Death's Door

by E. A. Copen

  I shuddered. Considering what he’d done to the sphynx, I was in for a hell of an eternity.

  “Well,” Jean said after Osiris had returned to his throne, “do you suppose saving the bureaucracy of the Egyptian underworld makes up for making such a mess of the Norse one?”

  “Depends on if you believe in karma or not.” I extended a hand to Jean. “See you on the flip side.”

  He took my hand and shook it. “Hopefully, I don’t wind up back in Sybille’s shop. Do come looking for me.”

  I nodded and turned back to the paper shredder. There was a tiny black switch on the corner. It made the most god-awful grinding sound and vibrated when I pressed the switch and practically jerked the paper out of my hand. A bright light exploded from the machine and knocked me flat on my ass. I blinked, and the gold ceiling of Osiris’ throne room was gone.

  In its place was what looked like a gray stone ceiling. Bright spotlights clicked to life, blinding me. I sat up and found myself in a familiar empty stone tomb, except this one had been modified to reflect a fashion runway. The center rose even with my head, the stone polished and lined with more lights creating a sort of catwalk. Two velvet curtains at the end of the catwalk that wasn’t there in reality parted, flooding the room with more bright light and dramatic smoke.

  An attractive young man in a black riding coat stepped out in polished black shoes. He tucked the riding crop he carried into his elbow, placed a top hat on his head, tilted it to one side, and marched out with a perfect runway model walk. When he reached where I sat, he did a dramatic turn, pulled the riding crop and slapped it against his palm.

  “You’re late, Horseman,” he said in a nasal voice.

  “Yeah,” I said, pushing myself to my feet, “got held up by a sphynx.”

  He raised a painted-on eyebrow and pressed his lips together, giving me a slow once-over. “Hm. Not exactly a ten, are we? Maybe a Louisiana six if I’m being generous. Turn around for me please?”

  I did as he asked. “Look, I don’t know what you think this is, pal, but I just want to go through the door.”

  “Dressed like that? Oh, child. Baron Samedi said you were a bit of a country bumpkin, but I had no idea.” He hopped off the catwalk, tossed the riding crop, and pulled a fine-toothed comb from his jacket. “There’s no saving those clothes, but a haircut and a little contouring and maybe we can salvage the face.” He tried to put the comb in my hair.

  “Hey, man!” I pushed his arm away. “Don’t touch the hair.”

  “Oh!” His eyes glowed excitedly as his hands closed on my upper arm. “Oh, child, I think I’m gonna faint. Is that flannel? Over a print tee? What is this, 1992? Honey, the grunge look is out.”

  “It’s coming back!”

  “I guess at least it’s not harem pants.” He sighed heavily. “Some people you just can’t save. You have something for me, Mr. Horseman?”

  I took a step back and nudged the cigar box with my foot. It must’ve fallen out of my hands when I hit the ground. I picked it up and offered it to him. “Osiris wanted to make sure you knew they were from him.”

  He threw his hands up excitedly. “Gurkha Black Dragons? Oh, he shouldn’t have!” He seized the box, hopped up onto the catwalk, crossed one leg over the other before cutting the end off the cigar. He sparked a small flame in his fingers to light the other end.

  I’d never been much of a smoker. Smoking was one of those bad habits everyone picked up in prison, but I’d never acquired the taste. Besides, every cigarette I smoked was one less I could trade or sell, and everyone knows only a bad dealer samples his stock. Pony liked cigars, and I remembered him lighting a few over the years, but it was one of those rare indulgences he’d given up when he got his cancer diagnosis. I hadn’t seen him smoke one since.

  I cleared my throat. “So, I take it your Ghede Nibo?”

  “Just Nibo,” he corrected. “Ghede is sorta a family name.”

  “Not a baron?”

  He pulled the cigar from his mouth and smiled. “Nope. You know, once I was mortal. My claim to fame is that I was the first man to be murdered. How’s that for a rap sheet? Just so happens it was over my sick threads. I guess some things don’t ever change, do they? Damn, these are nice. I’ll have to thank him next time I see him.”

  “So, I know it’s none of my business, but you and Osiris...”

  “You’re asking if I’m banging him.” He put the cigar between his teeth and grinned. “He wishes. A little uptight for my tastes. Besides, there’s the wife. Not that I mind, but she doesn’t like to share. Goddesses, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Right.”

  He set the cigar aside and clapped his hands. “So, you’re here to go through the Sand Door after your girl. How romantic. Tell me about her.”

  I shrugged. How was I supposed to summarize Emma into just a few sentences? I could tell him she was beautiful, especially when she smiled, and her nose wrinkled just a little bit, or that even though I knew she hated her hair, I thought it was her second-best feature, just after that smile. Or I could talk about how she was the single bravest person I knew, always charging in to save people without a thought for her own wellbeing. It made me want to wrap her in Kevlar-lined bubble wrap sometimes. Maybe I should mention what a good team we made. She’d never batted an eye about Remy, or all the weird shit that happened to me. Emma was always there. As long as I was honest with her, she’d do anything for me. Even give up her soul to save me. If only I had known how far she’d go sooner, I could’ve talked her out of it.

  None of those things was enough to describe her. Words weren’t enough. She was as perfect as a human could get, and still flawed in all the right ways.

  “Got it that bad, do ya?” He picked up the cigar and tapped a bit of ash to the floor. “Well, maybe there’s hope for you yet. You’re a good egg, you know that? What you tried to do for your sister, man. Talk about playing the heartstrings.”

  My head snapped up. “You know about Lydia?”

  Nibo shrugged. “Of course I do. I am the patron Loa of those who die young. Shame what happened to her. Tragic all around. But who could’ve predicted what would happen to you and how it would eventually bring you here, now?”

  I hopped up to sit beside him. “If you know something about her death...Baron Samedi hasn’t told me anything. He keeps putting it off.”

  Nibo nodded. “Yeah, that’s Samedi for you. He’s like a father to me, but then fathers are all assholes, aren’t they?”

  “I’m a father.”

  “Then you’re an asshole too.” He gestured to me with the cigar. “I wish I could tell you everything I know, but you know I can’t. I’m going to sound like an asshole myself for saying this but...It’ll all be clear in time. You just keep on the path you’re on, and you’ll get your answers.” Nibo’s face sobered. “You know you ain’t going to like the answer you get, don’t you? Confronting a murderer ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes, you wind up with your killer as your co-worker. Talk about awkward. Which reminds me, when you meet Baron Kriminel, give him something for me.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  Nibo balled up a fist and punched me right in the gut. I folded in half, tearing up, doing my best not to fall off the catwalk.

  “You make sure you give it to him just like that, too. Bastard.”

  “Okay,” I wheezed.

  Nibo smoked his cigar while I recovered. “Can I offer you some advice?”

  When I stopped feeling like I was going to puke, I sat up and rubbed the sore spot on my stomach. It wasn’t real, the pain I was in, no matter how much it felt like it was. “As long as it’s not about my clothes and doesn’t get me punched again.”

  “Nah, we’re cool, man. I just wanted to tell you not to trust Loki. People act according to their nature, you see, and he’s a trickster. He doesn’t do a thing that isn’t in his best interest. Loki will always be on Loki’s side. You remember that, you’ll come out of this okay.”

  I hadn
’t trusted Loki since he walked into the arena, but especially not after the final battle. He hadn’t helped me out of the goodness of his heart. That just wasn’t in Loki. No, he stood to gain something by sending me to Hell to get Emma. The question was, what?

  “Thanks for the advice.” I nodded.

  Nibo stood. “Well then, we better get you back to your body. It’s just about sunrise.”

  I got up, and he led me to the velvet curtains at the end of the catwalk.

  “Good luck, Horseman. Oh, and if you ever change your mind about the makeover, look me up.” Nibo pulled the curtain aside, revealing the bright light. With his other hand, he made a ‘call me’ gesture.

  I never stumbled into a bright light so fast in my life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My eyes snapped open in the mortuary chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe and focused on Sybille’s fists clasped together about a foot above my chest. She looked like she was about to bring them down for a good, hard blow. My chest ached like she’d hit me more than once already. Thick, awful smelling mud coated my eyelids, nose, and mouth. Some of it fell into my eyes when I opened them. I blinked it away.

  “No offense, Sybille, but if you hit me again, I might just have to defend myself.”

  Sybille narrowed her eyes. “Lazarus?”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” I started to sit up, but something hard dropped on my chest from above. Luckily, the cigar box wasn’t that heavy. Guess Nibo wanted me to have them.

  I sat up and opened the box. Tucked inside were three cigars, the golden sphynx feather, and a note written in perfect penmanship: You’re going to need these. Best, Nibo.

  Sybille eyed the box of cigars with a frown. “What have you been up to, boy?”

  “It’s kind of difficult to explain. Did Jean make it back?”

  She gestured to a corner of the room where Jean floated over some candles. He flitted back and forth through the flames, watching as they moved.

  “Got back about an hour ago,” she said. “Doesn’t take much to excite him, does it?”

  I stood with a grunt and dusted myself off before taking the wet rag Sybille offered me. Whatever she’d rubbed all over me, it seemed to have done its job. I didn’t feel like I was going to fall over, though I did feel weak and in need of a recharge. At least it wasn’t so dire that I was afraid I’d hurt someone. I could take my time getting back on my feet.

  “Well?” Sybille pressed. “What’s next?”

  I scrubbed my face a minute before answering. “Marie Laveau’s tomb tonight. Hopefully, we don’t run into a fashion show.”

  “Fashion show?” Jean left the candles to come closer. “Why would there be a fashion show inside a grave?”

  “Let’s just say these Loa are interesting characters. So far, they haven’t been too difficult to deal with. Maybe I can escape this mostly intact. Thanks.” I handed the rag back to Sybille. It was covered in a thick green brown paste. “You were right about the tincture. It helped. I’ll still be heading for a quick recharge after this.”

  “I’ll come with you!” Jean volunteered.

  “No offense, Jean, but I think I’d rather do this on my own.”

  The pirate’s shoulders slumped as if I’d just told him I’d forgotten his birthday. “Oh, I see.”

  “Hey.” I put a hand on his mostly iridescent shoulder. “I’m still going to need my wingman in Hell tonight. You up to it?”

  He went from depressed to excited in a snap. “Absolutely! I’ll be there.”

  “As long as you pay me, so will I.” Sybille bent over to collect her items, piling them into the leather bag she’d brought with her.

  It was just before dawn when we made it out of the chapel. The place was deserted except for a few cars in the parking lot that looked like they’d been there since the dawn of time. Sybille’s truck was still where we left it. She tossed her bag in behind the seats, folded down the stepladder on the driver’s side, and got in.

  Something was still bothering me about my chat with the sphynx, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe Sybille knew something. “Hey, Sybille,” I said as I buckled in next to her, “what do you know about sphynxes?”

  “Greek or Egyptian?” She adjusted the mirror with the help of a string. She was too short to reach it otherwise. If I found out she was sitting on a stack of phone books, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Egyptian.”

  Sybille grunted. “Technically, the Egyptian sphynx isn’t a sphynx, but an androsphynx. They’re benevolent mostly, but often speak in riddles and prophecy, why?”

  “Prophecy?” The sphynx had mentioned prophecy before he launched into his moral dilemma questions. I shook my head. “No reason. Forget I asked.”

  We didn’t talk much on the way back to her shop. I was too tired to hold a conversation and Sybille didn’t seem in the mood. By the time I crawled into my car and eased it onto the street, headed northeast through the city, I was so sore and tired, I knew I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. My little car swerved all over the road. Had there been anyone else on the side roads I took, I’d never have made it to the quaint little one-story house in the middle-class neighborhood.

  Once I got there, I sat in the car as the sun rose behind the house, watching the warm rays light up the empty windows and turn the white fence golden. From the driveway, I could just barely make out the little glass greenhouse in the backyard. The grass was still perfect. Halloween decorations dotted the front lawn. Emma would’ve cleaned them up already if she were home. If I had time, maybe I could do it for her while she was away.

  You mean dead. I closed my eyes against the sudden stabbing pain in the center of my chest. I remembered the cold feel of her skin the last time I’d touched her and the limp fluidity of her joints. She’d been covered in blood.

  Even if I got her soul back, I didn’t know how I’d put it back in her body, or if that was even possible. She’d already been gone two full days. People didn’t just come back from that, especially with as broken as her body had been. Loki had promised to take care of her physical body while I went to get her soul. Maybe he knew something about magic that I didn’t. I hoped so because medical science wouldn’t be enough.

  After half an hour, I got out of the car, unlocked the gate and dragged myself out back to the greenhouse. The roses hanging by the door looked a little wilted. I picked up the green watering can she kept in the corner and watered them before lying next to a patch of hardy mums. My back protested against the hard ground, so I turned onto my side and scooted back so I’d be under shade. Once the sun got high, the greenhouse would be an oven. Hopefully, I’d be back at full power before that happened. I just needed a few hours.

  I closed my eyes.

  The dream took me to a bright white padded room where the air was cold enough to frost the tiny square of safety glass on the door. Emma was curled in the corner with her hands over her head, her knees drawn up against her chest.

  “Emma?”

  Slowly, she raised her head. Someone had cleaned her up since the last time I saw her, but they weren’t kind about it. Her hair was a matted mess. The wounds on her face had been torn open and left to bleed.

  She shook her head. “You’re not real. You can’t be.”

  I walked over and sat down next to her. “I’m here. I don’t know how or why, but the psychic bond we share seems to be responsible. Every time I fall asleep, I’m here.”

  Her jaw shook. “No. I’m not going to fall for it this time, Morningstar. I won’t.”

  “Emma, it’s me.” I reached to touch her face.

  She crawled away. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

  My heart broke. I retracted my hand. “How can I convince you?”

  She stared at me, her eyes filled with so much hate, she didn’t even look like the same person. For a moment, I worried that she’d be different once I got her back. What if this changed her? Made her hard and bitter? I had to get to her before
then.

  “What about Shel?” I said, scooting over the floor toward her. “I went to Shel to meet with Beth. I thought she’d stood me up, but it turns out she got hauled off to Faerie. I told you about that. When she didn’t show up, I was getting ready to cut my losses and leave when you spotted me. While I’d been sitting there feeling sorry for myself, you’d had to make your own birthday plans. Didn’t even have any presents to open. I gave you the necklace I had with me. You said your mother had one just like it once.”

  “Anyone at the restaurant that night would’ve known,” she growled back and curled up further away. “Morningstar’s spies are everywhere.”

  “Not in your house, right? We warded the doors and windows against Morningstar and company.” I stopped moving and sat cross-legged across from her. “Okay, so how about the night the power went out? We were in your living room drinking that Bombay Sapphire stuff. Gotta tell you, I’m not a fan. That’s the kind of thing my grandma would’ve drunk.”

  She didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

  I decided my best chance of getting through to her was just to continue. “But that’s so like you, Emma. Doilies, heirloom roses, knitted potholders...You put up a tough front, but underneath, you’re just a sweet little old lady.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Who are you calling old?”

  I couldn’t help but smile, even though I wanted to cry. There was the Emma I knew. “If it makes you feel better, I had a Loa tell me grunge went out of fashion in the nineties. Imagine how crushed I was. My whole wardrobe is a loss.”

  Emma’s chin shook. “Lazarus?” She scooted closer and reached out as if to touch me, fingers shaking, but stopped just short. “Are you real?”

  “I’m here. Or, as here as I can be until—”

  She shot forward and tackled me, closing her arms around my ribs in a vice grip. Her shoulders shook, her face buried against my chest, sobbing.