Limbo City Lights (Lana Harvey, Reapers Inc.)

by Angela Roquet

  Ruth could have been my twin sister- my slightly tanner, more stylish twin sister, with her wave of short black locks and firm but curvy contours. She even had a matching pair of sapphire peepers that widened and dilated as they took in Limbo City’s harbor with its numerous rows of steamships and ferryboats.

  My fellow reapers bumped past us, leading hordes of obedient souls on board their vessels, ready to depart for the afterlives. Heaven and Hell were such vague terms anymore. Sure, there’s THE Heaven and THE Hell, but there are so many subdivisions, and each faith has their own version of the afterlife. Some of those afterlives belonged to faiths that were but a glimmer of what they had once been, resulting in a gross deduction of their territory. Many of the pagan faiths’ territories had dwindled down to the size of a small town and had to merge into the collective Summerland territory. A few of the gods were sour about the democratic transition, but most of them treated it like a long awaited retirement. I didn’t care much either way. A reaper is little more than a glorified slave in the afterlife.

  I gave Ruth a moment to gather her bearings. It was an overwhelming scene, even still for me sometimes. The coordinates I’d used skipped us past the busy market just beyond the harbor, but the noise still echoed out over the sea and around us, a haphazard collage of exotic sounds. An engine whined, muffling the soft mummer of pixies that fluttered above the market just past the dock entrance. A powdery mist of soul matter fogged around us, sprayed up from the Sea of Eternity, where unwanted, afterlifeless souls were dumped after harvesting.

  Everything from ferryboats to pirate ships was used to transport souls of faith across the Sea of Eternity and to their designated afterlives. My own craft was a little beat-up fireboat. As a low-risk harvester, I really didn’t need anything fancier than that. I had considered upgrading to a ferryboat about a decade back, before my mentor had died and I’d still been striving for approval and a promotion. A part of me had died with Saul, and my ambition was slowly following suit.

  “Lana Harvey?” a familiar, stern voice shouted down the dock. Coreen Bendura, Grim’s top reaper, met me on the ramp of my boat. She was six feet of Death wears Prada, minus the Prada. Her shapeless black robe was standard issue, same as mine, but her status could be seen in the skyward tilt of her nose and her daring sneer. Cold eyes observed me with equal measures of disgust and pity. She had been Saul’s very first apprentice, and I his very last. The grieving process had sent us in entirely opposite directions, if sucking up to the boss could be considered grieving. Coreen outranked everyone except Grim himself.

  “Lana Harvey?” she asked again, knowing full well who I was.

  “Yes?” I raised an eyebrow as I ushered Ruth past her and onto my boat.

  “I have a transfer slip for you.” Coreen followed us, pulling her clipboard out from under her arm. “It seems that a medium risk soul found its way onto your docket. Assuming you’ve collected the soul already, the commission is still yours. You’ll just have to drop it off at a different gate.”

  I took the slip she offered and glanced over it. The soul in question was Ruth. Duat, the dwindling Egyptian afterlife, was offering twice the original price given by Heaven.

  “This doesn’t make any sense. Her file shows that she was baptized Catholic.” I blinked at Coreen, waiting for an explanation.

  She blew out a sigh that managed to encompass the entire spectrum of her disdain for me. “Her mother was a follower of Isis, so she was also sloppily initiated into an Egyptian coven in her youth as well.”

  “She won’t fare well in Duat,” I said, feeling a twinge of remorse for the girl’s sudden turn of fate.

  Coreen openly glared at me. “Good thing that’s not our problem.” She turned and made her way down the ramp and disappeared through the fog on the dock, zapping the potential argument.

  I groaned, trying to decide if I should bother filling Ruth in or not. Most reapers wouldn’t have even considered it. Souls were cattle to be sold off to the highest bidder. The afterlives paid according to the quality and quantity. There were certain souls that fit into one category or another. The saints would obviously not be sold to Hell, but the believers who fell somewhere in the middle had some wiggle room. If Ruth had gone to Mass more often, Duat wouldn’t have been able to lay claim to her. But since she was just as initiated into both faiths, and just as inactive in both, they could each bid on her. Duat didn’t get the chance to bid on many souls these days, so they dropped a load of coin whenever they could.

  I still hadn’t made up my mind whether or not to tell Ruth as I fired up my little boat and untied from the dock. The sea was turbulent today, and I was ready to finish up. Gabriel was supposed to be meeting me at Purgatory Lounge later. The misbehaving archangel had been a good friend of my late mentor’s, and we were doing a swell job accompanying each other on our downward spirals.

  Peter met me at the gates of Heaven when my boat gurgled up to the dock. I unloaded a dozen souls and avoided making eye contact with him as I led them up to his check-in station. I could feel his eyes burning through me like hot coals. Peter didn’t like me. He thought I was a bad influence on Gabriel. It made me feel special. I was barely over two hundred years old, a newbie by reaper standards, but apparently I was good at something.

  “You’re missing one,” Peter said, looking at me over the top of his horn-rimmed reading glasses.

  I handed him the transfer slip. He frowned and looked down at the slip and then back at me. “Very well.” He stamped my soul docket and I turned to leave.

  “He’s been demoted, by the way,” Peter added.

  My shoulders tensed as I recoiled from his silent accusation. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t say anything.

  Peter cleared his throat. “It’s been nearly ten years. Time to move on,” he said, just a hair more gently.

  I hung my head and hurried back to my boat, biting down the insubordinate slurs I often had to swallow when dealing with the big cheeses.

  Ruth found me as we drifted back to sea and on towards the next stop, her stop. “That was Heaven, wasn’t it?” She pulled the slinky blue shawl that matched her sequined cocktail dress more tightly around her shoulders and trembled in the breeze.

  I nodded softly. “Do you recall participating in an Egyptian ritual with your mother?”

  Ruth’s jaw dropped. “I was twelve. You can’t be serious.”

  “Yeah, looks like you should have gone to church a little more often, eh?”

  “Great.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t throw in the towel just yet. Duat does things a little differently. If you make it through their Weighing of the Hearts ceremony, you could still end up in one of the heaven realms.”

  Ruth considered my words and nodded to herself with a pinched brow.

  When we docked at the gates of Duat, I was surprised to find Lucifer bickering with Anubis, one of the Egyptian death gods. They were close to the same height, but since Anubis was wearing his full ceremonial garb, complete with his jackal headdress, he towered over Mr. Morningstar by nearly a foot.

  “The Abrahamic doctrines are very clear on the demonic significance of pagan influence. Since the soul was baptized and then participated in pagan activities, said activities would be classified as devil worship by her paternal side of the family,” Lucifer insisted.

  “You sound worried, Luce. Aren’t the humans misbehaving enough to satisfy you? Or are you growing concerned at the recent surge in our numbers?” Anubis chided him.

  “That’s not the issue here, and you know it.” Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “Souls belong where they belong. You’re throwing coin around where you haven’t any right to.”

  “Tell that to the Afterlife Council,” Anubis growled.

  It didn’t take an oracle to know who they were talking about. I’d just promised Ruth that she had a chance at a pleasant afterlife. Lucifer was about to muck it all up. I didn’t like traveling by coin if I could help it, since it was expensive and came ou
t of my commission, but I didn’t have many options.

  I found Ruth on the opposite side of the boat. The few hell-bound souls on board were locked up in the deck cabin, so I didn’t have much to worry over. I grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Time for us to go on the lam, sister.” I flipped my coin and said the coordinates for Limbo City again, grimacing at the sudden fading of value marks along the coin’s edge. My paycheck was going to take a beating for this.

  I didn’t waste any time as I dragged Ruth down Morte Avenue. The souls who worked at the Three Fates Factory were off work already, and they filled the sidewalks, spilling out of little shops like Athena’s Boutique and lining up for the early show at the Muses Union House. It was still early in the evening, so Purgatory Lounge was relatively quiet when we burst through the front door.

  “Lana!” Gabriel had started drinking without me. He’d also apparently made it through a basket of barbeque chicken. There was an angry hot sauce stain dribbled down his white work robe. He noticed the flapper soul next to me, and the goofy grin slowly melted from his face. “Uh, you miss a stop today?”

  I pulled back the hood of my work robe and shook out my curls. “I need a favor.”

  “Name it.” He stood up from his barstool and fluttered his wings, sprinkling the bar floor with bits of peanut shells.

  “When’s the last time you visited with the Fates?”

  Gabriel frowned. “I’m not really supposed to, now that…” I could tell he didn’t want to talk about his demotion. It was probably why he’d started with the sorrow drowning early today.

  “Ruth here has Heaven, Hell, and Duat tied up in a bidding war. She doesn’t really belong in any of those realms though, and I don’t really have the stomach to deal with many more higher-ups tonight. Think you could pull some strings?”

  Gabriel gave me a funny look and pulled me aside, asking in a hushed voice, “Since when do you care where your harvests end up?” He gave Ruth a sheepish smile.

  I huffed out a short laugh. “I don’t know. She seems like a decent person, and she doesn’t really belong in any of the afterlives. I guess I just thought she deserved a fighting chance.”

  “Like Saul gave you?” Gabriel gave me a soft smile.

  I bit my lip and looked away. I didn’t want to talk about Saul. Not right now. Ten years, and his name still put a lump in my throat.

  Gabriel swallowed. “Let me see what I can do. Come on.”

  Ruth and I followed him across town, avoiding the major deity hangouts until we reached the looming industrial block that the Three Fates Factory consumed. The Fates had setup shop soon after Grim founded Limbo City. The powerful goddess trio simplified and monopolized the soul recycling process by hiring on a chunk of souls with the guarantee of better futures in their next lives. Ruth didn’t know all that though.

  “You want me to work in a factory?” Her pretty face soured.

  “It’s no speakeasy, but it sure beats Hell. Wouldn’t you say?” I folded my arms.

  Gabriel cleared his throat and straightened his stained robe. Even he wasn’t fond of dealing with the makers and breakers of destiny. “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading towards the foreboding entrance of the factory.

  Ruth shivered next to me. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Me too.” I sighed. “But hey, if the Fates hire you on, I hear you get to pick out your next life.”

  “Really? How long would I have to work here?”

  “A century maybe.”

  Ruth cringed. “Ouch.” Then she tilted her head to one side. “What do you suppose Kansas City will look like in a hundred years?”

  I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Gabriel didn’t take long. He looked a little green when he joined us again. A soul tagged along behind him. The man wore a dark blue uniform. He was plump and cheerful, and he chuckled nervously as he held a hand out to Ruth. “Hello, Miss Summerdale. I’m Clark Herbert, the orientation supervisor here at the factory.”

  Ruth gave his hand a firm shake, casting a leery eye back at me. Clark’s eyes followed and then he diverted his gaze away. Most souls were afraid of reapers. It was just in their nature to fear death. I didn’t hold it against him.

  “I hear you’re creating quite the fuss among the gods,” Clark said to Ruth. “Luckily the Fates are good at keeping the peace, so they’ve already contacted Grim and the Afterlife Council, and you can start at the factory in the morning. We’re closed for the evening, so I’ll set you up with a roommate tonight after we go over some paperwork. Follow me.” He waved her towards the building, giving me and Gabriel a polite nod.

  Ruth paused to grab my hand and give it a quick squeeze. “Thanks,” she whispered, and then hurried to catch up with Clark.

  Gabriel let out a breath he had been holding. “I’m going to be in big trouble in the morning.”

  “Why’s that?” I raised a brow at him.

  “I told the Fates that Peter had sent me.”

  “Oh.” I winced. “Yeah. It probably won’t help that I was involved in this little scheme.”

  Gabriel fluttered his wings and looked back at the factory. “Let’s blow this joint. What do you say we head back to Purgatory Lounge and relieve them of all their giggle water?”

  “I can’t.” I had almost forgotten my little boat sitting at the gates of Duat. It wouldn’t go unnoticed. I dreaded going back, because I was almost certainly going to be confronted by Anubis or one of the other Egyptian deities.

  Gabriel huffed next to me. “I just stuck my neck out for you, and you can’t even have a drink with me?”

  “My boat’s docked at Duat, and I still have a handful of souls who need to go to Hell.”

  “Oh.” His blinked stiffly.

  “I’ll meet you back at Purgatory. Wish me luck,” I said, flipping my coin again. It was almost out of marks. At this rate, I’d be lucky if I could pay my rent next month. Grim was a cheap bastard… and well, I wasn’t exactly made of ambition these days.

  Duat’s harbor was empty when I arrived. My hell-bound souls were all accounted for. Dusk painted everything a hazy blue, but I still saw the little note pinned to the side of my boat. It was from Anubis. I could tell from the Jackal headed hieroglyph he used as his signature. Well played, reaper. That was all it said.

  I smiled. I still didn’t feel like gunning for a promotion, and I would still be meeting Gabriel for a mutual drowning of sorrows. But something about the day’s activities felt more productive, more justified. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had done something good. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I still had a long way to go, but Saul would have been proud.

  HAIR OF THE HELLHOUND

  “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die

  I want to go where they went.”

  —Will Rogers

  I’ve never been a morning person. I sleep like the dead, and I wake like the undead—eyes glazed, hands numbly grasping, mouth agape and moaning hostile nonsense. A bit of drool and foul morning breath. Hair like an electrocuted squirrel. Sleeping Beauty, I am not.

  I never thought it possible, but over the past week, my mornings have redefined cruel. They eat away at my insides, a little at a time, with each soul-crushing dawn. Today was no better.

  There was a warm arm draped over my back. A warm manly arm. My heart sang for a split-second, stretching me back in time like a slingshot. Then a massive wing fluttered above me and a white feather drifted down to land on my shoulder. The slingshot released, hurling me into the present. My brain reeled from the shock, and then it throbbed against my skull. I could have sworn I heard the six empty Ambrosia Ale bottles laughing at me from my nightstand.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked a few times, pushing Gabriel’s arm away. He groaned and rolled onto his other side. There was a couch with his name on it in the living room, and he had his own condo here at Holly House too—just a few floors below mine—but lately, I
needed him closer. The booze didn’t hurt either. Well, not going down anyway. It certainly didn’t make mornings easier, but at least I was able to sleep again.

  My hellhounds, Saul and Coreen, were bundled together in a mountain of sleek black at the foot of the bed. I wedged my feet out from under them and stumbled toward the private bath attached to my bedroom, tripping over Gabriel’s sandals, left in the middle of the floor like a booby trap. I cursed under my breath and rubbed my twisted ankle. Saul whimpered in his sleep and tucked his muzzle under Coreen’s shoulder.

  I crept into the bathroom and gently closed the door behind me. Morning light filtered through a wall of frosted glass. It was just enough to find my way to the shower. I didn’t need to see myself in the mirror to know how bad it was. I made sure there was a clean towel on the wall hook, and then I stripped out of my flannel pajamas and stepped inside the giant stall.

  The showers were a prime feature of the condos at Holly House. They were big enough to make an angel feel like a pigeon in a birdbath. A waterfall ran over a ledge set high on the marble wall, and chrome jets sprayed from every angle. The water came out of the faucet hot. There was no blast of icy misery to zap the senses awake like there had been at my last apartment. It was a little luxury I had always appreciated, but now it didn’t matter. Little luxuries weren’t going to fix what ailed me.

  Steam quickly filled the space, and my pale skin protested, turning rosy pink. My hair gave up its curls to the heavy water and unfurled to my shoulders. I leaned my head against the marble wall and hugged myself, trembling in spite of the heat. Then I silently dissected my reality.