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“There is an eternal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives.”
—Josephine Hart
THE IDEA OF HARVESTING a soul before its time was a nagging thorn in my conscience that persisted even as Gabriel, Hecate, and I strolled the French Quarter in search of our first mark. This wasn’t right, no matter where the chosen souls were destined to go or when they were meant to go there.
People changed. They repented and atoned or were lured to the dark side. But until they did, they hadn’t earned what destiny held in store for them—especially not some halfway fate of living the high life in the underworld. Whatever direction they were headed, I couldn’t shake how perverse this assignment felt. It insulted the integrity of my psychopomp existence.
At least I had found consolation in the fact that we would only be harvesting three souls. Those who couldn’t see me pre-mortem were off the hook, free to live their lives until destiny caught up with them. They’d never know of this early brush with Death.
The sun was high above us, shining brightly between the buildings. Most of the shops and bars hadn’t opened yet, and the sidewalks were empty. Despite the mild temperatures and holiday decorations, December was quiet in New Orleans. Tourism wouldn’t pick up again until Mardi Gras season began.
“There,” Hecate said, pointing out a sign that hung from the second-floor balcony of a café where several patrons enjoyed an early lunch. “That’s where Tonya Reeves works.”
“Uh... yeah.” I resisted asking how she’d come by the information. When we arrived a street over, all I’d offered was the soul’s name and that she worked nearby. I hadn’t seen Jenni give Hecate a digital docket or file, but perhaps the Fates had briefed her.
Gabriel scratched the back of his head. “I guess you’re not waiting for a death cue this time. How do you want to do this?”
Another pang of wrongness struck me as I stared at the café. Three hundred years of waiting for nature to take its course was not an easy instinct to shrug off.
“I guess I’ll just wander around in there until I bump into her?” I said, wondering if my lack of confidence could be any more obvious. I made for the café’s entrance, stopping short when I realized that Hecate was following me.
“I was instructed to stay close by,” she said, politely ignoring my skeptical frown.
“Right. Sure.” A whisper of a laugh wheezed past my lips. Like I was dumb enough to tell a goddess of her stature what she could and couldn’t do.
Gabriel scratched his head again as if he were considering whether he should join us. My discomfort with Hecate’s proximity seemed to make up his mind. He stretched his wings wide and lifted into the air.
“I’ll keep watch from outside,” he said, ascending toward the balcony. The wind he created ruffled tablecloths and sent guests snatching for runaway napkins, though they ignored the angel perched on the balcony railing.
Gabriel could appear and disappear at will amongst the mortals, but the peace treaty signed after the First War of Eternity mandated that all divine beings were to obtain a permit first. Even then, they restricted their exposure to believers of their own faith.
The older deities like Hecate had strict limitations, as well. If humans wanted a glimpse of their patron god or goddess, ancient traditions had to be upheld and ceremonies performed. Long gone were the days of Olympians playing footsie with the mortals and practically living in their backyard.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket and turned back to the front of the café. Hecate opened her arm, inviting me to enter ahead of her. I accepted the invitation with a nod and slipped through the French doors. The cool glass tickled my skin as it yielded to my soul matter without so much as disturbing the bell anchored above.
Hecate entered a step behind me. As a goddess, she was undoubtedly well-versed in phantom mechanics. However, I imagined the knowledge was ingrained in her mythic DNA rather than instilled via a boring academy course as mine had been. She probably didn’t have any trouble passing through solid walls either.
Cajun spices tickled my nose, and jazz music bubbled over the hum of small talk from more patrons dining inside the café. I spotted the single waitress tending to this level, quickly noting the name badge that read Samantha. I leaned over the table she bussed to get a better look at her face, just to be sure. Some souls went by their middle names or a nickname.
“That’s not her,” Hecate said matter-of-factly. “She’s upstairs.”
“Oh?” I bit back a snippy retort. With two apprentices, I was used to being the most informed person on any given job.
I followed the goddess through the dining room, weaving between the tightly packed tables and chairs. We passed a display wall with vintage fishing gear, nets, and crawfish traps, before reaching a dark stairwell tucked into the corner. Once again, Hecate motioned for me to take the lead.
“I guess your file on the soul included more details than the one I received,” I said, doing my best to inflect a neutral tone as we climbed the stairs.
“No one gave me a file,” Hecate admitted. “Tonya’s coven is blood sworn to me.”
I paused on a narrow landing and turned to face her. The dim bulb hanging above us in the stairwell painted dark shadows across her eyes, leaving only a freckle of light in each, like the first and brightest stars of nightfall. Standing this close, I had to crane my neck to look up at her.
“You’d kill one of your followers?” I whispered the question as if someone might overhear. Sacrificing a personal adherent felt profane on any level, but for a deity like Hecate, who had fewer to spare than the modern gods...
“It was a condition of the Fates,” she said, her voice nearly as quiet as mine. “The other committees are eager to resolve this. But make no mistake, they would not forfeit a soul of such value without exacting a heavy price from the Summerland Society. This is the only way. Besides, anyone of my cult will understand and come willingly.”
I appreciated her honesty. I still didn’t like the idea of King Creepy living next door, but maybe the soul would retain whatever decency it had learned in this lifetime, as Winston had before having his lives wound back to his King Tut incarnation. Or maybe having Hecate nearby would at least curb his homicidal kitchen antics.
I turned to continue up the stairs and came face-to-face with a full tray of dirty dishes. My breath caught as I attempted to slip between the veils and out of the way, but I was too slow. The tray scuffed my shoulder and angled upward. Everything slid one way and then the other before crashing to the floor. Broken plates and cups spilled down the stairs below us, and bits of food and cold coffee splattered the walls.
“Sonofabitch.” The unfortunate waitress who had been carrying the tray was our mark. There was just enough light in the crowded stairwell that I could read her name tag. Tonya grasped her head with both hands and swore again. “I am so fucking fired,” she hissed.
“Say something to her,” Hecate suggested. “We have to be sure she’s not simply ignoring you because she’s in shock.”
“Right.” I blinked at the girl, my mind going rigid with doubt as I tried to figure out the best way to engage. “Helloooo?”
“You’d better keep your mouth shut,” Tonya snapped, sending me back a step.
“Excuse y—”
“Seriously?” Another voice cut me off as it echoed up through the stairwell. “I bet the entire damn Quarter heard that racket.” Samantha, the waitress from the main-level dining room, stood at the foot of the stairs with her hands on her hips.
I glanced over my shoulder at Hecate and groaned when she nudged me toward Tonya. This was getting awkward. It couldn’t possibly be so difficult to get a waitress’s attention. Could it?
“Hey!” I tried again, jumping up and down on the landing. “I’m gonna tell your boss that you spit in my food!” I wiggled my fingers in Tonya’s face and wailed like a banshee.
“Okay,” Hecate interjected, wincing at my shrill tone. “I think we’re done here. For now. I’m sure I’ll have to return later when she calls on me to help her find a new job,” she added as Tonya stormed down the stairs, snarling more profanities at her colleague.
“Sorry about that.” I gave Hecate a tight smile that was only half genuine and tiptoed through the obstacle course of broken dishes on the stairs, moving past the bickering waitresses.
One soul down, seventeen to go.