| |
“How well I have learned that there is no fence to sit on between Heaven and Hell. There is a deep, wide gulf, a chasm, and in that chasm is no place for any man.”
—Johnny Cash
AS UNCALLED FOR AS Ellen’s ambush in the lobby had been, it didn’t stop my conscience from attempting to eat me alive on the ride up in the elevator.
Selfish? Was that really what she thought of me? After everything I’d done to safeguard Limbo City? After all I’d lost in the process of bringing about Khadija’s vision for the future of Eternity?
And how the hell was I supposed to know that the remnants of the skill the council had nearly crucified me for having in the first place was the fix for this latest trouble in paradise?
I still wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case. But I was here, wasn’t I? No one had dragged me inside the building, kicking and screaming.
By the time the elevator opened on the top floor, my face hurt from scowling. Regina glanced up from the front desk, her brows knitting and wings contracting at my sour demeanor.
“President Fang said you could go on in.” She nodded at Jenni’s closed office door. I dipped my chin in thanks, too afraid my bad mood would spill into my tone and that my words would cut her. She was fragile for a nephilim, and I’d already made her cry once. I wasn’t about to make a habit of it.
I rapped my knuckles on the door before entering Jenni’s office, and my mood instantly lifted. Only one angel had that effect on me.
“Hey, pilgrim.” Gabriel’s face broke into a cheesy grin as he wrapped an arm around my back, squeezing me in a half-hug. “Heard you could use some backup.”
Well, that explained the clean linen pants and matching shirt.
Gabriel’s return to the political arena had been short-lived, though he was in better standing with Peter these days and took more frequent trips to the mortal side. Of course, he had a white robe for those jobs. He preferred grungy drawstring pants and going shirtless so his massive wings weren’t restricted during his time off. This new outfit was a compromise between the two.
“How’d you get roped into this gig?” I smiled at him, momentarily forgetting my frustration at being dubbed the council’s lapdog. Gabriel made everything better. How I’d landed him as my backup without begging and pleading was an anomaly bordering on a miracle.
“Mary asked me personally—at Holly’s request, I’m sure.” He smirked and tossed his head back, brushing a golden curl out of his face.
“Only after pressure from Cindy and Maalik,” Jenni added from behind her desk. “They’re both eager to secure the borders of their afterlives and get this hellcat outbreak under control. The entire council is in agreement that you’re our best option, Lana.”
“And I’m the honey they’re hoping to catch you with,” Gabriel said with a wink. The mention of honey made me wonder if Bub’s tagalong fly had waited outside. Sending a covert spy into Reapers Inc. was risky—especially if he didn’t want to be accused of treason again.
“I suppose that makes me the vinegar,” a deep, silky voice concluded, drawing my attention to a dark corner of the room.
I hadn’t seen Hecate in quite some time, but she wasn’t the kind of goddess easily forgotten. Long, black hair spilled over her shoulders, almost vanishing against her velvet blouse. Her dress slacks and loafers were more business-casual, though she looked like a gothic cover model with her high-arching brows and full mouth. Silver key charms dangled from a long chain around her neck, jingling as she stood and crossed the room to join us.
“Hades and Persephone thought I might be of use given my liminal nature and chthonic abilities,” Hecate said, extending her hand in greeting. Her grip was icy, but it was her dark eyes that sent a shiver through me.
“I appreciate the help,” I said diplomatically, earning a nod of approval from Jenni.
“Hecate has already secured the Fates’ blessing,” Jenni said, turning her attention to a digital docket on her desk. She clicked a few buttons, and my docket buzzed in response, vibrating in my back pocket.
“Blessing for what, exactly?” I asked, retrieving the device to review the destinations list.
“To expedite the death of the original believers you identify,” Hecate answered.
I blinked at her, speechless. The time of deities inflicting death upon mortals was ancient history—except for Atropos, who was responsible for programming the deaths of recycled souls at the factory she co-managed with her sisters. Which I suppose explained why Hecate had needed their blessing.
“I know how cruel this must seem,” Jenni said, voicing what I couldn’t in my shock, “especially considering how we’ll then peel their lives back to their least-admirable incarnations and send them to their respective underworlds. But casualties of the Second War of Eternity included so many original believers, and the ones we seek now are quite specific. We can’t possibly afford to wait until one perishes in their own time.”
“They will be justly rewarded for their sacrifice and service,” Hecate said, her dark eyes watching me with guarded curiosity.
I wasn’t sure what to make of her yet. As a goddess of the crossroads and ghosts, she was undoubtedly an ideal fit for the assignment. But considering her rising popularity among the modern witches, this all seemed beneath her. I understood Gabriel’s involvement. We had history, and I’d been there for him through his periodic falls from grace.
What reason did Zeus’s most honored goddess have for dirtying her hands with reaper-level grunt work? I had a hard time buying that it was simply a favor to Hades and Persephone, but I wasn’t about to voice my skepticism with those scary-ass eyes drinking me in.
“Okay then.” I cleared my throat and looked down at the list on my docket. “Looks like we have three stops in New Orleans, so we can start there.”
“Sounds good to me,” Gabriel chirped. “Work smarter, not harder.”
“Agreed,” Hecate said, folding her hands behind her back. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and a puzzle piece shifted in my brain.
“Just out of curiosity, which original believers are we searching for?” I asked, turning my attention back to Jenni. She sat up straighter in her chair, her neutral expression suddenly growing edges.
“I don’t see how that information will help,” she said. “I know the research is a bit lacking, but most evidence still suggests that previous lives have no bearing on current incarnations.”
“Humor me.” I smiled, daring her to refuse the simple request given what she and the council were asking me to do. She held my stare a second longer before caving.
“Sure. Why not?” She laced her fingers together on her desk and sucked in a deep breath. “Hell has requested Judas Iscariot. Cindy will be sponsoring his stay at a presidential suite at the Inferno Chateau with a team of... bodyguards.”
Bodyguards? I supposed that sounded nicer than jailers.
“Judas was reinserted about a thousand years back,” Gabriel explained. “I’m sure he’ll just be glad he’s not returning to the ninth circle.”
“Let’s hope so,” Jenni said.
Her uncertainty made me wonder if the souls would have some say in the matter. Would an original believer do any good if they weren’t cooperative? If willingness didn’t matter, would they be locked up for however long the council deemed their presence necessary? Would I be expected to replace them from time to time like the throne soul, or would they last longer with only the weight of a single afterlife resting on their shoulders?
I had so many questions, but we were trying to solve a unique problem. I imagined the council was waiting for answers, too—answers that no one would have until I delivered these rare souls. The strain in Jenni’s face suggested she was tired of fielding such questions, so I kept them to myself as she continued.
“Then there’s Zaynab, the woman who served Muhammad the poisoned lamb.”
“But wasn’t she Jewish?” My schooling from the academy was a hazy memory, but Foundational Faiths had been one of the very first classes I’d taken before I became jaded and disillusioned.
“She was.” Jenni nodded. “But she saw her failure as proof that Muhammad was a true prophet, and so she believed in and feared the Islamic hell. Regardless, we’ve secured permissions from both Shamayim and Sheol. Everyone wants to see this problem resolved.”
“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “Who do we have for Tartarus?”
Jenni’s pregnant pause made my breath tighten in my chest. This was the detail she didn’t want to share. The thing she suspected I wouldn’t be pleased to discover.
“Tantalus.” Jenni’s nose twitched as if she were resisting the urge to scrunch it in disgust. I did it for her and added a shudder for good measure.
“Ew.” The ancient king who had killed and cooked one of his own sons, serving him to the Olympian gods for dinner, was one of the notorious three who had suffered long sentences in Tartarus for their crimes. I wasn’t looking forward to having him back in my neck of the underworld.
“It will be an adjustment, to be sure,” Hecate said, cocking her head thoughtfully. “But he’ll finally get to taste the fruit of the tree he was cursed to stand under for all those centuries.”
“And who will be sponsoring the cannibal chef?” I asked, fairly sure I didn’t want to know the answer.
Jenni’s lips pressed together in a grim line. “That’s ultimately up to Hades and Persephone... but I hear they’re having their guesthouse renovated.”
“Super.” I looked back down at the docket, taking in the list of scheduled stops with new eyes. The original believers hadn’t been noted for each potential candidate, probably to deter favoritism—in the event I was offered a bribe. But though Jenni had been right about the convoluted evidence, patterns could still be found.
New Orleans had a heavy pagan population, lots of witches who celebrated and worshipped deities like Hecate. If their past lives had any influence at all, those souls were most likely potential candidates for Tantalus.
If today’s harvest yielded the OG Hannibal Lecter, the dinner party with the neighbors was a definite no-go.