“Shouldn’t you be somewhere now, then? Don’t millions of people die every day?”
“Time is a strange and relative thing. You are in limbo now—a place between times. A space in which to…adapt…to your new circumstances.”
I didn’t bother telling him I wasn’t going to adapt, because I was not leaving Geordi. Partly from interest, and partly to buy time to find an angle to get me out of this, I asked, “Still, that’s a lot of souls. How do you manage it?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Christians, Muslims, Jews, yes. But other faiths have other guides.” His rapier-sharp gaze penetrated mine. He knew damn well what I was up to. “You are dead, child. There is nothing I can do, except guide you where you are going. Perhaps you will see your nephew again, perhaps not. It depends on which door is his, and which one is yours.”
He stood, leather creaking and weapons jangling again, and my panic came back. Although how I could feel my pulse race and my head spin, when in theory I no longer had either, I had no clue.
I jumped up. “Wait—you keep saying I’m dead, but there’s still time. How dead am I?”
“If you are worried about which door is yours—”
“I’m not.” In truth, that concern hadn’t crossed my mind. With my, er, career choices, there was a good chance I’d go through the right-hand door. But an eternity in Hell paled in comparison to Nick’s family getting Geordi. “You said I’m in limbo. So, my body’s still back on Earth, right? I could be resuscitated—maybe I’m not totally dead yet.”
“Child, despite what you appear to think, I am not omnipotent.”
He hadn’t actually said he couldn’t do it, though, and I pressed my advantage, moving toward him, pleading my case. “I’ll do anything you want—go straight to Hell—later. Please let me go back, long enough to see that Geordi’s safe.”
I was in his space again, and he didn’t like it. He frowned, stepping back, but the room was small, and he had nowhere to go.
“Look,” I said. “I’ve made mistakes. Plenty of them.” I grabbed his hand, holding tight when he tried to pull away. Do not ask me how I had the chutzpah to touch the Angel of Death a second time. By now I acted purely on instinct. This was my last shot, and I had nothing to lose. Nothing except an innocent, sweet little boy, whose very life depended on whatever happened in the next few seconds. “Please—don’t let Geordi live a life of Hell on Earth just because I was stupid enough to take a talking rock from the Rousseau brothers.”
Michael froze. Literally. He paled, and I felt the shock ripple through him. He yanked his hand from my grasp and gripped my shoulders. His massive body shook like a bomb about to detonate, which meant I shook, too.
“What did you say?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You found a talking rock—and tried to keep it from Jacques Rousseau?”
“Yes—in a batch of goods from Turkey. Denizli—or, east of there. Colossae.”
If possible, Michael looked even more shocked. Abruptly he let me go and I staggered, trying to regain the use of my “non-corporeal limbs” with the after effects of adrenaline still spiking through me. What the hell is the point of being dead, if you can still feel all the yucky crap you felt while alive?
“Impossible,” he muttered, then shot me a curious look. “And yet…”
He stepped toward me, and I skittered back. It was a reflex—I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but something about me rattled the Head Angel, the baddest of the, er, Good—the dude who fought Satan and won. And that was pretty damned unnerving.
Michael lifted a hand as though to touch my cheek, then let it drop. “Tell me.” His voice was soft, but there was no doubt it was a command.
So, I told him. Everything. About Vadim, the Rousseaux, and the rock. How I couldn’t give the rock to the Rousseaux, and hid it before meeting them, and then about Lily and Geordi’s arrival, and Nick, and how the Rousseaux got the rock after all.
When I finished, Michael was silent, staring at me, his expression filled with wonder. “Why?” he asked at last. “Why did you keep it? You must have known Jacques would want it.”
I shook my head, trying to pinpoint what the deciding factor was. Greed? Did I think it was so unusual that I could sell it? I really had no idea. “I suppose I felt…sorry for it. Whatever the Rousseaux wanted it for, it couldn’t be good.”
“It did not frighten you?”
“Maybe at first. But later on, no. It sounded upset, mainly. Lost. Not scary.”
“When—how—did it speak to you?”
Something in his tone made me think this might have the most bearing on my fate. Unfortunately, I had no idea what the angle was. I don’t lie all the time, but I have to admit, I’m more of a fudger than a straight-up honest kind of gal. This had to be a personal record—fifteen limbo-minutes without a single lie.
“It screamed,” I said. “When I touched it.”
“Did you hear it at any other time?”
“Yes. I could hear it humming sometimes, even under its wrappings. And I could feel it.”
His gaze sharpened. “You felt it? When you were not touching it?”
I nodded. “It gave off a warmth. Claude did, too. I don’t know about Jacques—I was never close enough to him to tell.” I paused, remembering. “The rock also sort of vibrated. Like a tuning fork.” The next part would sound even weirder, but I had to tell him. “I got the sense it was…excited…to have found me. Like maybe it hadn’t had anyone to talk to in a long time.”
“It hadn’t,” Michael said slowly. “Unless… Do you know why your partner took it? If it spoke to him, as well?”
“I wish I did. He never said, and the crates have been in storage for six months. I just opened them today.” Literally, a lifetime ago.
Michael shook his head, and went back to staring at me, expression unreadable. I waited. What else could I do, when the Angel of Death held my fate in his hands?
Finally, he blew out a heavy breath. “Very well, Hyacinth Marie Finch. You may have your life back.”
Chapter Five
“Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before,
Advanced a stage or two upon that road
Which you must travel in the steps they trod.”
~Aristophanes (448-350 BCE)
It was my turn to stare. When an archangel grants your dearest wish, it’s probably best not to argue. But I had a million questions, such as Why? How? And most important, When?
Before I asked any of them, Michael turned and began pacing the room, its size far too small to contain his bulk. He was excited and tense, like a bowstring pulled taut, almost to breaking, and I added two more questions to my list: How hard would this be for him to accomplish? And, What’s in it for him?
For the former, I had no idea. For the latter, he told me right away. He stopped in front of me, bushy brows drawn, eyes flashing. “This is a temporary grant only. You will not be alive, per se, only visiting the Earth to make arrangements for your nephew. And there is one condition. I need that rock back. Get it for me.”
“What?”
“You are…resourceful. I do not know everything about every soul. But I am given enough information to know which door to choose. You are well-travelled. You speak several languages. And you are adept at, shall we say, removing things without their owners’ notice.”
“Why me, though? I’m not the only person with those, um, skills. If it’s so important, why not send an angel or something?”
“There are others with your talents, yes. But no one—not a single soul in thousands of years—has ever sensed the rock’s abilities. To them, it is ordinary. To you, it speaks.”
No wonder he was so shocked. “You’ve been searching for this rock for thousands of years? Why?”
“This one, and many more like it. As to why—suffice it to say that if I lose it, your nephew will not be the only one subjected to ‘Hell on Earth.’ Find it, and you may live long enough to settle Geordi. Refuse
, and I will lead you to your door.”
In truth, I was intrigued. After all, I got into the stolen artifact business because I love art, history and archaeology, but not so much authority or playing by the rules. Then I thought of Claude and Jacques, and their soulless helpers, and shivered.
“But the Rousseaux—I have no idea where they went. They could be anywhere by now.”
“In that, I can help. I believe they will go to Colossae—to the rock’s place of origin.”
“Why?”
“There is a ritual they wish to perform. You must get the rock back before they succeed.”
“Why not do it here, right away, if it’s so important?”
“The ritual must occur at the very site where the shard was split from the original slab. They intend to send the shard to Hell—to Satan.”
“To Satan? As in, the Devil? The Prince of Darkness, the—”
“Yes, Satan.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “We have no time. Though you are in limbo, the longer we wait, the harder it will be to restore your life. You must decide.”
“If this is all so important, why can’t you get it back?”
“I wish it were so simple. As you pointed out, a great many deaths occur each day, and I must attend a goodly portion of them. Then there are Satan’s more pressing acts of evil, which I also must prevent. I have been so busy, I did not realize this shard had been found.”
He was an archangel, and something of this magnitude slipped his notice? Sheesh. He must be overworked.
I stared at him, thinking hard. Geordi was out there, hopefully with Jason. But he’d only met Jason once, and had to be beyond terrified by everything he’d seen and heard today. Michael would let me go back long enough to comfort him and hide him from the Dioguardis. No matter how impossible getting the rock back seemed, I had to try. What choice did I have?
“Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll do it.”
Michael’s relief was palpable. Whatever the rock’s origins, its significance was enough to make him doubt my compliance, which should have scared me even more.
“Excellent. I will send you back.”
“Just like that? Don’t you have to get clearance or something?”
His rich laugh rang out. “Child, I am your clearance. Come.” He moved to the single door, which had started leaking natural light around the edges, and now crumbled and receded, eroding before our eyes. “When you pass through, you will feel as though you are falling. You will land in your body, but the impact will be jarring. You will most likely lose consciousness.”
“How much time will have passed? You know—since I was shot.”
“You will arrive after the immediate danger to your person is past.”
Good. I’d been a little worried I’d wake up while the truck driver was making sure I was really dead. Oops! Surprise! Which reminded me…
“What about my wound? Will I still have it?”
“Yes. And no. The wound will be healed, not erased. It will be as though you have spent time in a hospital, recovering. You will still feel its effects. There may be pain. You may feel weak and tired. You will need to take it easy, as they say.”
“Great. I have to find my nephew, travel to Turkey, and stop the Rousseaux, all with a sucking chest wound.” That brought up another thought. “Can I die? I mean, again?”
“You are not immortal, nor are you immune to injury. But you may find you suffer less or heal more quickly in the event you are wounded again.” He searched his memory. “As you may imagine, I have not done this often. There may be other side effects to death and rebirth, but I do not know what they are. I would advise you to avoid getting hurt as much as possible.”
Well, duh. I did that anyway. “How will I find you again?”
“I will find you. Once you have the rock, think of me, and I will be there. Perhaps I will check your progress from time to time, as well.”
An unsubtle reminder that, if I didn’t do my job, he’d come for me. Of course, I still didn’t know what consequences he risked, for sending me back in the first place. I suppose a few surprise inspections were to be expected.
The door had fully dissolved, revealing an unblemished blue atmosphere that extended, unbroken, in all directions. Apparently, we were suspended in the air, or in another dimension or something. I peeped out. No stairs here. What was the deal with that? Heaven got stairs, maybe Hell, too. I guess most folks floated up here and never went back. Heights aren’t my strong suit. But hey, I was already dead. What’s the worst that could happen?
“One more thing,” Michael said as he positioned me at the edge. That sure was a long drop into nothing—literally, no end in sight. I just wanted the whole thing over, not to hear more instructions. On the other hand, I should probably pay attention, since I’d done this even less than he had.
Michael’s voice was serious. “Remember when I said that Satan’s minions walk the Earth, but the Dioguardis are only human?”
“Yes.”
“The Rousseaux are not.”
I twisted to face him. “What are you saying?”
“Jacques and Claude Rousseau are Demons of the Last Circle of Hell. They live—if you can call it that—and breathe and die for Satan’s whims, and Satan wants this rock as much as I do. If the Rousseaux catch you, they will torture and obliterate you, body and soul. You will not go to Heaven or Hell. You will end. And I will be unable to stop them. Be very careful, Hyacinth. Especially of Jacques.”
With that, he pushed me out.
****
If you’re wondering, he was right about the impact, wrong about the consciousness. I almost wished I had passed out. At least then there’d be a respite from the shock of reentry.
Hel-lo street.
“Ow.”
I think I said it out loud. My throat felt funny and my ears echoed—hell, my whole body felt odd, worse than when I’d woken up dead. I tried to push myself up, but my “real” limbs stretched and wobbled and slid out from under me just as my non-corporeal ones had, so I gave up and lay there, catching my breath. Luckily, the alley behind my shop is too tight for cars—even mine—and there was no sign of the Devil’s minions or their, er, minions.
My car. Merde. It was still at my apartment. Normally, walking wasn’t a problem, but if my legs didn’t shape up, I wouldn’t make it one block, let alone twenty.
One thing at a time. When my head quit spinning, I brought a cautious hand to my chest. My arm decided to obey and my fingers, though tingling, wiggled as directed. I poked around. No wound, no blood, just dirt and grime from the street on my top.
I levered myself up and looked around. The sun was down but the twilight revealed Lily’s body a few feet away.
Why didn’t you fight to stay alive?
I choked down the tears and looked away. I couldn’t afford to grieve. Not when Geordi was out there somewhere, terrified, wondering where his mother and I were.
Judging by the light, it was ten or fifteen minutes at most since we’d died. Thanks to the gun’s silencer, no one in the surrounding buildings heard the shots. Most of the other shops were long closed, and the inhabitants of the apartments above had no reason to look out their back windows at the grimy street.
Still, someone would notice Lily’s body eventually, and I didn’t want to hang around and risk bumping into the cops. Or the Rousseaux, if they forgot something and came back. They were bad enough in daylight. Demons after dark? I don’t think so.
Especially Jacques. It’s always the quiet ones.
My legs felt a little more normal, so I tried them out in a kneel, then got myself up to standing. Only problem was I didn’t exactly have a plan. I had to get Geordi, then get to Turkey. But first, I needed cash. In this at least, I knew where I might find some.
I turned from Lily and moved up the dark alley, then poked my head through the still-open rear door of the shop. I thought everyone had left, but I wasn’t quite as dumb as Nick. Everything was silent, and it’s no
t a big room. Long, but narrow. The shelves and cases were still pushed aside, and in the gloom, I was fairly certain no one was there.
No one vertical, anyway.
I closed the door and tiptoed past Nick’s prone form, avoiding the pooled, coagulating blood, then quickly lowered the shades on the cluttered front window cases and the door. I doubted anyone would walk by, but to be safe, I skipped the overhead light and turned on the reading lamp I keep on the counter. To be thorough, I made a quick check of my office upstairs, which was thankfully vacant and undisturbed, before returning to the shop.
Then I took a deep breath, pretending I wasn’t about to do what I was about to do, and knelt to touch Nick’s neck. No pulse. Not that I’d thought he’d survive a bullet to the brain, but good to check. Another breath. I reached for his coat pockets, searching for the cash he took from my safe.
It was gone.
Merde. Merde, merde, merde.
Jacques or Claude or the drivers must’ve taken it. Maybe they wanted it to look like a robbery—although I wondered why they didn’t just use their demon magic to make us all disappear. I suppose since they hadn’t found the rock on their own, and had clearly tried to “pass” as humans, there must be some limit to their powers. Or maybe it had to do with their master being imprisoned in Hell. Maybe with him incarcerated, they had to tone it down for now.
I checked the register. Most of the day’s take goes in my safe, but I leave some change in the drawer. The bastards took that, too. I looked for my purse, which I’d tossed on the counter seemingly eons ago. Gone. Naturally. I expected nothing less from the meticulous Rousseaux.
So, not only did I have no cash, not one single euro, I also didn’t have checks, credit cards or ID. Fat lot of good a Swiss bank account did me if I couldn’t withdraw the money. I’d straighten it out eventually, but that would take time. Meanwhile, I was screwed.
Plus, there was the small matter of my keys. For my apartment, I could go to the landlady on the ground floor and ask for a spare. But for my car, sad to say, I don’t have one. It’s been on my to do list, most of which I haven’t gotten to in the many years since I started it.
Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1) Page 5