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“Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.”
—Mark Twain
MY PHONE RANG THE SECOND I stepped off the dock in Tartarus. There was still a soft puddle of light in the sky here, amber honey bleeding into a pink horizon. I breathed in the brimstone-tinged air and answered on the second ring.
“I’m outside,” I said. “Heading in now.”
“Come around back,” Bub replied. “I’m elbow-deep in the corpse lilies.”
“Joy.” I suppressed a dismayed grumble and hung up.
Bub’s indefinite sabbatical after being maimed by rebels during the Second War of Eternity had blossomed into a zealous obsession with gardening—hellscaping, as he called it. The garden of horrors in our backyard had taken on a life of its own, growing to more than three times the size the original garden had been before the fire.
I wanted to be happy that my demon had a hobby he was passionate about—one that kept him out of trouble with the bigwigs of the underworld, who only saw him as an expendable pawn. But mostly, I found myself tolerating the garden, especially the stinky plants that made our outdoor dining area all but useless. At least it offered a shady spot for my hellhounds to nap.
Saul and Coreen were stretched out under the table, their black fur dusted yellow from the most recent storm. They lifted their muzzles in unison, acknowledging me with soft snorts to let me know they were still put out over not being allowed inside the house.
I couldn’t even bear to take them to work with me in their condition. They smelled like Gabriel’s morning hangover farts. Standing downwind from them triggered my gag reflex. Of course, it was nothing compared to the corpse lilies Bub had taken a shine to recently.
The flowers were enormous, each of their rubbery, rust-colored petals larger than a serving tray. I’d thought them pretty, at first. Until I caught a whiff of the rotten corpse fragrance for which they’d been nicknamed.
Bub claimed the stench was to draw in the flies and beetles needed for pollination, but that only occurred if the insects first survived the pot-like center designed to trap and consume them. It was a more passive feast than that of the sunflower-flytrap hybrids Bub grew behind the corpse lilies to provide shade and feed the carnivorous plants more efficiently. The beetles and grasshoppers that escaped the taller flytraps fell into the corpse lilies’ sticky pots.
Both plants would also feed on flies, but Bub’s foot soldiers were too clever for that. They served as reliable, stealthy pollinators for the corpse lilies, a feat my demon boasted made him the first ever to breed these abominations in captivity. I was convinced that he was the first ever to want that distinction.
A stone wall bordered three sides of the garden, tapering into a wrought-iron fence that enclosed the side facing the back of the manor. It had been knocked down and rebuilt twice now to accommodate Bub’s growing collection of nightmarish delights.
The pond in the center of the garden had grown, too. Less so for the water plants than for Ursula. Our pet octopus had long surpassed her species’ average size. I was beginning to wonder if there’d been a tank mix-up at the pet shop. There was clearly Kraken DNA in her genome somewhere.
As I neared the garden, a pair of tentacles unfurled in greeting, and two button eyes broke the surface of the pond. It felt rude not to wave back, so I did, but I used my other hand to cover my nose and mouth before approaching Bub.
My demon was clad in dirty jeans and an unbuttoned flannel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair hung past his shoulders, and he’d taken to tying back the top half. His beard had grown out, too, giving him a wild, rugged look that was growing on me.
“Long day at the office, love?” he asked, taking a step back from the raised flower bed where a few of his flies buzzed back and forth between the corpse lilies.
“Too long to endure much of this,” I mumbled from behind my fingers, doing my best to breathe through my mouth. “Has Rupert started on dinner?” I glanced back toward the house, eager for an excuse to get away from the garden as soon as possible.
“I should hope so,” Bub snarled even as he leaned in to give me a peck on the temple. “We’re having eggplant parmesan. Let’s hope he doesn’t burn it this time.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I said, instinctively defending our newest butler.
“Really?” Bub scoffed. “Is that why you didn’t clear your plate either?”
“I had too much garlic bread and salad—both of which were excellent.”
“So?” Bub gave me a withering scowl. “What kind of wanker screws up a salad?”
Rupert was the latest in a long line of potential replacements that would never measure up to the standard of living Jack had provided. Not according to the Lord of the Flies, at least. But Jack had moved on, and we were trying to, as well.
Bub took my free hand and led me toward the shed beside the greenhouse nursery he’d built last summer. His wheelbarrow and a collection of gardening tools littered the ground. “I called Hades’ Hound House this morning,” he said, changing the subject as he gathered up a shovel and rake.
“Please tell me they’re able to get our heathens in soon.”
“First thing tomorrow. Also”—his grin tightened, and the corners of his eyes crinkled—“Persephone happened to be in the shop when I called. She and Hades have invited us to dinner tomorrow evening.”
“Really?” I blinked at him. “That’s a first.”
“Yes, I was surprised, too. But she was insistent, claiming she and Hades never got to properly thank you for reclaiming the Cap of Invisibility.”
“Oh.” My stomach dropped at hearing that the invitation had been directed more toward me, and I was too slow to guard my expression.
“What is it?” Bub asked, propping the gardening tools against the wheelbarrow so he could take me by the shoulders. “Are you all right? We don’t have to go if the idea upsets you.”
“I think we do.” I winced. “Something... happened at work today, after I dropped my scythe off at Warren’s.”
Before Bub could ask, the hounds bellowed out a warning, Saul’s deeper howl beginning a split-second before Coreen’s. The effect had a doorbell quality—but we never got unexpected company this far off the grid.
Bub snatched up a pair of trowels from his gardening supplies. My hand went to the borrowed scythe at my hip, though I stopped short of hitting the release button. Even Warren’s forgiveness had its limits.
“Ding-dong! Demon calling,” a sweet, familiar voice sing-songed. Then Amy rounded the side of the house in a slinky pencil skirt and sleeveless turtleneck.
Gabriel’s on-again, off-again girlfriend looked as if she’d come straight from a Hell Committee meeting, which I would have bet my last coin was the case. A bottle of dark wine lay in the crook of one arm, and she waved her other in the air as she spoke.
“Sorry to bother you so late in the evening.” Her barbed tail curled around one of her legs as she took in our defensive postures. “Cindy Morningstar insisted that I drop by tonight. She would have come herself, but she—”
“Can’t stomach crow?” I finished.
Amy gave us a pained smile and held out the bottle of wine. “Here. This is from Lucifer’s private cellar.”
“What’s the occasion?” Bub asked, finally discarding the trowels in his wheelbarrow to accept the wine. He shot a curious glance in my direction, clearly having decided this visit was no more a coincidence than Persephone’s dinner invitation. Amy’s gaze darted between us.
“Oh, you haven’t told him yet,” she surmised. “This is a bit awkward.”
“Would someone spit it out already?” Bub huffed and handed the bottle to me. I echoed his annoyance with a huff of my own.
“I just got home.” I made a face at him and turned back to Amy. “Word certainly travels fast in the underworld. It’s barely been an hour since Jenni broke the news to me.”
“What news?” Bub snapped.
“The council wants me to fetch original believers for them again.”
Amy barked out a nervous laugh. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” She held her hands up at Bub’s narrowed glare. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” he demanded. “And how is she supposed to accomplish that when the council revoked her throne-given abilities?”
“Turns out”—Amy gave me an apologetic smile—“that’s not entirely true. Is it?”
Well, crap.
Bub’s wounded expression made my insides clench with guilt. It wasn’t that I hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about the gifts Naledi had opted to leave me with. I just hadn’t needed to use them in ten years, so it didn’t seem worth sharing.
“I can’t see original believers,” I explained, “but they can allegedly still see me perimortem.”
Amy nodded encouragingly. “Which means you’re in the unique position to help us find one to serve as a resident guest of dishonor in Hell. It’s the only way we can fortify our borders and prevent hellcats and rogue demons from randomly crossing over to the mortal side—or infesting the adjoining afterlives, like this one.”
“And Cindy sent you over here to bury the hatchet so I would be more inclined to help?” I hitched an eyebrow at Amy, daring her to deny it. Her smile stretched wider, but her eyes betrayed her eager anxiety.
“There was some concern that you might be unwilling. But this is a mutually beneficial scenario, wouldn’t you agree?” she said, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. “And the Hell Committee is prepared to offer you a handsome bonus in addition to the council’s bid.”
“How handsome?” Bub asked, sparing me the effort. It was more curiosity than greed. Knowing would make it clear how much faith the council had in me. Maalik’s offer on Khadija’s behalf was one thing... but Cindy Morningstar? That was quite another.
Amy opened her hands. “Name your price.”
In the stunned silence that followed, the lanterns hanging around the garden and patio flickered to life, cutting through the settling darkness. Frogs croaked from the water garden surrounding Ursula’s pond, and crickets that had escaped the predatory plants chirped a song of victory.
“Bloody hell.” Bub pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many afterlives are relying on Lana to fetch them a resident believer?”
“Three, for now,” Amy answered. “All in the underworld region—Hell, Tartarus, and Jahannam.”
I felt Bub’s gaze migrate toward me again, but to his credit, he bit his forked tongue. I knew the question that would come later.
We all started as the manor’s back door opened, and Rupert stepped out onto the patio. The pair of stacked horns at the apex of his forehead made him look like a proud rhinoceros. His eyes widened at the sight of Amy, and his cheeks flushed as he addressed the Lord of the Flies. “Shall I set another place at the table, Master Beelzebub?”
“It’s tempting,” Bub said under his breath, earning an elbow to the ribs from me.
“Thank you, but I can’t stay,” Amy answered, giving Rupert a curious frown.
“Very well.” Rupert bowed again. “Dinner is served,” he added before retreating inside the house.
Amy cleared her throat and turned back to us, clasping her hands together again. “So... this has been productive, yeah?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”
“Perfect!” Amy beamed, ignoring my sarcasm. “I’ll tell Cindy she can expect an official quote from you before the assignment begins.” She blew an air kiss and wiggled her fingers as she backed away. “Ta-ta!”
Once she’d disappeared around the side of the house, Bub staked me with another accusing stare.
“Well, this explains Persephone’s dinner invitation,” he said, propping his hands on his hips. “I guess that just leaves a representative from Jahannam. I wonder who they’ll send.”
“Maalik. And they’re offering three times the council’s bid if I give their soul priority—and if I don’t sell it on the new-and-improved ghost market,” I answered bluntly. “It’s been a very, very long day.”
“I’ll say.” Bub rubbed a hand over his face and scratched his bearded jaw. Then he grabbed the bottle of wine from me. “At least we’ve got something strong to wash down this supposed dinner we’re about to have.”
“It wasn’t that bad!” I insisted as I followed him up the patio steps and inside the house.
Things were about to get complicated, and I definitely wouldn’t have the patience to adjust to yet another new butler anytime soon. Though I secretly hoped Rupert had made plenty of garlic bread.