“That’s okay,” she said, voice calm and even. Her words were for the professor but her gaze was fixed on her remaining buddy, Amber. Why did she not sound upset about having to repeat the course? After all, she wasn’t exactly academic material . . .
Suddenly I got it and for the first time all semester, I kind of admired her. She had allowed herself to fail so Crystal didn’t have to go through the classroom work again by herself. Amber was with people and beings she already knew but Crystal would be with total strangers . . . some probably stranger than others. Tiffany had made this huge sacrifice for her friend and at the same time given me more time to think. She could have said nothing and then I’d have to repeat the semester, too.
Now I just needed to focus enough to make use of the time she’d given me. I know I’d heard this before, but what was it?
Professor Schotz tapped Tiffany with the hammer—a lot lighter than he had Crystal—and the whirlwind started up again. Within seconds, Tiffany was whisked through the wall to join her friend.
I had to admit I felt a little envious. I’d certainly never made any friends in life who loved me enough to stay with me through death and higher education.
Nor had I been that kind of friend. On the day I’d been attacked by my stapler gone wild, Shannon had invited me to go back to school with her. I’d pretty much laughed in her face. Nice, I chastised myself. No wonder the people I worked with at Iver PR—the people I’d thought of as my friends—hadn’t felt warm and fuzzy toward me.
Well, that would change. When I got my life back, I’d be willing to die for Shannon.
Now the professor turned his attention to me, the last soul standing.
“All right, Kirsty. It’s all yours now. I hope you get it right, because I believe you will make an excellent Reaper.” He looked at me sternly but a twinkle in his eye belied his serious demeanor. “It’s the same question. Just pay attention.”
Which was the worst thing he could say, because now my attention was all about paying attention to the fact that he was speaking and not actually on what he was—
“What is the one thing you should not do with your scythe?”
I glanced over at Dante, who seemed focused on the hourglass. The flow of sand had reversed again and now there were only a few grains remaining in the upper bulb. It was now or never. Well, now or next semester.
What did I have to lose? I grasped at some hazy memory as it floated by my mind’s eye. “You should never let anyone else touch your scythe.”
“That is correct!” Professor Schotz seemed really pleased I’d gotten it right. He rang the bell for at least five clangs, grinning the whole time. “Now, class.” He turned to address the room at large. I figured this was my signal to return to my seat so I scooted back to my chair, creating a tiny tornado of my own in my rush through the dusty classroom.
“I have one more question for you—all of you.” The professor addressed the class. “What would happen if you used another Reaper’s scythe?”
He peered at us, waiting. I noticed Dante didn’t flip the hourglass this time. Even he looked puzzled, eyebrows rising until they were lost under his artfully tousled—or perhaps just messy—bangs. I glanced at my classmates only to find they were all looking at each other. Eventually everybody’s attention settled on Amber.
“Tell us, Miss Perfect Memory. What’ll happen if we swap sticks?” Rod had such a wonderful way with people. Amber had just been separated from her BFFs. Couldn’t he be a tad more sensitive?
But Amber seemed fine on her own. She sat up a little straighter, her cowboy accessories shoved onto the chair next to her that had been Tiffany’s. She’d even yanked her fluffy blond tresses back into a ponytail and—gasp!—her lipstick hadn’t been reapplied in minutes. The pale peach was notable by its absence. It was a good thing her lips weren’t covered in their usual layers of goo because she was rubbing her mouth absently, obviously deep in thought.
Rod started in on her again. “Looks like Little Miss—”
“Shut up, Rod,” Ira said through clenched teeth. “Give the lady a chance or so help me, I’ll use my contacts and you’ll never pass through the skeggin’ pearly gates.”
Whoa! Go, Ira!
Rod shut right up, his face turning an alarming shade of violet.
Kali turned around and whispered to Ira, softly so only I could hear. “I thought nobody was supposed to know about you.”
Ira grinned and whispered back, “Yeah, but obviously you all suspect. And I may have let it slip out that I’m an undercover angel. I just didn’t say undercover doing what.” He waggled his eyebrows, managing to look a little less angelic for once.
He opened his too-pretty mouth to say something else but at that moment Amber raised her head.
“There’s nothing.” She laid her hands palms down on the desk. “I read all the handouts, all the original texts and scrolls they came from and the optional reference materials as well.” She blushed and had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. You can’t pull that ditzy-blonde routine for the whole semester and then turn around and be the hardest-working—and possibly the smartest—person in the room without some fallout.
Now I understood why Professor Schotz thought it wise to separate the Death Valley girls, although it had seemed cruel at the time—which was, assuming time was progressing at a reasonable rate today, about twenty minutes ago.
“That’s right, Amber. Very good.” The professor grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels. “We have no idea what would happen, only that it would be disastrous. Catastrophic. Perhaps apocalyptic. Unfortunately, the answer is lost in the mists of time.” He made a fluttering gesture with one hand. “And speaking of time, I have one final, final question for the group. Last one. I promise.”
We all fidgeted in our seats. Surely we hadn’t come this far just to fail. I held my unnecessary breath.
“And the question is . . .” Professor Schotz grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Where are you going to go to celebrate,” he glanced at his wrist, “in about five minutes, Hell time?”
I thrust my hand in the air, yelling, “I know this one. I know this one!”
Laughing, the professor said, “I see a hand at the back. Yes, Kirsty?”
I rose and looked him right in the eye. “We—” I stopped. Originally the plan was to be just my fun clique: Kali, M’Kimbi, Ira and me. Now I let my gaze rest on each person in the room, including Amber and Rod. When I looked at Kali, she nodded. I made a sweeping and inclusive gesture. “We’re all going to that new Mexican place, Taco Hell, at the corner of Shallow and Vain. Care to join us?”
“Join you? I’m buying!”
Chapter 6
Sudden Death Overtime
THE COURSE CURRICULUM hadn’t mentioned the weeklong break between semesters. While everyone else relaxed and caught up on errands, visits and sleep, I went crazy. I wouldn’t graduate until the week of my twenty-sixth birthday. That left me just a few days to obtain my scythe and go AWOL to the Coil. And that was if time was on my side, which it usually wasn’t.
I waylaid Professor Schotz in the hall and begged him to cancel our hiatus.
He laughed, telling me I was the first student ever to do that. And sorry, no. The only thing Professor Schotz and Sergeant Schotz agreed on was fly-fishing so they’d be gone the entire week.
I remembered the things I’d seen swimming in the Styx on my first crossing and wished him luck. I hoped they had a catch-and-release law down here; eating too many fish Styx couldn’t be good for you.
I spent some time pacing and fretting. When that didn’t seem to accomplish much, I tried researching why you should never use someone else’s scythe. Picture me spending my free time in Hell’s reference library. No, seriously.
I did manage to root out a few oblique references in the university’s Reaper resource materials. As the professor had said, however, the supposed dire consequences remained shrouded in history and mystery. I’d grabbed Dante’
s scythe the day he dragged me to Hell. Other than him freaking out, nothing had happened. I began to think it was an apocryphal tale based on rumors gone viral.
In the meantime, time grew wonkier and wonkier. The increasing lack of synchronization kept the Reaper Corps’ Soul Collection Department crazy-busy. Reaper Dispatch would send experienced Reapers out after souls and they would return empty-handed, reporting that they’d arrived days too late or days too early. The souls had either taken off deliberately or just gotten lost. Most souls found their own way, eventually, but it was traumatizing for them to wander around like, well, lost souls. The Satanic nurses set up a counseling station where they tried to cobble damaged souls back together but it didn’t always work. Something had to be done.
I considered this from the comfort of our rooftop apartment. I had a terrific view of the city—four stories up is a lot in a town comprised largely of one- and two-story buildings. Only the downtown area featured a few high-rise structures and I considered that to be part of the skyline’s charm, especially as time got more and more temperamental. Sometimes half the city would be shrouded in darkness while it was noon where I stood. The poor guy who drove the chariot of light across Hell’s roof was all over the place. Once I saw him nearly collide with himself on his way back from sunset. Charon complained he couldn’t choose between day and evening wear.
And exactly when had I begun thinking of Dante’s apartment as “our” apartment?
My week between semesters passed in a series of fits and starts. Mostly fits. It was nearly impossible to meet up with friends for a specific meal so we just started hanging out at Claire Voyant’s deli whenever. I might arrive to find Sybil having breakfast, Dante lunch and Lord Seiko dinner, when Khali and I had popped in for a late-night snack.
Monday morning arrived before I knew it—literally. And possibly before anyone else knew it, either.
Remembering that the second-semester class would be taught by the military-issue version of our instructor, I was all ready when Dante suggested we head to class two hours early. Actually, I’d been ready to go since my clock said 5:00 a.m. His watch said 7:30. Class started at 9:00. Somewhere in there, someone was right. Or maybe not. Dante handed me a steaming cup of his excellent coffee, which had cooled a bit in the time it took him to cross the room. According to his watch, ten minutes had passed between the kitchen and the living room, a journey of about ten paces. When we retraced his steps back into the kitchen to fill little Jenni’s food and water bowls, time ran backward. The coffeemaker pinged readiness of the cup I’d already downed. It swirled around in my stomach, ending up hiding behind a kidney like it didn’t know if it should be there or not.
We walked in companionable silence to the Reaper training facility, which was located off-campus.
Good thing we left early. It took us nearly an hour to walk to the edge of the city where the dark woods began, and then another forty minutes to reach the training grounds. Plus, we discovered we’d also lost an hour to DST—not daylight saving time but Damnable Screwy Time.
We arrived to find the training grounds were actually grounds—fieldwork in a field. Who knew? The second half of the course would be taught in a big white canvas tent. We ducked through the flaps and entered to find some of my classmates milling about. Dante headed to the front of the tent and stood at parade rest behind the instructor, who was, to my surprise, still kindly Professor Schotz. Where was the “what doesn’t kill ya (again) makes ya stronger” sergeant? Had Professor Schotz finally had enough of his alter ego and had him altered? Or maybe just shoved him into the Styx?
I grabbed a comfy-looking rock next to Kali and sat. Professor Schotz launched into a glowing rundown of Sergeant Schotz’s qualifications and experience and how lucky we were to have him as our instructor. He really seemed to admire the guy—no false modesty here.
A few more people straggled in after me and I expected them to get a grand chewing-out, but the professor just shrugged. How could you be on time when time itself was tardy? Finally the entire group assembled in the tent. It was time, and past time, to begin.
“And so, it gives me great pleasure to turn your Reaper education over to my bitter half, Sergeant Schotz.” The professor gestured toward himself and bowed his head. When he raised it, the thinning white ponytail had morphed into the crew cut and the kindly professorial features and manner had blitzed away. I think the sergeant was actually taller than the professor but wouldn’t dare ask. Or sneak up behind him with a measuring tape. Something about a measuring tape always makes men nervous.
“Thanks, Prof. You can go back to your nice, safe, hallowed halls now,” the sergeant all but sneered. It looked like the admiration wasn’t mutual—more of a love-hate kind of thing.
“All you greenhorns,” he snapped at us, “and any other color horns among you. You better listen up and listen good.”
We all sat up straighter.
Everything about the sergeant demanded attention.
“I’m in charge of making Reapers outta you idjits. And the key words here are, ‘I’m in charge!’”
He paced the front of the tent, one hand resting on his scythe while he gestured with the other.
I glanced over at Dante, who was standing at parade rest near the whiteboard. I thought he looked kind of naked without his trusty scythe. Which only got me thinking about Dante naked and then I missed the rest of the sergeant’s scary pep talk. I tuned back in just in time to hear, “Now, the first thing we’re gonna do is take a ten-mile hike. You think you outta-shape idjits can handle that?”
He spewed the last so hard he sent one of his teeth flying across the tent to land in the flattened grass at M’Kimbi’s feet.
“Get that!” the instructor ordered.
M’Kimbi tried to pick it up but it squirted from his fingers. This time it bounced and landed near Amber who made a grab for it but it sailed over toward Kali. She used all six hands but it still skittered away from her grasp. Grasps.
Finally, Sergeant Schotz bent down and picked it up, shoving it back into his jaw. He chewed air a few times to settle it back into place. Anger painted his scarred face as he surveyed us, his scathing single-eyed gaze jumping from one Reaper candidate to the next. “I see you are all total incompetents.” He raised his hand, pointing accusingly, face twisted and red. “You can’t even manage to pick up one teeny-tiny item. You can’t handle the tooth!”
Chapter 7
Brute Camp
THE TEN-MILE TREK was unsurprising, some of us able to make it and some not. I was able to go the distance—barely.
The rest of the boot camp portion of our program proved equally predictable. Sergeant Schotz would insult us a bit, then order us to do something strenuous. After that he’d give us a grudging compliment. I felt like I was watching a M*A*S*H-up of every military-themed movie I’d ever watched: An Officer and a Gentleman meets Private Benjamin and G.I. Jane while wearing Stripes. That didn’t make the physical training any easier, but it kept me entertained.
I wondered what could be the point of physical conditioning since we didn’t really have bodies anymore. But we definitely had muscle memory, and mine remembered strain and pain and how much it hurt to work out.
And yet, by the end of the second week, I began to notice that I was shaping up rather nicely. No wonder Dante had such a stunning body under that robe; Schotz’s training worked better than any gym I’d ever joined. (Notice I specified “joined,” not “regularly worked out at.”)
My colleagues were also developing lean muscle mass. Kali now sported both a six-pack and six rock-hard biceps. Even Ira’s wings bulked up. We’d all given up the pretense that we didn’t know he was an angel. You may be able to hide your light under a bushel but you can’t hide your wings under a tank top.
Schotz also devised mock soul runs. He’d divide up the class into Souls and Reapers and then the Souls would have a few minutes to hide or run, at which point their assigned Reapers would have to find them and haul
them in. In other words, we played hide-and-seek.
It would have been more fun if Aunt Carey’s life and my entire future weren’t resting on the outcome.
Eventually, the day of the final test arrived. Sergeant Schotz unrolled a rough map of the woods clipping it to the rolling whiteboard at the front of the tent. Using a Magic Marker—and by the way, they aren’t really magic, even in Hell—Dante carefully dabbed five little red dots at intervals around the map.
“This is your assignment.” The Sergeant rapped a knuckle on the board and began pacing in front of the map. The entire class leaned right to see the board, then left, then right again as his pacing obscured first one side of the board, then the other. Finally, he stopped pacing, now completely blocking our view of the map. “You will locate each of these five checkpoints.” He rapped the board again, harder this time. Dante grabbed the edge of the board as it wobbled on the uneven ground, threatening to topple over and take our instructional map with it. The sergeant didn’t seem to notice.
Schotz picked up the marker and turned to face us. “At each station, you will acquire an item to prove you were there.” He stabbed the air with his marker. I flinched even though he was three or four feet away. He just had that effect on people.
Yes, I was sitting on a front rock. Like M’Kimbi, I was a suck-up now, too. My aunt’s life depended on it.
“If you do not acquire at least four of the five tokens, you will not only fail this test, but you will also fail the entire course. You will fail to enter the Reaper Corps. You will not now, nor ever, become a Reaper.”
Amber raised her hand tentatively.
“You will not be allowed to repeat the course.”
Amber lowered her hand again.
“Now, to make things a little more interesting, there are seven candidates here today, but only six of each item at each station. Not only must you get to each checkpoint, but you must not be the last to arrive. The recruit who obtains the least number of tokens is history.” He sliced the marker across his throat in illustration. He’d removed the cap earlier, so, whether deliberately or accidentally, he inscribed a thin red line across his own neck. I got the picture. “Any questions?”
Scythe Does Matter trr-2 Page 7
