Scythe

by M K Mancos

  Scythe

  MK Mancos

  Copyright © 2020 by MK Mancos

  First copyright 2008 - published by Samhain Publishing. Rights returned 2018

  All rights reserved.

  This is a complete and utter work of fiction. Any resemblance to beings of heavenly persuasion, darkness, or hanging in limbo is purely coincidental. The author claims no connection to or authority on matters of faith, creed, religion, or barber shops in Jersey City.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Victoria Miller Cover Artist

  Original editing by Laurie M. Rauch

  Mucked about and tweaked by yours truly

  Created with Vellum

  To Joanne Murphy—thanks for all the information on embalming a body.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  Books By

  1

  Keely Montgomery would have gladly amputated her own feet if she thought it would relieve the pain. She leaned against the industrial-sized sink and lifted her aching foot to rub it. Sixteen hours tending bar at Nico’s Pub & Cue had not been the way she’d wanted to celebrate her twenty-ninth birthday. But necessity and all that rot, meant she was at work instead of at her parents’ for a party. Besides, she desperately needed the money to help pay for grad school.

  Honestly, she’d thought she’d be further along in achieving her goals, but life always had a way of getting in the way.

  The night seemed to move by at a snail’s pace. Not because of a lack of patrons coming in to warm their bones on a cold, rainy night, but because she had wanted to see her parents on her birthday. She didn’t mind so much, she’d planned to stop chronologically aging last year. It was but one more reminder that her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d planned.

  Damn her soft heart. Keely had always been a sucker for a friend in need. When Nico called and asked her to work a double instead of her regular lunch shift, she’d agreed, but only because his daughter had gone into preterm labor in Pennsylvania, leaving the night shift less one bartender/manager on a Friday. Nico had always been good to her, and even rented her an apartment down the block that was rent-controlled and rat-free. Two very important features when one lived in this particular neighborhood of Water Point Station, New Jersey, tucked underneath the imposing shadows of Manhattan.

  The door opened and a blast of cold air blew in trash and rain, along with a black-cloaked figure, from the street. The sight was as odd as it was unsettling. Who wore a cloak these days?

  Ice cubes rained down Keely’s spine as the figure approached the bar. She watched the ID channel. She knew how quickly life could change on a dime and how tragedy struck the unsuspecting. She looked around and made a quick mental count of the patrons. Unless Black Cloak carried an Uzi, or packed some major hardware, there was no way he could take out all the people and not leave a few witnesses alive.

  She moved forward, poised with her hand ready to hit the panic button located under the lip of the bar.

  Black Cloak pulled out a barstool and sat down, shoving the hood back as he did. He shook all over, as if throwing off the effects of the cold night when he did.

  Keely only stared. What else could she do when her imagination had taken a trip to the wild side? Clichés circled her head like birdies in a cartoon. She’d been wrong. Dead wrong. The man looked like a goddamned angel. Not the cherubim and seraphim type of angel, but an average, garden-variety angel. Her jaw dropped so far, she had to close her mouth to keep her tongue from drying out.

  Such perfect symmetry on a face should never be wasted on a man.

  He looked at Keely and gave her what amounted to a golden harp smile. “May I please have an apple juice?”

  Keely laughed. An angel ordering an apple juice. Hadn’t he ever heard of Genesis or the expulsion from the Garden of Eden? She shook her head. Of course he wasn’t a real angel, but damn if he didn’t look like how she pictured one.

  She pushed off from the bar, limping as she put weight on her poor, abused feet. “You want that on the rocks, or neat?”

  A giggle that sounded like a choirboy came from him. “Oh, on the rocks. I’ll live dangerously.”

  Keely had news for him. He came into Nico’s near closing time in a fairly questionable neighborhood and thought having apple juice on the rocks was living dangerously? Poor sap.

  She poured the juice and passed it to him. He dug long, graceful fingers into a pouch tied at his waist and handed her a gold coin that looked as if it came straight from ancient Rome.

  Was this guy for real? What in the hell was he doing walking around urban New Jersey with gold coins in a pouch at his side?

  Keely held her hand up and fanned away the offer. “That’s all right, buddy. I’ve got this one. I don’t think I have enough money in the till to make change for that.”

  His bright, haunting gaze studied the coin for a moment, turning it over a few times. His next words startled her. “It’s good. Honest.”

  “I have no doubt about that. Still, I don’t think Nico’s going to miss a bit of the AJ.”

  He cocked his head to the side. She watched his mouth move as he tried to work out the initials in his head. When he finally understood what she meant, he smiled.

  After studying her closely for a few moments as the strains of some old Sinatra tune filled the bar from ancient speakers, he said, “You’re Keely Montgomery?”

  “So says my license.”

  “I have something for you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and handed Keely an official-looking scroll, complete with red satin ribbon and golden seal.

  She took the document, not quite sure what to do with it.

  He picked up his glass and took a sip of juice. His eyes rolled back in his head in fruit-filled ecstasy.

  Lola, one of the waitresses, set her tray on the bar. “I need seven Millers and four shots of Cuervo.”

  Boisterous laughter spilled from the backroom where patrons played pool. Keely shot a glance their way and began to build the order. “Tell them this is it.”

  Lola tipped her wrist up to glance at her watch. Heavy eyeliner and false eyelashes made her eyes almost too weighty to open. She was an attractive woman in a well-used, old barfly kind of way. The best Keely could say about Lola was that her face had miles of character in it. “It’s not even close to last call.”

  “It is now.”

  Black Cloak set his drink back down, his face a study in horror. “Aren’t you going to read the summons?”

  “Summons?” Lola gave Keely a snarky smile. “You get yourself in trouble there, Snow White?”

  Temper simmered near the surface. She absolutely hated it when Lola called her that. Just because she lived a clean life and rejected the advances that came nightly from male customer
s, and some of the female ones, didn’t mean she was some untouchable virgin. She’d rather be selective in her relationships than wear revolving-door panties like Lola. Not that Keely was being judgmental.

  Keely popped the tops on the beers and set them on the tray, not bothering to answer the charge.

  “You are in trouble,” Lola teased.

  Black Cloak shook his head. Golden curls bounced with the motion. “No. No, she isn’t.”

  Lola gave him a smile that most men would take as a come on, but didn’t faze him in the least. “Well, who do we have here?”

  “We have a customer.” Keely could practically hear Lola’s salivary glands working overtime as she gave Black Cloak a long up and down appraisal of his Adonis-like perfection. Hastily, Keely poured the tequila and shoved the tray back at Lola. “Take your order and go.”

  Lola wrinkled her nose. “You’re no fun, Keely. At the rate you’re going, you’ll never get a man worth a damn.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I go for quality, not quantity.” And that worked just fine for her. She was much too busy with school and the bar to put any energy into a relationship that didn’t work. Even taking someone home for a night of mindless sex didn’t thrill her. If she just needed to get off, there were shops all over the city that sold appliances for such a job. And she could store them in a drawer when she was done and not have to deal with their bullshit.

  Lola bumped Black Cloak with her hip and winked. “You get tired of hanging out with Snow White there, you come see Lola. I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.”

  Black Cloak watched her walk away with a pitying shake of his head. “I despair for her. She’s doomed to keep repeating the same mistakes over and over.”

  Keely tried not to react that Black Cloak might actually know Lola.

  After studying him for a moment, she realized he didn’t. He still looked like an angel to her. And in the dimness of the bar, he gave off an odd light that illuminated him like a plastic Christmas nativity scene.

  She leaned to the side to see behind his back. There were no discernible lumps or bulges under the cloak that indicated he hid wings.

  Keely ran her hand down her face. Damn, did she ever need a break.

  Working long hours under stress could cause someone to break from reality. Clearly, her threshold for breakdown was about sixteen hours.

  He downed the rest of his apple juice and slammed the glass on the bar. “That was really tasty. Can I have another, please?”

  A smile lifted her mouth at the corner. “Am I going to have to cut you off, too?”

  He opened his mouth to respond when angry shouts exploded from the pool room.

  “Snobby bitch, it ain’t even near closing time.”

  Oops. Keely had no doubt she was the snobby bitch in question.

  A big bruiser of a man came out into the main bar area, bowed up and looking for a fight. “You cutting me off, Keely? No one cuts me off when I’m in a mood to get drunk.”

  “You take one step closer to the bar, Clyde, and I’m not only cutting you off, but I’m going to see that you sleep off your drunk in a holding cell.”

  “You wouldn’t have the guts, little girl.”

  Things like this never happened when Nico was around. On the nights Keely had the bar, the regulars acted like children with their parents gone and a babysitter at the helm. Normally, she liked Clyde. He was a big, beefy truck driver who came in once or twice a week to shoot pool and blow off steam with his friends. The past week he’d become moodier and short-tempered. She should have cut him off before now, but he and his friends hadn’t been causing any real trouble, they’d just been louder than usual.

  Black Cloak said nothing, but pushed up from his stool and gave Clyde a long, hard look.

  Clyde narrowed his eyes at Black Cloak. “What you staring at, pretty boy?”

  “A man who is hurting. A man whose wife walked out on him after twenty-five years, without explanation or a backward glance. A man who wants nothing more than to forget the crushing pain and emptiness she left behind.”

  Clyde’s eyes widened for a moment then his craggy face crumbled and he began to sob. Not softly, but large, wracking sobs that shook his large frame and threatened to cripple him.

  Keely gazed in stunned silence as Black Cloak moved across the room and helped the sobbing man to a corner booth. Black Cloak leaned over, putting a comforting arm around Clyde, and counseled him in low tones.

  How had he known that? That was gossip Keely didn’t have a bead on yet.

  The pool room emptied out soon after. Clyde’s friends walked slowly by the table, but didn’t stop to interrupt the discussion underway.

  Clyde and Black Cloak sat together in the booth until Keely had said goodnight to the last patron and Lola had gone for the evening. “It’s time to leave. I have to lock up.”

  Black Cloak looked up and nodded. “Will you be able to make it home, Clyde?”

  Clyde nodded in return, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I’ll take a cab.”

  He seemed much calmer and more settled than he had when he’d entered the bar earlier in the evening. Whatever Black Cloak had said had done the trick.

  As Clyde walked by, he gave Keely a sheepish look. “I’m sorry I acted like an ass.”

  Keely lifted her hand. “I get it.”

  “We good then?” His expression was unsure, hesitant.

  “We good.”

  Keely waited until the two men were outside and Clyde had been loaded into a cab before she locked the bar door. She stuffed the keys into her jeans pocket and started down the quiet block, the scroll clutched in her hand.

  Black Cloak came up beside her, his feet making no sound on the wet pavement. “I’ll walk you home.”

  She tensed. “That’s not necessary. I live right down the block.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He started whistling something that sounded like Handel’s Messiah.

  It was a nice, calming sound. Keely had never learned to whistle, so she marveled at those who had not only mastered the art, but could actually make the tune recognizable. It was, however, a weird tune of choice for whistling material, especially in the middle of springtime. Even weirder that it made her less afraid to be escorted by a stranger after midnight down a deserted road.

  They passed under a streetlight and, as they moved out of the circle of light, he continued to glow. It was weird and wonderful and a little crazy. She blinked a few times to try to clear her eyes of the corona effect.

  He caught her staring and smiled down at her. In addition to glowing, he was rather tall. Her head barely reached his shoulder.

  Searching for something to say that didn’t call immediate attention to his suspected otherworldliness, she said, “Thanks for diffusing the situation with Clyde, but how did you know about his wife? I don’t think he told anyone about that, and believe me, news travels fast in Nico’s.”

  “I had more than one reason for going into that bar tonight.” He raised a brow and his expression changed from one of celestial innocence to one of someone who had seen it all and knew it well.

  They moved a few more steps before he stopped in front of the entrance to her building, as if he knew where she lived.

  “Thank you for walking me home, but I’ve got it from here.” She fished in her other pocket for her keys.

  “No, I’m to see you upstairs and wait until you read the scroll. That way, if you have any questions, we can clear them up immediately.”

  “Look, I don’t even know your name, and you haven’t offered it. You blew in from the street like a wayward spirit, nailed Lola’s deficiencies on a dime, and then do more good for Clyde’s miserable state than all the beer in Brooklyn. Now you expect me to let you into my apartment without so much as an introduction or explanation of where it is you come from.” She held her hand up as if to stall her own diatribe. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re really handsome, but you…well…you glow and that’s just not natural
.”

  His grin was lopsided and a little on the contrite side. “My apologies. I’m Ephraim. I’m a courier who sometimes fulfills a dual role as a counselor. You’ll see why when you read the scroll.”

  “Courier for whom?” she pressed.

  “It’s a long story. I’d rather you read the scroll first. It should clear everything up for you.”

  “I’m thinking you aren’t from around here if you believe for one minute I’m going to let you—a strange man—up to my apartment. Alone. With me.”

  “I won’t hurt you.” He patted at his body in different spots. “I’m not carrying a weapon.”

  Keely snorted. “Look at you. You outweigh me by at least eighty pounds, and have a full foot on me in height. That’s weapon enough.”

  He acted as if the very idea shocked him. His blue eyes opened wide. “I wasn’t sent to hurt you. I was sent to help you.”

  Oh jeez, they’d be at this all night and her feet were really killing her. Making a quick decision, Keely stuck the key in the lock then bumped it with her hip. The door had a tendency to stick in humid or wet weather. “Well, Ephraim, come on up then. I guess if you murder me and cut my body up into little pieces, someone’s bound to figure it out sooner or later. But don’t think for one minute I’ll go quietly.”

  He held the door open for her as she passed through. “You mortals are always so suspicious.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “What’s that supposed to mean? You mortals? Are you fresh out of the mental hospital or something?” Probably not a smart thing to say to him if he was crazy.

  “No. Poor lost souls.”