“What was he doing? Should we go look, Soulie?”
Already Soul Selector was on the move. Death trundled along beside her darting anxious glances left and right and trying to brush the lime green dust off his white tux. Eros had been standing on the edge of a shallow hole, nothing more than a trench in the ground. A bundle of dirty rags lay heaped at the bottom.
“What was Ewos shouting at?” Death asked, then screamed as the rags began to move. They slithered away from the sound of his voice. Soul Selector stepped back in alarm.
“I’m sorry.” A muffled voice emerged from the pile of rags.
“Excuse me?” Soul Selector said.
The rags unfolded, and a tall, thin woman dressed in a tattered black robe stood upright. The edge of the hole came midway to her thigh when she stood fully erect. Her hair was long and dark and caked with dirt. Her eyes were a washed out denim color sunken in a waxen, hollowed out face. Death gasped, his gaze swinging from Soul Selector to the stranger and back.
“It’s like your long lost twin!” he said. Soul Selector glared at him. “Your very dirty long lost twin.”
“Who are you?” Soul Selector demanded.
“I am the Soul Selector,” the newcomer said.
“You are not! I am the Soul Selector.” Soul Selector thumbed her chest.
The newcomer shrugged. “There have been soul selectors since the first humans fell in love, and in doing so, discovered their souls. Soul selectors reach back to the beginning of time.” She sounded far too Zen for someone who’d just had rocks and insults chucked at her head. Soul Selector was immediately suspicious.
“Goodness,” Death said. “Why are you in a hole? And why was Ewos being so nasty?”
“I am a prisoner of the pit of shame.” The stranger hung her head. “And Eros comes to punish me. He is a callow, senseless youth. A dullard, and I only pretend to be rebuked.”
“Wait a minute. Are you suggesting I’m not the only one?” Soul Selector asked.
Death tutted in sympathy. “Ewos is a meanie.” He examined the hole with interest. “I didn’t know we had a pit of shame. This looks more like a hole than a pit.”
“I’m not the only one?” Soul Selector asked again.
“Are you sure it’s not a pit?” the stranger asked.
“No, it’s definitely a hole,” Death said.
“I’ll have you know I am the only soul selector!”
Death let out a long sigh. “Let me introduce my fwiend. This is Soul Selector, or Soulie as we call her.”
“We do not.” Soul Selector drew herself up to her full height, which was unnecessary, as the other soul selector was still standing in a hole and a few feet shorter than her. “I am the Soul Selector.”
“I’m Sellie,” Sellie said, far too affably for someone standing knee-deep in a hole. As if aware of her situation, she tried to scrabble out of it. “I’m a soul selector, too. How do you do?”
“Let me help.” Death offered a hand. “I’m Death, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered any kindness in this place,” Sellie said.
“Can we concentrate on me for a minute?” Soul Selector’s exasperation showed. “I am the only soul selector.”
“She’s got a bit of a super ego,” Death muttered to Sellie who nodded knowingly.
“More like super id,” she said.
“As in idiot?” he asked with genuine interest.
“As in all principle and no pleasure.”
“What do you mean you’re a soul selector? There’s only one. And it’s me.” Soul Selector was becoming more and more belligerent.
“Soulie, for goodness sake look at her,” Death said. “She’s the spit of you. Okay, maybe a little bit faded, and frazzled, and frayed.” He picked a loose thread from Sellie’s shoulder. “And less fat.”
“I am not fat.”
“Thank you,” Sellie said and shook the dust off her cloak. “I was a soul selector. I mean, I am one…but I burned out.” The dust rose in clouds around her.
“Burned out?” Death echoed Sellie.
Soul Selector shut up. Burned out? Was that what was happening to her? The weird feelings, the aches and pains—was that the start of breaking down, burning out?
“We all burn out eventually. We are not eternal creatures,” Sellie said.
Soul Selector grew anxious. “How did you burn out?” she asked.
“I made Aphrodite very, very angry.” Sellie sighed. “I lost a soul mate. It doesn’t take much to anger her.”
Death shot Soul Selector a look swimming with guilt. “Soulie lost a soul mate, too,” he volunteered. She glared at him and his gaze swerved back to Sellie. “Did you turn your back for just one minute?” he asked with interest.
“Less than a minute, and poof, she was gone.”
“Same here. Slippery things, soul mates. Like buttered eels.” Death was full of sympathy.
“What happened to you?” Sellie asked Soul Selector. Soul Selector turned away. She did not want Sellie to see her anxiety.
“It was weally all my fault,” Death said. “I took her soul mate by mistake, and now Aphwodite is mad and won’t listen to weason.”
“You took mine, too, all those years ago.” Sellie sounded sad.
Death looked contrite. “I can’t wemember. I’m weally understaffed. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” Sellie said. “Aphrodite gets mad when the manna store runs low.”
“Manna store?” Soul Selector swung round to face her.
“There’s a shop here?” Death perked up.
“I thought the stuff had no shelf life,” Soul Selector said. “I thought it had to be used more or less at once?”
“Oh no. She has tons of it. Stacks and stacks. It’s stored in a secret room at the rear of her temple. Right behind her throne. She sits on it like a broody hen.”
“Why on earth does she do that?” Soul Selector said, mostly talking to herself.
“I’m sure it’s against the wools.” Death tutted.
“Does Zeus know she’s stockpiling?” Soul Selector asked Sellie.
“No idea, but I guess not.”
“So why is she blaming you for a shortage when she has piles of the stuff? And why do we have to pulp Jesse?” Death asked.
“Who’s Jesse?” Sellie asked.
“She’s the stowaway soul mate,” Death said.
“She landed in the Elysian Fields,” Soul Selector said.
Sellie tutted sympathetically. “It’s nice you managed to keep Jesse with you. When does she go up for reincarnation?”
“She doesn’t. She’s headed for the slush pile if we can’t squeeze her in somewhere,” Soul Selector said.
Sellie looked shocked.
“Aphwodite is demanding it, but Zeus gave us a few days to come up with a plan,” Death butted in.
“And have you a plan?” Sellie asked Soul Selector.
“No,” Death continued eagerly. “She’s got no idea what to do. She’s clueless.” He flung his hands in the air to show the hopelessness of her situation.
She scowled at him. “I have a few ideas.”
“What ideas?” he asked.
“What happened to your soul mate?” Soul Selector ignored him and directed her question to Sellie. She was loath to ask her anything, but she needed to know. Any information might prove useful.
Sellie looked contrite. “I never met her. Aphrodite whisked her away and told Eros to lock me up. Hence the pit of shame.” She looked glumly at the hole.
“There is no pit of shame on the Elysian Fields,” Soul Selector said. “It’s a hole, that’s all. A hole in the ground you chose to lie in for heaven only knows how long. It’s not a celestial prison. It’s a self-made one.” She spoke harshly and with relish.
Sellie looked dejected. “He told me it was the pit of shame and I had to sit in it until I was allowed out.”
Soul Selector
rolled her eyes while Death showed genuine sympathy. “Ewos would do something like that,” he said. “He’s a nasty, wude boy.”
“What shall I do?” Sellie asked. She looked lost now that she stepped out of her pit.
“Walk away,” Soul Selector said. “He has no power over you. He’s nothing more than chocolate box decor.”
“Where will I walk away to?”
Soul Selector was disinterested. “Anywhere you want.”
“Come along with us,” Death piped up “We’re on a quest. Zeus says we have seven days to help Jesse.”
“A quest set by Zeus?” Sellie said. “To save Jesse? How exciting.”
“I know,” Death said. He was nearly breathless with excitement. Soul Selector glared at him. She did not share his sudden enthusiasm.
“Now hang on a minute—”
“Soulie needs all the help she can get,” Death continued his rant.
“No, I don’t”
“I’d love to help!” A delighted smile spread over Sellie’s sunken face transforming her momentarily into a younger, happier version of herself.
“You can’t. There are rules,” Soul Selector said.
“Not for a quest,” Death helpfully corrected her. “You’re onboard, Sellie.” He clapped his hands. “Isn’t it great, Soulie? We have an expert on our team.”
“We don’t need another soul selector. And we don’t need an expert in sitting in a hole like a big fat rabbit.”
“Soulie.” Death sounded shocked. “That’s not fair. Aphwodite was behind that.”
“I am not a rabbit. I’m a soul selector and I want to help.” Sellie looked sadder than ever.
“And so you shall,” Death assured her. “So she shall, Soulie, or else you’re on your own. I have more than made up for my mistake. I will leave this quest if I have to.”
“Listen to yourself,” she said. “Since when did you become Sir Lancelot?”
But there was a new determination to his voice that made her think twice. She didn’t want Death to leave. Not that she was dependent on him, she was never that, but she didn’t want to carry Jesse alone. The Jesse situation overwhelmed her. She looked across at Sellie, the burned out version of herself. Her face was sallow with hollowed out cheeks and sad, red-rimmed eyes. For someone who had lain down in a hole for millennia, she looked exhausted. Her hair and clothes were filthy. There was a large bruise forming on her forearm, probably from protecting herself against Eros’s stoning. He was such a little shit.
Something inside her shifted. It was not sympathy and it was not anger. She wanted Death to hang around. He was useful and she sort of liked him, and after all, this whole thing was his fault. As for Sellie? Sellie made her nervous, but she knew things Soul Selector didn’t, like Aphrodite’s manna hoard. It might be wise to keep her around for a while. It pained her, but it looked like Death would get his way.
“Oh, all right,” she conceded gracelessly.
“Yeah!” Death cheered. “We’re a team. Jesse is safe!”
Chapter Thirty
Jesse had had enough. She was surrounded by ancient old fools and twitching psychopaths. It was an unmanageable situation, and there was nobody she could trust. Soul Selector and Death were trying to help, but she had no faith in them. They were soft hitters. There was obviously a bigger, meaner, madder power at work, and that power meant to annihilate her for whatever reason. What the hell had she ever done to aggravate Aphrodite? What a total bitch!
Jesse teleported back to the pool. She didn’t want to hang around waiting for Soulie and Death to come up with some last chance strategy. Their incompetency stretched her nerves, and her need to see Norrie was overpowering. She had been away from the pool too long already. It was her narcotic. The pool fed her; it kept her sanity intact, despite all the madness around her. It would take a few minutes before Soul Selector realized she was gone, but a few minutes was all she needed.
The pool responded to her immediately. Beneath its surface, shadows and sunlight swirled in a slow, lazy current until the dark and light melded and the Donegal beach where Norrie lived came into view. White-topped waves crashed against the shore, and rain clouds piled in from the Atlantic. The wind cracked the dune grass into a frenzied warning for the storm about to land.
A lone figure walked along the shoreline, and Jesse instinctively knew it was Norrie. Her footprints weaved in and out along the scalloped tidemark. Her crimson shawl streaked out behind her like a war banner. Norrie trudged head down into the wind, pausing once in a while to look out to sea and allow the wind to pummel her.
What was she thinking? She looked so sad. Jesse hung over the edge and let her hands and knees sink into the muddy bank. She leaned further over. What if I fell in?
She dipped her face to the water. Donegal was still there. She could smell the salt, and the wind flung stinging sand against her cheeks. She blinked. Surely it couldn’t be this easy? Her heart beat harder, and she sunk her head further into the water. Her ears went under, and the wind howled and whipped at her hair. Oh my God. I can do it. I can go there.
With one last push, she went tumbling through. A world of sensation crashed around her. Chill, tumultuous air swallowed her up, while the scent of salty sea scoured her sinuses. She slammed flat on her back onto the beach. Sand and stones knocked the air from her lungs, and she sucked a glorious salty breath back in.
Why didn’t I do this before? Why did I listen to that idiot and her stupid rules? Did Soul Selector even know you could step through into the real world? Her pool was a freakin’ portal, and Jesse bet Soulie had no idea. No idea at all.
The surf roared. Sand shifted underneath her. She lay rejoicing at the chill and damp seeping through her shirt onto the skin of her back. She was freezing. Her flesh goose-bumped, but it felt delicious. All of this, the cold air, her wet back, the rumble of surf drowned by incoming thunder, all of it—did all this sensation mean she was alive? She was a visitor in a place where she did not belong. Was she a ghost?
Jesse struggled to her feet. Her balance was bad. She kept slipping and sliding on the slope of sand. By standing upright, all her impressions of this world changed. Jesse took a staggering step forward. The muscles in her legs burned. Her chest hurt. She was sucking in air as heavy as iron. Reentry was tough.
Up ahead, she saw Norrie coming steadily toward her. There was no indication she had seen Jesse as yet or that a woman had just materialized before her on the beach. Jesse waited as she approached, her gaze zigzagging over every feature of Norrie’s face. She knew she was staring wildly, probably like a mad woman. Norrie kept coming closer. Her face was flushed. Tendrils of blond hair flew free from under her hat, her shawl billowed around her shoulders. She was swirling and windswept and totally organic within the gathering storm. Everything about her was movement and vibrant, thrumming life. Jesse took a step toward her and stopped. Norrie turned. Her back was to the water and she faced Jesse head on, and looked right through her.
She can’t see me. I’m invisible. I’m a ghost, or as good as a ghost. The thought was crushing. Norrie passed by so close Jesse could smell her perfume. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch her sleeve, to try to detain her.
Why had she expected it to be easy? Nothing that had happened since her death had made sense or gone the way she wanted. And here she was, back on earth with her soul mate, so why should that be any less complicated?
Norrie walked past her, her head down, eyes empty. She stopped and again looked over to where Jesse stood. Jesse held her breath. Norrie’s gaze slid over her to scan along the beach before returning to bore through her. She turned toward the surf and looked out at the lowering horizon and its bands of gathering clouds. Her shoulders slumped. With a deep sigh, Norrie walked on, paused, but only for an instant, before wheeling on her heel and heading straight for the sea. She loosened the shawl and let it fly free from her neck. Her coat slipped from her shoulders to lie heaped beside her abandoned shoes. Norrie walked on into the tide.
She plowed through the waves until she was knee high, waist high, she was almost chest high when the waves finally knocked her over and she disappeared.
Jesse watched in horror, her gaze glued on the big gray breakers. Norrie didn’t surface. Jesse focused on where she had last seen the blond head dipping under the waves. She took a huge gulp of air and plunged after her into the Atlantic.
Chapter Thirty-one
“I used to love this old pool.” Sellie sighed.
Soul Selector scowled and inched closer to it.
“But you can’t trust it.” Sellie turned and examined the rest of the grotto. “I like what you’ve done here with the jacarandas. Looks good.”
“Jesse did it,” Death said.
“Hang on a minute,” Soul Selector said. “What do you mean you can’t trust it?”
Sellie shrugged. “You just can’t.”
“What’s wrong with my pool?”
“Incoming.” Death stuck a finger in his ear and signaled for quiet.
“I’m only referring to my own experience.” Sellie’s vagueness was annoying.
“What do you mean?” Soul Selector persisted. “Why can’t you trust it?”
“Sh!” Death had both fingers in his ears now. “I’m getting a fax.”
“I mean it plays tricks on you,” Sellie said.
Soul Selector snorted. “Maybe on you. It’s never tricked me.”
“Quiet, you guys. I can’t hear a thing,” Death said.
“How do you know it hasn’t?” Sellie asked.
“Because I’m not stupid.”
“Ooh, whiplash.” Sellie grabbed at the nape of her neck. “Quick, get me a chiropractor to undo the damage of your acerbic wit.”
Soul Selecta Page 13