The Reaper Chronicles, page 5
“Are you ready?” Daxon asks.
“Whatever comes next, we’ll be together from now on.”
I join my hand to his and take a moment to admire the glowing candles lighting the chamber. Then I head into the cave's dark mouth to explore death with the one I love. I’m ready to be with Daxon in heaven or hell.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Death whispers in my ear. “I might need you one day soon.”
Chapter Eleven
I wake in a comfortable bed, the mattress firm under me and the cotton sheets soft against my flesh. Sitting up ramrod straight, my glance darts around the small room.
Where am I, and why am I naked?
Standing, I sluff off the cover and survey the surroundings. The bed where I currently reside is sandwiched between two light brown nightstands. The dresser across from me with a flatscreen television, a brown chair and small table, and a small desk are all bland. Tasteful pastel landscapes decorate the walls.
I shake off sleep, stand, and head to the closet to see if I have clothing. Pushing back the sliding door, a hanging white robe beckons, and I slip it over my shoulders, knotting the sash. Returning to the desk, a notepad welcomes me to Hotel Salem.
Salem. The word brings a rush of memories. This is Death’s fault. Every bad thing in my life (and some of the best things) is Death’s fault. I’m not sure which direction this little adventure is heading, but the memories of my arrival flood back.
Daxon and I, having acclimated to our new life in purgatory (the netherworld, shades, Tartarus, whatever it is named), found it manageable if not as pleasant as being part of the world above. The positive of my situation, we’re together for eternity. A negative, lack of stellar coffee. Purgatory brew sure can’t compare to a cup of New York City joe. Not that I need to eat or drink down under, but some habits are hard to dispense with. Food and drink make me feel human, and I don’t want to lose that.
One never felt as alone as they do in purgatory, but staying in shape was still important. I used to hit the gym and use the treadmill and elliptical, but there I improvised workouts. Purgatory lacked gyms, running clubs, and online forums for Peloton and iFit enthusiasts.
I think back to my last run.
The only “life” I’d encountered was the baying of the Hell Hounds. After an hour and a half, I strolled through the graves in the underworld, cooling down from the ten-mile run. I’d waved at our one neighbor, an older man who resembled Einstein, and reminded myself that Daxon and I meant to have him over for tea. Neighbors were few and far between, and it would be nice to be social. My guess was that whoever ran this place preferred to keep all the residents secluded. That said, there were plenty of mountainous outcrops, dead trees, and dried, brown grass. Weird critters were rampant, but they seemed as scared of me as I am of them. As long as I pretended not to see their squishy gray shells or black, mold-spotted fur, they left me alone. I didn’t think they’d make good pets, so I also ignored them.
I watched my feet, careful not to trip over the buckling concrete path. Gnarled, leafless trees guarded the exit to the cemetery. Silence ruled, the only noise my angry breath. Each exhale sent a frosty mist into the gloom. Pausing to wipe the sweat from my brow with my gray t-shirt (clothes are the same color gray in purgatory), I hustled a few steps in reverse when Death, in his black robes and skeleton smile, appeared. I’m scared witless but put on a brave face and smile. Death left me alone since banishing Daxon to Hades. I hadn’t missed his cheery presence one bit.
“I have a mission for you.” His lips stay fixed in a haunting scowl, but his words scream in my head. “Three witches want to disturb the universe's balance by taking souls, my souls, to raise an immortal. You must stop them.”
I blinked. “Not into pleasant greetings or small talk? Did it ever occur to you to start a conversation with, ‘You look well, Freyja. Glad to see you adjusting to the underworld after your banishment. Anything you need?’”
I can’t see Death’s immortal, hellfire eyes under the hood, not that I wanted another view. One glimpse was enough for a lifetime. I imagined them narrowing at my impertinence. The brittle, dead grass under my shoes suddenly appears interesting. “Why me?”
Death remained mute.
Have I pushed my luck too far this time?
More silence.
Grass ground like glass under my stomping. I needed to learn to respect my elders. Maybe tomorrow. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Alrighty then. Fill me in, oh benevolent one.”
Death’s voice invaded my head, and I was sure to end the day with an awful headache. “You need to defeat a coven of three witches. Their attempt to sway the powers of the universe goes against the balance. They cannot complete their task. It’s your job to stop them.”
“What task?” I was less than enthusiastic about the little side project. “How?”
“You will be able to figure that out when you reach Salem. You have time to tell Daxon you’re leaving, and then I’ll be along to fetch you.”
“Daxon’s not coming with?” I pouted. “You’re not telling me everything, are you? What are you holding back? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“All will be revealed. Go now, or we leave for the surface.”
I ran, even though I’d just completed a multitude of miles, and my muscles ached. What can I say? Not a lot to do in the down under other than self-improvement. Wasn’t that the point? Purgatory lacked restaurants, galleries, and television, to name a few of the creature comforts people above take for granted. There were no wild parties, not even a dance hall. It was an extremely boring place under all circumstances.
I stood for a moment outside of the dwelling I now consider home. Shocker, it’s carved out of gray rock. A faint glimmer of light flickers behind the drawn curtains, not that there was anyone around to peep. Inside was sparse, furnished with the basics, a kitchen opening into a living room. Two additional doors hid a bathroom and a bedroom. Food appeared in the fridge and gray clothes in the bureau, but there were no seasons, so there was an endless sea of gray t-shirts, shorts, and joggers. In some ways, life was easy, with no utility bills or rent, and once in a while, if you wished hard enough, a book or game magically appeared on the shelves to ease the tedium. Daxon and I jumped for joy and played the Game of Life for nearly a month when it showed up.
I approached Daxon.
“I’m leaving.” My hands fell to my knees as I crouched to catch my breath.
“What?” His gorgeous brown eyes met mine.
“Death is making me fight evil above, but you’re staying underground.”
“I can help.” He stood and put Dante’s Divine Comedy on the stone table next to the gray chair.
“He didn’t offer that option.”
“How long will you be gone?” The frown on Daxon’s lips caused worry lines on his brow and at the corner of his eyes.
I hated to see that, but I didn’t have answers and shrugged away the guilt. “I’m not sure. Death didn’t supply a lot of information. Three witches. World domination. The balance of nature at stake.”
“That doesn’t sound like an easy assignment.”
I attempted dark humor fitting our circumstances. “Based on the job description, there’s a chance I might never return.”
“Don’t say that. Not even as a joke.”
“I’m sure Death has an after-care plan for you if I don’t return.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m a little funny.”
“This is not the news I’ve been hoping for. Why couldn’t you have run in here to tell me we were taking a vacation on the surface?”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
“There’s a Rolling Stones joke in there somewhere.”
“You have no sympathy for the devil at this moment?”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”
Daxon was not thrilled, and I understood. We both wanted to return to New York and patiently wait for Death to reconsider our eternal stay in purgatory.
Unfortunately, Death ran the show, and there’s not a damn thing I could do about our current predicament. It wasn’t like the Evil Under-Lord gave either of us a choice.
In the middle of our kiss goodbye, Death whisked me away.
I woke naked in Salem, Massachusetts.
Chapter Twelve
I return to bed, staring at the ceiling, listing everything I remember. My name is Freyja and Death recruited me. I did well at my job claiming souls until I met Daxon. Who could have fathomed falling in love meant certain death? It wasn’t all bad. Daxon and I were able to strike a bargain and hang out in the down under, and I don’t mean Australia. If you like gray and damp, Purgatory is the place to be.
I’m average in many ways: height, weight, breast cup size. My hair, on the other hand, is memorable. It’s red, like the fires of hell, if the biblical perceptions are accurate. Being stuck in limbo, I still don’t know if other realms exist or what they entail. They could be full of puppies and rainbows or pay homage to Dante’s Inferno. Both options are equal possibilities.
Daxon is happy with the entire package, and that’s what matters. When I’m out and about in the human world, I appear to be twenty-eight-years-old, but I’m much older. There’s a mirror over the bureau, and I sneak a peek, wondering if limbo has aged me. Nope, my cover still stands. I am a self-described college graduate working as an independent contractor for a marketing firm in New York City.
Will I need my cover story? I’m pretty positive that I won’t be meeting any friends or associates in Salem. I don’t know anyone, and it’s not like I have coworkers anymore I need to meet with. It’s kind of liberating to no longer pretend to be something I’m not. I can be a lone wolf.
My pendant hangs low around my neck, and I’m overjoyed to have it back. An amber stone is encased in gold filigree and shaped almost like a heart, but the top is smooth. The necklace hangs on a long, lacy gold chain. The stone glows red when a soul is ready to depart to the underworld, and the stone is a part of my identity. I missed not having it in the afterlife, but I’m confused about why I’d need it now if I’m not here collecting souls.
An alarm buzzes, and I spot a shiny new phone on the nightstand. Death can be cruel, but he can also be kind. It’s the latest iPhone. There’s a reminder set, and it shouts, ‘Time to find the three witches.’
How the hell am I going to find and track three broom riders in a town where being one is more normal than not?
My new phone informs me it’s a Monday morning, and the July sun leaves a hot streak on the floor of my hotel room. I don't know how to find the witches or what to do when encountering them. I’ve never been to Salem and don’t have a map.
I’m overwhelmed, but Death could be watching, so I’m determined to look productive or at least pretend to fake it until I make it. I find a suitcase in the closet and retrieve camo shorts and a black tank top. Bras, undies, and other essentials are mixed up in the clothing.
Someone needs to learn to pack.
I wonder if Death picked out the thongs or if he has an assistant?
Under the suitcase on the floor, combat boots and sneakers reside.
The phone rings, and Death’s voice booms. It always does, and I have yet to get used to the reverberation. “Get ready to start the job. It’s imperative you find a way to stop the three witches of Salem. They are stealing my souls, and that’s inexcusable. I’m sending help. This isn’t a one-person job.”
“I don’t need an assistant. I work best alone.” I drop the clothes on the bed.
Death disconnects, and there’s a knock on the hotel door. Random thoughts bombard me. How long is the room paid for? I hope she’s competent, this assistant of mine. Does the hotel have a spa?
I place my hand on the doorknob but hesitate. Death better not have sent a John wannabe. One guy stabbing me in the back was enough. Whatever happened to that bastard coward anyway? I hope Death fried him in the pits of hell if they exist.
All this before I even open the door.
I pull, hoping for room service. Instead, I’m peering at the largest chest this side of the afterworld. My eyes travel up and meet hazel ones filled with snark. Whoever he is, he’s a giant with chocolate skin, a shaved head, and the most extreme neck muscles known to humankind.
“I’m the help.” His smile is full of attitude.
I’m not sure I like him. “I don’t need help.”
“Direct order from the top or the bottom.” He shrugs those massive shoulders and steps into the room unbidden. “Depends on your perspective of things.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Tony. You should get dressed.”
Blushing. I ignore his outstretched hand. Having forgotten about the robe and the fact I haven’t had a chance to change, I pirouette away. “Tony. That’s a rather ordinary name for a rather big guy.”
“I’m from a proud line of people named Antonius or Antonia, thank you very much.”
His posture is aggressive and tall. Did I mention tall?
“Where do you hail from?”
“No time for chitchat. Did you hear me say get dressed? We’ve got a lot to do.”
“A little less attitude, please.” I suck in some air. “You have your own hotel room, right? You’re not staying here. I gave up everything for my one true love, and nothing’s spoiling that.”
“Sounds like a Disney classic.” Dark eyebrows draw together. “I’ve got my own room, and at the rate you’re going, I’ll be living in it for a very long time.”
I humph my way over to the bed and grab the black t-shirt and army print cargo shorts. At least Death has my style preferences down. He must have an assistant. I decide to ask him during our next conversation. “What’s the date today?”
“July twenty.”
I turn, stare, and state the year I was banished to purgatory.
“Yup. That’s the year.” He looks bored.
“I’ve only been in purgatory for a day? That’s not possible. We’ve been living down there for many months, maybe a year.”
“Time works differently in the afterlife.”
I squint. “How would you know that?”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “Are you getting dressed soon?”
My toothbrush is in the bathroom, along with other necessities. I make short work of it, throw my hair into a messy top knot, head back to the closet for the black combat boots to complete the ensemble, and I’m set. “Let’s go. I’ll do the talking, and you can be the muscle.”
“I don’t think so.”
Chapter Thirteen
We exit the hotel, weaving our way through waves of tourists. The humid summer heat is already driving the temperature into the eighties, and I’m not loving it after my stay in the constant gray and cold of the underworld. Bad hair day or not, I’m on a mission with the giant, and I want it done quickly.
Anthony and I stroll the streets. A police car, adorned with a witch logo, passes us. A couple teens jostle each as they meander down the sidewalk, fast food bags in hand. One of the boys wears a band t-shirt advertising The Witches.
I stop to read a placard about Gallows Hill, once believed to have been the site of many public hangings, including those convicted as witches. It is now a park used as a playing field for various sports. Tony strides ahead, and I jog to catch up, the only noise my labored breathing. We march and the prolonged silence between us makes me uncomfortable.
“So, do you like working for Death?”
He grunts in response.
“You don’t get paid vacations, do you? I really want a vacation, and by the way, don’t let anyone fool you into thinking down under is a nice relaxing getaway because it is not. Daxon and I talk about visiting Hawaii someday.”
“If you’re stuck in purgatory, I doubt you’ll make it there.”
“Don’t be a glass half empty kind of person.”
“I’m sure Death is planning your vacation right now.”
I change the subject before I haul one off and punch this new partner of mine. “What’s the plan?”
“End the three witches. How hard can it be unless you get in the way?”
I jog to keep up with his long strides. “Why do you think I’m going to be the problem? I have no idea who you are or your qualifications. Death could have sent me a dud.”
Anthony peers down. “Let’s find the witches and see what we’re up against. Then we can decide who’s the dud.”
I skip a couple steps to keep up his pace. Sweat drips down my back and under my bra. “Where do we start?”
He pulls out a similar phone to mine. “If you read the memo, you’d know that we got an address.”
“I woke up in a strange hotel room after a long hiatus. It takes a few minutes to get back into the swing of things. These lovely witches, do they work together, live together, eat, sleep, and spell together? I mean, what does a coven do?”
“A coven doesn’t mean the witches live together. That would be like me moving into your hotel room.” A wicked smile graces his lips. “But according to the memo, they’re the exception and are cohabitating.”
“Great. Let’s go. Where to?”
“What exactly do you think is great? The possibility of sharing a room?”
“No. The ability to find these witches and stop them so I can return to my life with Daxon.”
“Someone’s no fun. We’re headed to Thirty-Three Forest Street.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me around a corner. “You’re heading the wrong way.”
The streets are typical New England, quaint and touristy, with stores stacked side by side in low single- or two-story buildings. Unlike New York, there are no skyscrapers. Some have small wooden placards announcing their wares. There’s a bookstore, overpriced clothing boutiques, a candy shop, and a tarot card reader in a neat line. People stroll along the narrow sidewalks, and I long for the intensity and rush of the vibrant, smelly city streets. The people here are nice and relaxed, enjoying their vacation. Smiles abound, and some tourists hold hands as they amble. No one bangs into me or pushes me aside with a rushed apology or grunt. These tourists lack intensity, and the New York City part of me doesn’t quite understand it. Even in Purgatory, I rarely relaxed. There was always some new territory to explore, a new run to complete, and of course, time with Daxon.
