For the Birds

by Angela Roquet

  Come clean. It sounded so easy. Oh, but it wouldn’t be. It would be like lying out on an autopsy table and cracking open my own ribcage so that she could take a peek at my insides. Then I would hand her my heart, and it would be up to her to squeeze or put it back in my chest. I wouldn’t be the same either way, and neither would she. You can’t unknow something, no matter how wrong it makes you feel. That’s what I kept trying to tell myself I was protecting Josie from.

  She finished off her coffee and gave me a weak smile. “I better go help Kevin,” she said, heading for the hold.

  “Josie?”

  “Yeah?” She stopped and turned back to me.

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times like a fish out of water. The pause was about to get awkward, but I couldn’t get the words out. I took a deep breath and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

  Josie’s tired eyes blinked at me. “For what?”

  “For being a demon magnet. For putting Kevin in danger twice this week. For not being around more lately to do the girl things we used to do.” I shrugged.

  Josie’s mouth curled up slowly. “Kevin’s a good reaper, and I know you look out for him.”

  “What about the girl stuff?”

  Josie rolled her head to one side. “Hell, Lana. We live together. When there’s time for girl stuff, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

  “Maybe we could do a poker game soon. We haven’t done that in a while.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Josie nodded and went to check on Kevin.

  I felt a little better. At least she was willing to talk to me, even if we weren’t one hundred percent. Gabriel was still weighing heavy on my mind. I couldn’t take Josie giving me the silent treatment too, and that’s most definitely what I’d be getting if she were as critical about my choice in men as Gabriel was. Of course, Gabriel was more familiar with how attached I could get to a lover. Josie could look at Kevin and mentally gage the timeframe it would take before he would outgrow her desires or her desires would outgrow him. She could also do it without the heartache and anxiety I suffered through when I attempted to play Miss Cleo.

  “We’re immortal,” she would say. “That doesn’t mean we’re frozen in time. People grow. People change. It’s nothing to lose sleep over. The afterlife will go on.”

  The afterlife will go on. My mind circled back to all the secrets I was keeping. I had made my mind up to tell her, to tell her everything. I just didn’t know when I would get around to it. Maybe that was another reason I was avoiding her lately.

  Soon the crew was back in order. Kate wasn’t as twitchy anymore, but now Alex was looking like she might be able to harvest all of Indonesia with a single look. Whatever their problem was, I didn’t care. They could keep their drama to themselves, and I would keep mine to myself. I passed out everyone’s coins and we left for the mortal realm.

  Indonesia wasn’t pretty. Rusted metal sheet roofs littered the ground. The town of collapsed shacks we had wandered into looked as if it had just been waiting around for the final straw to drop in and close the place down. The earth was uneven and split into chasms that had choked in their attempt to swallow the wreckage. The living rummaged around in the debris, pretending to look for survivors while they plundered their neighbors’ homes. Reapers stepped around them, searching for the non-survivors. The hounds kept watch over clusters of dull-eyed souls waiting along the perimeter, far enough away to keep them from trying to interact with the living.

  I noticed Paul Brom, the captain of the Recovery Unit, standing tall on a raw ledge as he supervised his people. Paul looked like Charlie Chaplin, but with a better, fuller mustache. He used wax to curl the ends out and upward so that he looked like a true Victorian gentleman. Grim might have required us to wear the traditional reaper cowls, but he hadn’t enforced any rules about headgear. Paul started wearing a bowler hat soon after Saul paved the way with his Stetson. Grim had been annoyed, but then again, everything annoyed Grim.

  “Captain Harvey.” Paul gave me a polite nod as I joined him on the ledge.

  I smiled back at him. “Moring, Captain Brom.”

  We hadn’t really exchanged much more than reflex greetings at the office. Like the other captains, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind about me. It wasn’t generally safe to befriend anyone on Grim’s shit list, or anyone who attracted rebel terrorists as well as I did. I was lucky that the few friends I had to begin with were actually sticking around.

  “How are you holding up, kid?” Paul was being brave today. I’d always assumed he held the same contempt for me as the general reaper populous. The captains were just less obvious about it, maintaining their politically correct authority by not discrediting it with petty, jealous barbs.

  “So far, so good.” I shrugged and turned to look out over the crumbling landscape to see how everyone was faring.

  Brom’s unit carried little batons that lit up like light sabers when they located a buried soul. The batons were a special design that worked like an extension of a reaper’s arm, allowing them to sift through wreckage and deep water and plenty of other sticky situations to recover souls that were trapped beyond our reach. Many of the bodies would eventually be unearthed, but some of them were lost to the mortals for good. The Recovery Unit made sure their souls weren’t lost for good too.

  Alex was still scowling, but she seemed to be keeping her charges in line, so who was I to complain. She was out-harvesting Kate and fiercely leading souls past her sulking girlfriend just to rub it in. At least it gave them something else to focus on besides harassing me. Kevin was holding his own, harvesting reasonably mild souls, while Arden took his time, seeking out the younger victims. I’d never actually seen him in action before, and I found myself quickly endeared to the new expression on his face as he pulled the soul of a girl from a collapsed shack. His big, dark hands engulfed her little face, cradling her cheeks and chin as he whispered something in her native tongue. She nodded and took his hand, letting him lead her through the waiting souls until she found a familiar face.

  Josie spotted us on the ledge and pointed a few souls off to the sidelines before making her way up to join us. “Good morning, professor.”

  Paul reached out his hand to squeeze her shoulder. “Ms. Gala, always a pleasure to see you.”

  Josie had taken Paul’s soul hypnosis class at the academy last spring. She was every teacher’s pet. Unless Jenni was in class with her, then they battled for the title. Their shared enthusiasm for education was lost on me. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the importance of it all. I just didn’t thirst for it the way they did. I used to be embarrassed by that admission, but I’d learned to appreciate the honesty of it at least.

  “I never got the chance to congratulate you on making the Posy Unit.” Paul was still busy flattering Josie. He remembered me and nodded in my direction. “Both of you.”

  “Thanks.” Josie beamed. “I actually applied for your unit too, but I guess I was needed here.”

  Paul nodded. “Yes, I suppose you were.”

  They both glanced at me, and I had the vague feeling that my work ethic was being called into question, though I wasn’t sure why. As far as I could tell, I was doing a bang up job as captain. Besides, it wasn’t like his team had been called in to help out on one of my harvests.

  I cleared my throat and stood up taller. “Well, I think you all are handling this alright without me. I should really go try to put a dent in the extra workload we’re going to have to make up for tomorrow.” I gave them each a nod. “Brom. Galla.”

  I coined off before they could say anything. Josie would probably chew on me for my rudeness, but it was warranted. At least I could get a few hours to myself, harvesting souls who didn’t know or give a crap about my personal life and who couldn’t grind my self-worth into the ground with a single look.

  I dodged around on the original Saturday docket, randomly picking harvests that didn’t seem too challenging. I didn’t have Kevin or the hounds, and my mind was
n’t in the best of places, so I took it easy, picking a plane crash here and a morgue roundup there. A girl in leopard print tights asked if hell was real and if that’s where she was going. I lied and said I didn’t know. I just didn’t feel like dealing with the denial and chaos. Prostitutes are bold and high maintenance, even postmortem.

  I took care of a nice chunk of souls, but Sunday was still looking bleak. I left my catch locked up in the hold of the ship for Josie and Kevin to deliver with their lot from Indonesia. It was around five when I made it back to the condo. I was surprised to find Jenni there. I was even more surprised to find her in my room, snooping through my closet.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” I said, throwing my duffle bag on the bed.

  “Oh!” Jenni turned around with a gasp, clutching a pair of boots to her chest. “I- I was just looking, you know, for a pair of shoes to borrow.” She held the boots up.

  “For what?”

  “Hmmm?” She looked painfully confused.

  “For what? Are you going on a date? Business meeting?” I sat down on the end of the bed and pulled my boots off.

  “Oh. Uh, a date. Tonight. I was in a hurry.” She tossed the boots back in my closet. “I don’t think these are my size though. Maybe I’ll check Josie’s closet.” She gave me a tight smile and backed out of my room.

  So Jenni was dating. Maybe that’s why she was acting so funny lately. I wondered if Josie knew, though I doubted it. She would have mentioned it me earlier. It felt nice to have some frivolous secret mixed in with all the life or death ones I was carrying around.

  Chapter 14

  “Life is just one damned thing after another.”

  -Elbert Hubbard

  Between the tabloid accusations, the reaming from Grim, and the awkward encounter with Paul Brom, I was feeling pretty down in the dumps. The only thing that could fix that was whiskey. Lots of it. It was Saturday, but it was still early. I had at least a good two hours before the weekend crowd would begin to invade the city. I put on a comfy pair of jeans and a tee shirt, then I took the travel booth across the street from Holly House over to the one around the block from Purgatory Lounge. I pushed through the front door, ready to tie one on.

  Purgatory felt like home. Red Christmas lights hung from the ceiling, dotting bright reflections across the brick walls and the glossy wood floors every time they twinkled. Tent menus were set out on the row of booth tables that separated the bar area from the dance floor. Back in the far corner, several nephilim were playing pool, while a pair of female souls watched from the jukebox, lazily slipping coins in the machine and trying not to look too obvious as they ogled the angelic half breeds. I was relieved to see that there was only one other patron sitting in front of the bar, until I realized who it was.

  Ammit was a slobbering mess. Her eye makeup was smeared across her damp face, and her black braids were a tangled, frizzy mess. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but she was actually wearing sweatpants. I’d never seen a deity have a complete and total meltdown before, but something told me that if she was wearing sweatpants in public, she couldn’t be far off.

  “Hit me, demon,” she said to Xaphen, sliding an empty lowball glass across the counter to him.

  Xaphen didn’t look so good. It was one thing to deal with rowdy souls or reapers, but I couldn’t imagine it would be easy for him to cut off a deity. He slowly filled the lowball glass halfway full of rum. Ammit locked eyes with him, and he went ahead and filled it the rest of the way before sliding it back to her. He frowned when he noticed me and tried to shake his head, but I was in no mood to be dismissed tonight.

  I sidled up next to Ammit and took the barstool next to her, avoiding his glare. “Whiskey on the rocks, X-man.”

  Xaphen grumbled at me, sending his halo of flames into an annoyed little dance along his forehead. He pulled down another lowball glass and set it down hard in front of me before filling it with ice and whiskey. Misery loves company, and my presence would only prolong Ammit’s stay, but that wasn’t my problem tonight. Xaphen would get over it.

  “Lana, Lana, Lana,” Ammit slurred as she reached over to pat my leg. “You’re my friend, aren’t you? You can be honest with me, right?”

  “You bet.” It’s always best to humor the gods, especially when they’re drunk.

  Ammit leaned in closer, too hammered to realize there was no one close enough to overhear us. “Am I a complete airhead?”

  “Who would say such a thing?” Short and sweet. That was my usual tactic with upset drunks.

  “Everyone!” she wailed, throwing her head down on the bar with a cry. “Horus! Anubis! Osiris! They all hate me.”

  “What are you talking about? They adore you.”

  “Nope. No, they don’t.” She lifted her head to shake it, and then stopped when she nearly toppled off of her stool. “Someone stole my headdress. I forgot to lock the office closet at the Hall of Two Truths. I’m nothing without my headdress! The Weighing of the Hearts ceremony is ruined forever, and it’s all my fault.” She burst into tears again, dropping her head back to the bar.

  The Hall of Two Truths was in Duat, where souls of the ancient Egyptian faith went to be judged before either passing on to Aaru, their heavenly realm, or being eaten alive by Ammit’s vicious crocodile headdress. In actuality, the headdress was more of a holding dimension. Ammit took the unworthy souls and dumped them into a lake of fire in Duat after the ceremony.

  The Egyptians were pretty proud of their ceremonies, even though they rarely happened anymore. Their religion had been reduced to a small corner of the new age market. Neopagans who followed Osiris or Isis more exclusively would end up at their gates on occasion, and they would all make a big to-do about it. It was a precious ritual for the Egyptian gods. Sometimes, they could go as long as three or four years without a single soul being delivered.

  Ammit’s sobs escalated into wailing, drawing an unpleasant glare from Xaphen. I didn’t really know what else to do, so I gently patted her shoulder in a pathetic attempt to soothe her. The next thing I knew, I had a hysterical deity in my lap. She threw her arms around my neck and rubbed her runny nose across my sleeve.

  “What am I going to do?” She hiccupped in my ear.

  “Uh.” I could see Xaphen grinning from the corner of my eye. My whiskey therapy was not going as well as I had hoped. “Where are you staying tonight, Ammit?” I asked, gently pulling away from her.

  “What?” She blinked at me and rubbed her arm under her nose before taking another swallow of rum.

  “Do you have a room somewhere in Limbo?”

  “Oh.” She glanced over the bar, looking confused. “Is it closing time?”

  “Not quite, but I thought you might want to share a cab back to your hotel. Which one are you staying at?”

  “I don’t know. Just drop me at the Pagoda Inn. I’m gonna need some hot tea in the morning.” She pulled herself upright and downed the rest of her rum. Xaphen gave me a relieved nod before phoning the only cab company in Limbo City.

  Bill Skipper was a troll, literally. He was the runt of his family, who all resided in a Faerie hill in Summerland. He’d run away from home at a young age, dodging his abusive older brothers, and started up a cab company in Limbo City. No one knew his real name, and most people just called him Skipper. He’d named his company a Hop, Skip, and Jump Taxi Service, but drunks couldn’t remember all that. The usual closing time line was, “Call me a Skipper!”

  Bill had three cabs. His other two drivers were a nephilim and a tree spirit who had taken up residency in the bit of woods on the northwestern coast of the city. I was glad to see Bill behind the wheel when the cab pulled up outside of Purgatory. He was quiet and that would give me a few minutes to talk to Ammit about things I didn’t feel like discussing in the bar.

  Ammit dove into the backseat, wiggling across the squeaky vinyl until she’d made it in far enough for me to join her.

  “Where to?” Bill asked in his gruff troll voice that always m
ade me think of Batman. Even as a runt of a troll he was still a big guy, squashed up in the front seat and holding on to the steering wheel with just his fingertips, like the thing might break if he wrapped his meaty hands around it. The top of his ball cap grazed the ceiling as he glanced over his shoulder at us.

  “The Pagoda Inn, and then Holly House,” I said, helping Ammit put her seatbelt on.

  Bill pulled out onto Morte Avenue and headed east towards Market Street. The sky was just beginning to fade, and the sidewalks were slowly filling with factory souls and deity tourists. We passed Athena’s Boutique and the melancholy that had been chasing me around all day took another stab at me. I needed to plan a shopping trip with Josie, but it would have to wait a couple weeks until the rumors about me died down a little. Athena was a gossip queen. She would be all over me about the tabloid article. Best to wait until the excitement had shifted to someone else or until the thief was found. Speaking of thieves, I was beginning to wonder if the same one had struck in Duat.

  Ammit reached over and squeezed my hand, giving me a watery eyed smile. “Thanks for being so nice to me, Lana. No one else seems to care.”

  “I’m sure your headdress will turn up. You’re sure you didn’t just misplace it?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve put it in the same closet for a few thousand years now. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing that they fired me. I was really getting sick of that dead-end office job.”

  “They fired you?”

  “Yeah,” she laughed. “Any monkey could do that job, except for the ceremony part. I suppose they could always get that horn-ball Babi to take my place.” She giggled to herself. “Any monkey. Well, he fits the bill.”