tight. I would have to leave the second I matriculated and got a scythe of my very own in my grabby little hands. But let him believe that if he liked. I’d do what I had to do and then come back. I knew I wasn’t going to tire of Dante and leave him. I just needed to save my aunt and then we could be together forever. Now or in fifty years. I had two months to figure out some way to make it all work.
Either way, we’d be together.
I pulled out my hellphone. “I’m calling Charon. I need to let him know I lost my appeal.” Char was gossip central. I only needed to make this one call and he’d tell everyone who’s anyone in Hell my bad news. Plus he’d just kill me if he wasn’t the first to know. I didn’t want to find out if he could really do that.
Dante squeezed my free hand as I hit the speed-dial button for Char. He was 666.
“Girlfriend!” Charon answered.
I yanked the phone from my ear and lowered the volume. I quickly filled him in on the judge’s ruling. As soon as I got to the words “appeal denied,” he screeched, “You’re staying! I missed you so much these past four hours. Eternal damnation just hasn’t been the same without you.”
I grinned. That was just like Char to make light of something he knew must be killing me. He wasn’t much for listening to your problems, but he was great at cheering you up.
“Oh really? I can tell by the trance music blasting in the background how you’ve been in mourning since I left.”
“Honey, I know you really wanted to go, but it’s hard for me to be sad that you’re staying.”
Before the call got maudlin and I bawled in front of Dante yet again, I made plans with Char to go clubbing real soon. Char liked to party hearty, until he was nearly clubbed to death. And I could use both a night out to forget my problems and a good friend’s companionship. Plus a powerful demon in your corner is never a bad thing.
He agreed—I could hear him nodding, horns scraping against the phone. Then I clicked off and turned back to my Reaper.
“Andiamo,” he said. Whether that referred to love or bullets, I didn’t care. Holding hands, we left the courthouse together.
For some reason, it had turned unreasonably cold. I longed for the polar bear fleece hoodie Dante had bought me. Suddenly I remembered telling Shannon on my last day on Earth that it would be a cold day in Hell before I saw the inside of a classroom again.
Oh, look. I’d been right.
The trek across Hell from the Reincarnation Station and courtrooms should’ve taken about half an hour, but we kept running into friends who had already heard the news and wanted details. Most of the souls and demons we ran into seemed really happy I was staying. Either I’d made more friends down here than I ever made on the Coil or misery just loved company. No, I realized, I had made friends who honestly liked me. I began to see why Dante didn’t mind staying.
If life is what you make it, well, then afterlife is too.
Chapter 3
Finishing-Off School
EVENTUALLY DANTE AND I arrived at the university. He led me over to the Registrar’s Office, where he leaned over the counter and rummaged in a drawer until he found a brochure on joining the Reaper Corps. He handed it to me and I flipped it open. “Reaping 101. No prerequisites required.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I read the requirements. I mean, why would I notice, when I didn’t need to breathe?
Anyway, I’d been worried that the requirement for becoming a Grim Reaper would be that one needed to be actually dead. But apparently not. Thank G—er, someone.
I scanned the text, checking out the curriculum. “Reap What You Sew: Styling your Robe.” I hated to dress like everyone else and had plans to jazz up my robe with sequins or piping or something. I’d ask Charon for help with that one. I recalled Char asking Dante to help him re-glue some unstuck sequins to his horns during my very first crossing of the Styx. If he could glam up his big, scaly horns, then he could make my Reaper robe sparkle like a teenage vampire.
“Stick Handling: You and Your Scythe.” I’d played hockey in high school, as well as in my past lives so that class ought to be a piece of cake. She shoots, she reaps!
“Death Coaching: Don’t be the Rude of All Evil.” I was a PR professional. I could fake sincerity with the best of ’em.
There were other courses required to get your baccalaureate in Reapage, but I figured I could handle most of them. As Dante had told me a while back, Reapers did more than just reap. They were Hell’s SWAT team, Swiss Guard, customs agents, bounty hunters and apparently the referees in various sporting events. In short, they were the only trustworthy beings in Hell. And wasn’t I off to a great start by lying about my reasons for joining up? I planned to misuse my scythe the instant I got it.
I checked out the reading list. While there were a couple of actual textbooks, I was relieved to find that the required reading consisted mainly of photocopies of the relevant sections of the major religious tomes: the Bible, the Koran, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the Torah, and a novel titled Good Omens. Go figure.
The more I read, the more I knew I could do this. The course lasted two semesters. The five-week classroom portion was already two weeks along. Then the practicum activities in the field took another two weeks. Seven weeks in total, five for me. That was cutting it close to the day when the judge would rule me dead if I didn’t show up with the stapler of the damned. If Coil time proceeded along the same space-time discontinuum I’d observed in the hospital, then I had only another two months to earn my scythe and get back to the Coil to rescue my aunt. And it might not even be that long; time was passing more and more erratically as, well, time passed.
It suddenly occurred to me I didn’t have enough Karma Kredit points for tuition and I said as much.
“All retraining courses are free,” Dante responded. “It’s covered under the GI Bill.”
“G.I.? Weren’t those the slippery things on the hill on the way in?”
“Nah, those were Good Intentions—other people’s. This is Grim Intent—your own. Same acronym, different meaning. Capisci?”
Right. Because that’s not confusing at all. “So, you’re saying the courses are all free if you’re grimly intended?”
“That’s right. Life isn’t the only place where the best things are free.”
I nodded. That settled it, then. I had grim intentions. The grimmest.
“I think we’re ready now,” Dante called to three large creepy beings with leathery wings, pointy horns, forked tongues and tails who had been completely ignoring us. Now they descended on us like commissioned salesmen. That’s when I discovered that the “Demonic Procession” course had nothing to do with pomp and circumstance as I’d assumed when I’d seen that brochure a while back. Instead, demons were in charge of processing paperwork and they were devilishly good at it.
While the forms were confusing and the administrators scary, being processed by a demon turned out to be pretty painless. After only a couple of hours (Hell time) I had a student card proudly displaying my student number (XXXIVb) and a cafeteria pass.
Dante had disappeared somewhere around the ninety-minute mark, telling me to wait for him in the nearby reception area.
I’d read the syllabus three times by the time Dante finally showed with another guy in tow. The man had Professor written all over him. Not literally, but he looked like something out of a publically funded version of Hogwarts. Long white hair merged seamlessly into a long white beard. A huge smile beamed from his kindly face, causing little laugh lines to crinkle around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He had on khaki pants and matching shirt under his Reaper robe, which he wore open like a suit jacket. There were even suede patches sewn onto the robe
’s elbows. I didn’t know a robe could have elbows, but his did.
Dante gestured toward me. “Professor Colin Schotz, may I present your newest pupil, Kirsty d’Arc. Kirsty, Professor Schotz.”
From Dante’s deferential manner, I wondered if I should rise and curtsy. But they’d come to me and I was a woman (this time ’round), so I just held out my hand to be shaken or kissed or whatever passed for a formal greeting here.
“On your feet, student! There’s a professor present.”
I looked around. Hadn’t Dante said there wouldn’t be any cops or military here?
“Ten-SHUT!”
I hadn’t even been a Girl Scout, let alone a soldier, but there’s something about having those particular syllables shouted at you that makes you leap to your feet, backbone ramrod straight and be all you can be.
I stuck out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Professor.”
Instead of shaking my hand, the professor saluted. But it wasn’t the professor now. Same body, different head. Apparently this guy had two heads like Bob the Barker, who worked with my friend Sue Sayer, except in this guy’s case they appeared only one at a time. The new head sported an extreme buzz cut and the body had lost its preoccupied academic stance and assumed a rigid military bearing. A jagged scar ran across his face, starting at the right side of his hairline and traveling down toward the left corner of his mouth, disappearing into the craggy frown lines on his clean-shaven jaw. A black patch covered his right eye. He had fierce blue eyes—I mean, eye—whereas kindly Professor Schotz had had warm brown ones.
Dante repeated his gracious gesture. “Sergeant Colin Schotz. May I present Kirsty d’Arc, your new recruit.”
Instead of shaking my hand, he hauled a raft of papers out from under his arm. “These are the required readings. The prof’s already distributed them in class. I’m doing a huge favor for Dante here, letting you enroll partway through the semester. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He got all up in Dante’s face. “And she’d better not fail. Got that?”
Sergeant Schotz spun around and started away, black robe flaring out behind him. Suddenly he turned and came back to me as if he’d remembered something.
“Welcome, my dear. Welcome.” I faced the professor again. Mostly. “Don’t let him intimidate you. We’re all playing on the same team here. Or, at least, I am.”
“Only if you make the cut,” one half of his mouth said, corner slanting downward. “There’s no team in I!”
The professor winked at me with his good, brown eye. Half his face was now the sergeant’s, complete with eye patch. Could the sergeant still see? “Don’t pay any attention to him, Ms. d’Arc. I may be schizophrenic, but at least I’ll always have each other.”
This time when he turned, he did march away.
Okay, that was disturbing. And it was going to be distracting if he—they—couldn’t keep it together. I’d have to figure out a way to pay attention to lectures in class.
Dante rocked up and down on his toes. “So, what did you think of my boss?”
He looked so pleased I couldn’t tell him Colin was both odd and scary. “I’m looking forward to his teaching.”
“He’s a great professor. And a terrific drill sergeant. You’ll like them. He’s amazing.”
“Well, he’s something, all right.” He. They. I had a distant memory of Char and Dante talking about a he that was a they the day I arrived. Since Colin Schotz was in charge of the Reaper Corps in addition to his teaching role, I would really need to impress him if I was ever going to get back to the Coil in time to warn Aunt Carey about Conrad.
“What’s his story?”
“Story? What do you . . . Oh, the soldier and the scholar thing? Okay. You know how, when you get here in Hell, you assume the form you believe yourself to be?”
“Yeah . . .” I said slowly. No, wait. The new decisive me was more sure than that. “I mean, yes, I do know that.”
“Colin had two dominant incarnations and he can’t decide which him is the him he wants to be down here. So we get two instructors in one.”
“Can he keep track of stuff, like what homework he assigned the day before?”
“You won’t need to worry about that. Professor Schotz teaches only the in-classroom work, while Sergeant Schotz is in charge of the fieldwork. But do not let the professor’s kindly demeanor fool you. You must be sure to have all the readings and homework done on time or it’s . . .” He sucked air between his teeth, generating a slashing noise as he drew a finger across his neck.
“He’ll kill me?!”
“Oh, no. I mean you’ll have to repeat the semester. Now, we’d better hurry.”
No kidding. No way did I have time to repeat anything. I looked down at the stack of papers in my hands. “Do I go to class now or do I go home and start reading these?”
Dante looked at his watch. “Neither. It’s time for lunch. I hear they have deep-fried ectoplasm on a bun. Yum.”
Dante strode toward the cafeteria at a good clip, his robe flaring out behind him as Professor Schotz’s had. I’d grown to love that look and couldn’t wait to get a robe of my own.
If I passed, of course.
I followed Dante. I’d been in Hell long enough that ectoplasm on a bun sounded good to me, too. As I walked, I shuffled through the papers Professor Schotz had given me instead of watching where I was going. I’d believed I was headed toward the cafeteria, but when I arrived at the door and pushed on the handle to walk through it, I stumbled down an unexpected step. I nearly turned my ankle as I hit hard-packed dirt instead of marble tiles. The door slammed shut behind me, the bolt clicking into place.
I’d landed in an unkempt courtyard. Now what? I did a quick reconnoiter of the space, which looked desolate and unused. All brick walls and no windows. I didn’t see another door and a couple of abortive attempts told me this one had locked behind me. What I did see was another person. Or, you know, being. Tall, dark and not exactly human, she leaned up against a wall watching me coolly, toying with a cigarette. She reminded me a bit of my former coworker Indira, only without the blond streaks. And with a few extra arms.
“There’s a trick to it, you know.” She smiled, teeth brilliantly white against her dusky skin.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m new.” While I didn’t have to breathe anymore, I did need to force air over my voice box in order to speak. I took a deep breath to say more, but accidentally inhaled an unpleasant mouthful of cigarette smoke. You’d think I’d be used to smoke, what with all the fire down here, not to mention the brimstone and cusswords, but I hadn’t been exposed to tobacco smoke since Lord Roland Ecks and his pipe when I’d stumbled across the time machine. I started hacking up a lung, a little worried that might be more than just an expression down here.
“Sorry.” She dropped the butt on the ground amid a pile of others, grinding it beneath her boot. Then she pushed off from the wall and came toward me. “I know I shouldn’t smoke, but it gives me something to do with my hands.” To illustrate, she put her hands on her hips, crossed her arms over her chest and patted her long straight hair. That left one free hand to hold her textbooks. “I never know what to do with them.”
“Really?” I gasped, coughing fit mostly over. “I would’ve thought having three pairs would allow you to do all sorts of things simultaneously.”
“Too bad it doesn’t work like that. Three sets of arms, but only one brain. You should have seen me try to learn piano.” She rolled her eyes. She only had two of those. “On the other hand,” she said with a grin, “I can beat you in keyboarding with two hands tied behind my back. Hands down.”
I laughed. “You’re like a one-woman arm-y.”
“Good one. I gotta hand it to you, it’s not often someone comes up with a crack I haven’t heard before. I’m Kali, by the way.”
“I’m Kirsty.” I shook her extended hand, eyeing the other five. “So, what’s the trick for getting back out of here?” I gestur
ed toward the locked exit.
“Oh, it’s easy. Stand back.” She waved her hand over the lock mechanism. The lock exploded, pieces flying all around us. “You just have to be a god.” She gestured for me to precede her through the doorway.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that for next time.” I walked through the door and she followed. “Doesn’t that piss off the maintenance staff? Having to constantly replace the lock?”
“Nah, they got some guy who fixes things the same way I destroy them.” She shrugged. “I’d prefer that, actually, but you get what you get in the way of god-like powers, right?”
I nodded. The last god I’d met hadn’t impressed me much, but Kali seemed pretty decent. “So what’s a nice god like you doing in a place like this?”
“I got bored with the whole deity thing so I’m studying to be a Reaper. How about you?”
“Me, too. Not the god thing. Just the Reaper thing.” I touched my chest. “Late enrollee.”
“Cool. Maybe we can be study partners. Listen, I gotta go see a man about a god, but I’ll see you in class.” She headed down the hallway while I reoriented myself and took a step toward the cafeteria. From halfway across the mezzanine, Kali called back to me, “Hey, Kirsty. You didn’t ask me what I was the god of.” She had a big goofy grin on her face.
“Hey, Kali,” I called. “What are you the god of?”
“Nothing special,” she yelled, continuing to stride backward as she spoke. “Just, you know, death, destruction, chaos and those earring backs that always go missing.”
I nodded once, trying to look knowing and blasé. One of my earrings went plop at my feet, its little butterfly back suddenly gone. I’d had my ears repierced last month, but if I was going to hang out with Kali, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.
I was so scoring her as my study partner! Being the god of death and destruction would give her a hell of a leg up on the rest of the class. Or an arm up. Whatever.
Scythe Does Matter trr-2 Page 3
