by Amber Benson
“Yeah, that’s the closest way in?” Noh asked—and, at first, Jennice thought she was talking to Jarvis, but then realized this wasn’t the case.
“Noh, who are you talking to?” Jennice asked, getting more spooked by the minute.
Noh held up a hand for Jennice to wait a moment, and then she said: “Thanks for that, Henry.”
She blew a kiss into the air.
“That was Henry,” she added, smiling. “He’s one of my oldest friends. Callie knows him, too.”
“Is he invisible?” Jennice asked, wondering if there were an army of invisible people surrounding them she couldn’t see.
Noh shrugged.
“Kind of,” she said, running her hands through her dark hair, then wrapping it in a knot at the nape of her neck. “He’s a ghost.”
“Oh,” Jennice said—realizing she’d missed something important.
“You look so shocked,” Noh laughed. “You just traveled through a wormhole without a whimper, but it’s the dead people who freak you out?”
Jennice had to admit Noh was right. No point in getting worked up about someone seeing dead people when there were things like Vargr out there, trying to eat you.
“If her friend Henry has found a way into New Newbridge, then by all means we should follow,” Jarvis said, holding out his arm for Jennice to take.
She accepted his assistance, glad for the arm to lean on. The floor of the woods was littered with stones and hidden tree roots—and it was getting darker, which made it hard to see where you were going or what you were stepping on.
Noh didn’t wait for them to follow her, but took off, jogging ahead of them before disappearing behind a thicket of brambles growing against the stone wall.
“We’re in!” Noh called, her disembodied voice echoing back to them.
Jarvis raised an eyebrow, but didn’t hurry his pace.
“My life is full of impetuous women,” he said, his tone wistful.
“I’m gonna try to keep it together from now on,” Jennice said, making up her mind to actually do what she was saying. “My mom calls me her rock, and usually I am. But then those Vargr…”
She didn’t want to think about that stuff anymore. It was just too overwhelming. Thankfully, Jarvis sensed her hesitation and changed the subject.
“Looks as though we’re here,” he said, as they came to the spot where Noh had disappeared through the thicket of greenery.
Hidden behind the brambles was a small, arched doorway cut into the stone wall. The door was standing open and they could see Noh leaning against the doorframe, impatiently waiting for them.
“What took you guys so long?” she asked, grinning rakishly—and then she pulled them inside.
* * *
daniel felt bad about misleading everyone, but there was only one way to save Callie and it involved getting into bed with the enemy—at least a former enemy. But doing the right thing sometimes meant you had to make sacrifices.
He hadn’t wanted to double-cross Freezay, but Watatsumi had insisted on it as part of the deal. He didn’t know what beef the Water God had with the former detective from the Psychical Bureau of Investigations, but he’d wanted Freezay delivered to him posthaste.
Freezay was an adult who could take care of himself, and knowing this had assuaged Daniel’s guilty conscience somewhat, but the Caoimhe deal was a bit harder to swallow.
Unbeknownst to Daniel, Watatsumi had made some kind of bargain with Caoimhe’s girlfriend, Morrigan. Daniel didn’t know the details, but whatever they’d decided between them, it meant that when Daniel delivered Freezay to Watatsumi, he’d also been forced to hand over Caoimhe, too. He hadn’t liked the change in plans—hell, he’d been the one to bring Caoimhe into the loop, and now he felt like he was the one betraying her.
He assuaged his guilt by telling himself he was only doing what was necessary in order to get Callie out of this unharmed. He repeated the belief like a mantra, letting it ease his conscience whenever he found himself forced into an untenable situation (like with Caoimhe).
And even though he was aware Watatsumi did not have his, or anyone else’s, best intentions at heart, Daniel felt like the end completely justified the means.
Now he just had to complete one more task and then he’d be able to use the wish-fulfillment jewel to take him to Callie—Watatsumi had promised him this.
There was only one problem with the task. It involved getting tangled up with someone he hated with every fiber of his immortal being: He was supposed to break Callie’s ex-lover Frank out of Purgatorial prison.
Callie had assured him the thing with Frank was nothing, that they hadn’t even had real sex, but he didn’t believe her. He knew firsthand what a voracious sexual appetite she had, and he seriously doubted the fling was as benign has she’d let on. Even now, months later, just the thought of her being with Frank, of him touching any part of her, incensed Daniel.
In his past life, he’d had no problem using a little violence to get what he wanted, but that was something he thought he’d reconciled—then he’d met Callie and realized he’d found the one creature on Earth who could rekindle those urges.
He hated how out of control she made him feel, how everything she did affected him so intensely—even though this was probably the very reason he’d fallen in love with her. All he knew was she drove him to distraction and made him do things he never in a million years thought he’d do again.
Like breaking this guy, Frank, out of Purgatory.
Daniel had spent a lot of time at Death, Inc., when he’d worked for the Devil. He’d had to check Death Records on an almost daily basis, so he’d quickly learned the layout of the place and could move among its many floors, using secret passageways the original architects of the massive brimstone structure had included as a way for the Grim Reaper to move, unseen, through the building—while also keeping a watchful eye over his/her minions.
Daniel was using one of these passages now to circumvent the Hall of Death and go directly to the former prison wing.
In the years before Callie’s dad had taken over Death, Purgatory had been more of a prison and less a way station between Heaven and Hell. Anyone who’d gone against the status quo had been remanded here, the chance for their souls to continue on to the recycling pool, forfeit. It’d been a Draconian system, one that’d taken someone idealistic and strong, like Callie’s dad, to come in and restructure.
Everyone had expected the venture to fail, but to their surprise, the corporatization of Death into Death, Inc., had been a complete success. It was proof the Afterlife could be run with respect and dignity, not just an iron fist.
With the exception of one of the lower floors of prison cells, the Purgatorial prison wing had been torn down to make room for new support staff offices. This one remaining floor had been kept intact, and was only used for the most violent or treasonous of offenders. Frank was in the treasonous camp, having helped try to overthrow Callie’s Reign of Death—and now, under direct orders from Callie, herself, his cell was the most heavily guarded one in the prison.
The passageway Daniel had chosen looked as though it hadn’t been used in decades. There was a fine layer of dust on the ground, one soon covered in Daniel’s advancing footprints. He’d brought a lighter with him, but he’d been able to see well enough so far he hadn’t needed to use it, though he knew the next part of the journey would devolve into total darkness and then the lighter would become indispensable.
As if the building had read his mind, all the available light was extinguished and Daniel stopped in the middle of the path, digging into his pocket for the lighter. He knew the passageway was spelled to fall into darkness whenever an intruder tried to enter the prison wing, but he hadn’t expected his presence to be noted so swiftly. He realized it was only a matter of time before the guards were sent in to find him. He needed to act quickly.
Fishing the lighter out of his pocket, he depressed the metal button so the flame flared to life, illumina
ting the space. Directly in front of him lay a large, arched black metal door marking the end of the passageway. Undaunted by the heavy padlock looped into its keyhole, he pulled a tiny book from his back pocket and held it out in front of him. With a silent whoosh, the door slid open and a ray of light from the other side of the doorway broke across his face. Finding the lighter no longer necessary, he extinguished the flame and put it back in his pocket.
He didn’t feel bad about swiping the book from Jarvis. During the Vargr onslaught, he’d watched Callie’s Executive Assistant rescue it from one of the bookcases and put it in his suit coat pocket. He’d already known he’d be braving Purgatory to rescue Frank, and he’d figured if the book just happened to be in his possession, it would make the whole endeavor much easier. Later, as they were leaving Sea Verge, he’d casually picked Jarvis’s pocket, stealing the original copy of How to Be Death for himself.
It’d already proven to be a very wise impulse decision.
Daniel stepped through the arched doorway, leaving behind the dank, stone walls of the secret passage in favor of a well-lit hallway boasting the last fifteen prison cells in all of Purgatory. As he entered the hall, he pressed himself against the smooth concrete wall, while behind him, the arched doorway slammed shut and melted into the wall, leaving him unable to return the way he’d come. He looked in both directions, expecting one of the Bugbear guards to race into the hallway and call him out, but, to his surprise, this didn’t happen. Instead, he was greeted by silence—and the eerie feeling he’d missed something important.
It was the smell that clued him in first.
It was the stench of purification and it led him to the prison cell across from the hall. The cell’s door had been left wide open, boasting a ready escape for whatever prisoner had been locked inside. Daniel took a few tentative steps forward, eyes sweeping the interior of the cell—and this was how he found the corpse, its giant, curving body twisted at an unholy angle as it lay prone and bloodied on the cold, stone floor.
Hyacinth Stewart had been Callie’s boss at House and Yard—back when Callie had still been in denial about her supernatural destiny and had insisted on forging a normal, human career path. Hyacinth had made Callie’s “normal” life a living Hell and then when Cal had become Death, Hyacinth had shown her true supernatural colors.
And, needless to say, they had not been pleasant.
It turned out she was one of Watatsumi’s henchmen, working with him to try to kill Callie, with the hopes of installing Frank in her place. When their nefarious plans had been foiled, Hyacinth had been arrested (along with Frank) and imprisoned here in Purgatory.
Now she was dead, her corpse slowly decomposing inside its air-conditioned prison cell.
Bile rose in his throat as the foul smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils. He stumbled backward, his body pressing against the smooth concrete wall for support. He had the sinking feeling he’d arrived too late—but he had to be sure. He took off down the hall, eyes scanning the cells, searching for survivors and finding none, each cell occupant dead and accounted for.
This was when Daniel knew he’d failed in his task.
Watatsumi would not be pleased.
* * *
how was she supposed to know there were two Franks? She wasn’t privy to all the supersecret stuff Watatsumi was up to. She didn’t know there were two Franks running around—and that she could only trust one of them. Sure, she’d thought Frank was locked up in prison for being a bad boy, but people got out of jail all the time. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel awkward—really she didn’t care what he’d been up to or how he’d escaped from Purgatory—so she hadn’t asked him any questions, they’d just spent a little time together then she’d agreed to do him a favor.
And now Watatsumi was all pissed off at her.
“But I got you that detective, so maybe you should just back off,” she said, angrily.
She was lounging on a bed of floating kelp, her body pleased as punch to be back in the water after such a long time on dry land.
It’s a real trial to stand on two legs when you’re used to a fish tail, she thought as she dreamily admired her long green tail. It was a little scaly from being a pair of human legs for so long, but she knew once she’d exfoliated with a little sand, it would be fine.
She disliked using legs. It made her feel cheap. Pretending to be human was so beneath her it wasn’t even funny. She didn’t want to think about what it would’ve been like if Freezay had had his detective way with her. She’d probably be locked in some human jail cell—or, worse, stuck in an ocean-less Purgatory with Frank.
“You think acquiring the detective absolves you from any wrongdoing?” Watatsumi asked.
He was in his human form—which meant he was wearing his weird, old grass skirt and black kimono. The one that smelled funny even underwater. Starr didn’t care much for Watatsumi’s human form. She thought his face resembled a shriveled up prune, and shriveled up prunes were not very attractive, if you asked her.
She liked him so much more when he was in his sea serpent form. It kind of turned her on—something she wouldn’t have believed possible when she was spending time with his human self. And though she’d never let him know this, she’d often wondered what it would be like to mate with him when he was all big and red and scaly.
Still, he’d never made a pass at her when he was a sea serpent. He’d only tried to get all up on her tail when he was in his wrinkled, human form—and that was the time when she had zero interest in him.
Gross.
“Well, I think it’s worth something,” she trilled.
She was in Watatsumi’s jewel cave, or lair, as he liked her to call it. It was the place where he spent most of his time, making his nasty plans and fussing over his trove of hand-raised abalone. He was always tending to the mollusks, bringing in new species to take root on the walls of his cave. Starr thought it was strange how much time and energy he lavished on the underwater insects just so he could eat them.
Starr truly did enjoy spending time with Watatsumi, but the real reason she liked visiting his cave was because she was obsessed with all the shiny jewels lining its walls like glittering stars. And when Watatsumi was feeling especially generous, he’d even let her take her pick—though she was only allowed one jewel at a time. Starr was partial to the star sapphires (of course she was), but there were so many other beautiful jewels, ones in every size, shape, and color imaginable, she tried not to limit herself just to one type of gem.
When he was in his sea serpent form, she’d often accompanied Watatsumi out to some of his favorite haunts for a day of jewel collecting. He knew where all the rotting carcasses of long-forgotten shipwrecks lay strewn along the ocean floor, and he liked nothing more than sending his fleet of slave tuna down to pluck out the jewels from the bottom of the wreckage. The tuna would gobble up the jewels, stowing them in their mouths so they could bring them back to the lair where Watatsumi would then place them in different spots around the cave based on some weird catalog system of his own devising.
“Yes, you bringing me the detective might be worth something,” Watatsumi said, thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the wall of jewels as if he’d been listening in on Starr’s private thoughts. “But there is one thing…”
Starr waited for him to go on, but he remained silent.
“Go on,” she said, finally. “Tell me what you’re thinking…”
She hated his long silences. They drove her completely crazy, and, to her dismay, she always found herself filling them up with words.
“You’re the only one to see this alternate version of Frank.”
“That’s true,” she agreed—and she’d done more than just see him, but Watatsumi didn’t need to know that.
Until that moment, Watatsumi had been sitting on his throne, one he’d had fashioned from the jaws of a great white shark he’d killed in hand-to-fin combat, but now he took to his feet, moving toward her, his wrinkled face unfathomable.<
br />
“Tell me all that happened between you.”
Watatsumi was a space invader, always getting up in Starr’s personal space in a way she didn’t care for at all—and today was no exception. As he leaned in closer, eyes watching her intently, she could almost taste his breath: rank and fishy and totally unappealing.
“Leave nothing out,” he said, black kimono lying open to the waist, revealing a healthy slice of well-toned torso.
With his salt-and-pepper hair and rheumy eyes, Watatsumi may have seemed like an old man, but Starr was always surprised when she caught a glimpse of his tight abs.
“We just…talked,” Starr said. “You know, not about anything really important.”
“And…?” Watatsumi asked, encouraging her to continue.
He placed a long finger on her chest just in between her naked breasts, pushing in on the flesh with a marked show of aggression. She shrank back from him, floating backward in the water to get away from his touch.
“Are you scared of me?” Watatsumi asked, moving closer to her, and forcing her back up against the jeweled wall.
She didn’t want to fuck Watatsumi. She didn’t like how he looked or smelled, and his aggression was turning her off big-time.
“Did you screw him?” Watatsumi asked, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against her cheek, nuzzling her.
She could feel his cock poking into the soft flesh of her waist, long and hard. But the way he was brandishing it like a weapon felt cruel and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with it, or with him.
“Did I screw him?” she repeated huskily.
Watatsumi didn’t say a word, just waited for her answer.
“No,” she lied.
She heard Watatsumi’s sharp intake of breath, felt him press himself along her body in a very demanding way—and she was disgusted.
“Get off me,” she hissed, shoving him away from her—but he was stronger than she’d imagined, and he had no intention of letting her go.
“You little lying cunt,” he said, grasping her arm.