Death's Door

by E. A. Copen

  “I can’t give specifics about his condition over the phone, but I wanted to get in contact with you about your daughter. She was in the home when EMS responded and placed in emergency care until we could talk to you.”

  “Where is she?” I charged through the door, my head spinning. This couldn’t be happening. It made no sense. They were both fine, and Loki had promised his Valkyries would be watching over them.

  “She’s fine,” the social worker assured me. “She’s here in my office waiting for her daddy to come pick her up.”

  “I’m on my way.” I hung up and remembered I hadn’t come here in my car. “Josiah!” I spun around just in time to catch the keys he tossed to me.

  “It’s a rental, so you’ll owe me for the miles. And try not to ding it up.”

  I nodded my thanks and dashed for the parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Pony had a heart attack. Somehow, the old man had managed to get to the phone and call himself a squad, which surprised me. He hated hospitals almost as much as I did.

  I arrived while he was still in surgery and collected Remy from the social worker all in a numb haze. Pony couldn’t die. Not now. Not when we were just starting to figure out how to get along.

  Remy was cranky thanks to all the commotion. I didn’t know who else to call, so I called Nate to meet me in the lobby. Both he and Leah came, but only Nate stayed. Leah took Remy and promised to call to check in.

  I stayed in the lobby, rooted to my chair and staring at the floor. Nate sat in silence beside me, a paper cup of stale coffee in his hands. My call woke him from his afternoon nap, which would make his shift at the morgue long and hard. Dammit, I was always screwing up other people’s lives, wasn’t I?

  He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose. “You know, statistically, his chances of survival are pretty good. Early intervention is important. It sounds like he called right away.”

  “He saw this in a vision, Nate. That’s why he said what he said to me. He knew. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he go get checked out?”

  Nate put a hand on my shoulder. “Visions are unreliable. You told me so yourself. Even if he did see it, it’s unlikely he knew the exact hour and day. He wouldn’t have taken Remy if he knew. He loves her, and he cares about you. I’ve only met him a handful of times, and I know that.”

  I pushed up from the chair to pace. “What if he dies? What if my moving back in with him is what caused all of this in the first place?”

  “Because years of a poor diet, poorer preventative health care, and daily drinking played no part, I’m sure.” He crossed his arms. “Come on, Laz. You know better.”

  “I know it’s been stressful for him. He’s long past the age when he ought to be waking up in the middle of the night to take care of a crying baby. This was too much.”

  I stopped pacing in front of the coffee vending machine and stared at the thick plastic over the display. The picture promised a warm, caffeinated drink with steam rising from a ceramic mug. An array of buttons enticed tired people like me with options ranging from shots of espresso to vanilla creamer. I could have any coffee I wanted with a buck and a button. Instead, it spat out thin paper cups of thick sludge. Even the coffee machine was lying to me. It wasn’t my fault I crammed my dollar in and expected what the picture showed.

  “Everyone’s a liar,” I grumbled, imagining Baron Samedi’s face in front of me.

  The false image grinned. I drew back a fist and punched the plastic housing hard enough it left a dent.

  Nate put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away. Instead, I leaned my forehead against the two-faced machine.

  “I have the power to kill gods, Nate, and I can’t use it to save anyone. I’m Death. It’s no wonder everyone around me dies, is it?”

  “Laz...”

  I turned my head to eye him over my shoulder. “You should go before you get killed too.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Nate said, patting my back. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

  The elevator opened. Normally I wouldn’t have noticed except the air in the hospital cooled a few degrees. Loki and two Valkyries stepped into the lobby. Dressed in a black button down with a suit jacket, he could almost pass for a normal guy except for the entourage. He’d put his Valkyries in t-shirts and ball caps with a gym logo on them, which didn’t look right. They weren’t armed, but their posture, their walk, everything about them screamed bodyguard.

  “Who’s that?” Nate whispered, staring at Loki as the god approached.

  “The Norse god of mischief.” I pushed away from the vending machine and went to meet him. “So much for your Valkyries keeping an eye on things, huh? How come nobody told me about this? I had to hear it from a social worker.”

  He halted a few paces away from the first row of chairs in the lobby and folded his hands behind his back. “You’re a difficult man to locate.”

  “So why are you here now?” I stopped and crossed my arms. “Here to answer for what happened to Hades and Persephone? That was you, wasn’t it?”

  The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Come now, Lazarus. I can’t be expected to answer for the actions of every god I speak to. I didn’t instruct him to do anything, nor did I suggest. I merely pointed out how easy it would be. Hades was far too distracted to properly defend his claim. I was concerned about his wellbeing. That’s all.”

  “And I’m the Princess of Monaco. I know it was you. I know helping me get Emma back helps you in some way too. What I don’t know yet is why, and when I find out what you’re up to, I’ll be there to shut you down.”

  “Is that so?” Loki’s smile bloomed.

  I stood toe to toe with him, staring him down. He was inside my reach. All I had to do to end this now was reach into his chest and pull out his soul. It would be easy, and I’d save myself a lot of future headaches. Josiah would’ve done it. But I wasn’t Josiah, nor was I a murderer. I wanted proof. Besides, I needed him to save Emma.

  Loki shrugged off my stare as if it were nothing. “I thought you’d like to know that I’ve secured a healer on your behalf. Should you succeed in retrieving the soul, I will ensure you have a suitable vessel to put it in.”

  “Suitable vessel?” I shook my head. “No deal. Emma goes back in her own body.”

  “But of course. That’s what I meant.”

  I knew better. He was trying to weasel out of having to fix up the body via a technicality. If I’d agreed to that, he could’ve used any old body. “Exactly as it was. No modifications.”

  Loki inclined his head. “As you wish, although I could get someone to make some minor improvements if you requested them. Add a few inches in height, clear a few scars.” He gestured to his chest. “More favorable proportions perhaps?”

  “Leave her alone. Just fix all the fatal wounds.”

  “Your loss,” he said with a shrug. “If you change your mind, you can reach me with this.” Loki held a white card out to me. “Speak my name three times, burn it, and I’ll come to you.”

  I took the card and turned it over in my hands. It was blank, but I could feel the buzz of a spell laid in the construction of it.

  His work done, Loki nodded and turned around, headed for the elevator.

  “You don’t deserve what happened to you,” I called after him. “The trial. Your punishment? Hades said he felt bad about the whole thing.”

  Loki paused outside the elevator as if frozen. I’d surprised him. “Remorse isn’t the same as repentance.” He looked at me, a shadow passing over his face. “You tell me, Horseman: if your sister’s killer expressed that same feeling, would you simply let the crime go unpunished?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then you understand my position. We’re kindred spirits, you and me. Take care, Lazarus.”

  The elevator opened. Loki and his entourage got in and left.

  I felt sick. Bastard had made me remember Lydia all over again. With Pony lying in a h
ospital bed of his own, that memory hurt more now than ever.

  PONY CAME OUT OF SURGERY, and they let me go back to see him. He wasn’t conscious, but I sat with him for an hour, waiting for him to come back. Hooked up to all those monitors, he looked like a pale, robotic imitation of himself.

  I watched the numbers on the monitor shift up and down in tiny, insignificant increments, asking myself what I’d do if he died. He wouldn’t want me to bring him back. Before I’d gone back to see him, the surgeon sat me down for one of those talks that ended with having to make big decisions on how to proceed. His surgery had gone well enough, but they didn’t expect a full recovery, not with the cancer progressing. Glioblastoma, they’d called it. Inoperable. They gave him less than four months.

  “If you’re expectin’ me to get up and dance a jig, afraid I’ll have to disappoint you,” Pony’s voice croaked out.

  “Pony.” I got up out of my chair and went to his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

  He stared at me with sunken, bloodshot eyes. “I’m dyin’. How do you think?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Pony’s eyes went unfocused. “’Bout which thing?”

  I sighed. “The cancer. I must’ve asked you a dozen times about it. With your visions, I figured it had to be back, but you never mentioned it. Not once.”

  “This is why.” He gestured to himself lying in the bed. “You know what the five-year survival rate is for old farts like me? Even with surgery? Single digits, boy. I knew I was counting days when the diagnosis happened years ago.”

  “Come on, Pony. You beat it once before.”

  He turned his head away. “You don’t know what it cost me. I can’t do that again. I won’t. This is better.”

  I stood next to him wishing I knew what to say. Four months didn’t seem very long, and we may not even have that long. He wouldn’t be there for Remy’s first birthday party, or to see her first steps or listen to her first words. If I ever got my act together and decided to get married, he wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t imagine a world where that was possible. Me and Pony didn’t always get along, but I’d never considered what things would be like if he were gone forever.

  “You get your girlfriend’s soul back yet?” Pony asked.

  I cleared the tension from my throat. He didn’t want to talk about it. We’d have to eventually, if for no other reason than to make plans, but it didn’t have to be now. “No. Almost. Got two more places to get through.”

  Pony shifted his weight. “Do me a favor and give the Devil a kick in the teeth for me, will you? And sorry about all this fuss. I know you were countin’ on me to watch Remy.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Pony. You just focus on feeling better.” I pulled the blanket up over his chest.

  He pushed it back down. “You see? This is why I didn’t tell you shit. I had a heart attack and survived. I kicked cancer’s ass. What makes you think I can’t get on up out of this bed and whoop yours, boy?”

  That was Pony for you. He’d be up out of that bed and back to his drinking, whoring ways in no time. He’d once said that’s how he wanted to die, drunk out of his mind with a beautiful woman. As for me, I figured the best I could do was oblige if I were able. He deserved the chance to die how he chose.

  But just to antagonize him, I patted his head and stepped back. “Sure, Pony, but first you’ve got to catch me. That means getting out of the hospital.”

  He grumbled and cussed but settled down.

  I went to the door where I paused to look back, an idea forming. I was the Pale Horseman, and a few gods owed me favors now. Maybe I could leverage that to Pony’s benefit. He’d balk at the suggestion, so I didn’t propose it. It’d have to be a surprise.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was almost dusk when I wandered into Kerry’s Irish Pub. There were five Irish pubs in the Quarter, and I didn’t know which one I’d been in with Brigette, so I had to visit them all. Kerry’s was my last stop and the only one that fit the bill.

  In typical dive bar fashion, old memorabilia lined the walls, and dollar bills had been pinned to the ceiling and walls around the bar. I’d never figured out why people did that, but there were probably thousands of dollars just rotting up there. Dim lighting and neon lights completed the atmosphere. There was a pool table, but it’d been covered with a sheet of plywood. The bartender was a big, rough-looking guy who looked like he’d kick your ass if you tried anything.

  Josiah sat at a table in the corner, arms crossed. “Always wanted to die in a pub,” he said as I sat down across from him. “’Ow’s your old man? Will he pull through?”

  “For now. Long-term?” I shook my head.

  “Sad to hear it. He’s a good bloke, your Pony D.” He took a long pull from the beer and made a face. “American beer’s terrible, by the way. How do you stand it?”

  He was trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t feeling it. I stared at the tabletop, wishing I was done with all this, that I’d never let myself get bit by that ghoul, to begin with, that I’d had the decency to die before other people decided to put their lives on the line for me.

  When the waitress hurried by, I grabbed her attention to put in an order, but paused to ask Josiah, “Do I have to be sober to do this?”

  He shrugged. “Doubt it.”

  I counted the bills in my wallet before handing them all over and placing my order.

  Josiah frowned and studied me a minute while the waitress went on her way. “The girl woke up. Paula’s lookin’ after her. She hasn’t said a word, you know. Just stares at the floor with those dead eyes. Told her I’d bring her a prezzie if she’d smile for me.”

  “What’d she say to that?”

  He smirked. “Gave me the finger. I think she’s warming up to me.”

  The waitress returned with three fireball whiskeys and my change, which I let her keep. I downed all three in quick succession.

  “Easy, mate. Pace yourself.”

  “Why? What’s the point?” I pushed the three empty glasses to the edge of the table. “Where are we doing this?”

  “Upstairs. Third floor. There’s a private room, and I slipped some bills to the management. I’ll go get the key.”

  A few minutes later, I caught myself stumbling up the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. The ridiculousness of the situation sank in. Here I was about to break into Hell when most normal people spent their lives terrified of the place. In a few months’ time, Pony would be roasting downstairs for all his sins while I was up here living it up with Emma and Remy. It felt significant, and flat-out absurd all at the same time.

  The big burly guy from the bar showed us to the third floor, which was mostly full of restaurant equipment and old bar stools, and walked us to a wooden door with frosted glass. He slid the key into the door. “All I ask is that you clean up after yourselves. You can put the sheets in the bin when you’re done.”

  “Sheets?” Josiah frowned.

  The guy threw open the door, revealing a plain mattress on a metal frame. Paddles made of wood and leather hung from hooks on the walls along with various brushes, a long feather, and a couple whips.

  I doubled over laughing. “He thinks we’re...you and me...you should see the look on your face!” I was laughing so hard, I almost forgot to breathe.

  Josiah sighed. “Look, mate, that’s not what this is.”

  “Uh-huh.” The burly bartender dropped the key in Josiah’s hand. “Ain’t none of my business what goes on up here as long as I don’t have to clean it up or call the cops. And be out by eight tomorrow morning.”

  I was still laughing my ass off when the bartender slid back down the stairs, leaving us alone. I couldn’t help it. After tonight, I’d never be able to step foot in Kerry’s again, but it was worth it just to see the look of shock on Josiah’s face.

  “All right, already,” he growled and grabbed my shirt to drag me the last few feet. He dropped me just inside the room and closed the door.

&
nbsp; Without Sybille, I didn’t know how I was supposed to die for the night and descend into this Irkalla place. Not that her absence slowed down Josiah any. He got busy drawing out a bunch of symbols with some white chalk, marking up the walls, floor, and a few places on the ceiling. When that was done, he went to his bag, which he’d brought up with him, and brought out a mason jar. Either I was way drunker than I meant to get, or there was a small red man with membranous wings and horns in the jar.

  I sat up and blinked hard to try and clear my vision. “The hell’s that thing?”

  “Rufus impus infernius,” Josiah said and placed the jar on the bed. “Better known as a common red imp. This one’s name is Bone Flake.”

  “Bone Flake,” I repeated and laughed. “What’s it for?”

  Bone Flake jumped up and down inside the jar and pressed his flabby red body flat against the glass, making it painfully obvious he was naked. And excited. Ugh, not the view I wanted of an imp.

  “He’s going to watch our bodies while we’re away. Don’t worry. We have an understanding, Bone Flake and me.” Josiah retrieved an ornate silver knife from his bag. He unscrewed the lid to the jar but didn’t lift it. Keeping his hand over the lid so the little devil wouldn’t escape, Josiah drew the blade over his palm. Once the blood flowed freely, he lifted the lid.

  The imp leaped out of the jar and onto Josiah’s hand to lap up the blood with a long, forked tongue. I worked to hold down the contents of my stomach.

  “That’s enough of that.” Josiah picked the imp up by his horns.

  Bone Flake took a swing at him and chattered in a rough language with lots of consonants.

  “Don’t you start with me, mate. You owe me for the Aruba incident. Are you going to behave yourself?”

  The imp crossed his arms and pouted, but eventually gave a reluctant nod. Josiah let him go, and he took to the air, membranous wings flapping as if he were a bat.

  I pulled myself up the wall and squinted at him. “Ugly fella, ain’t he?”