A Grim Pact
Adam Slade
Published by Distillery Press
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011, Adam Slade
Other titles by Adam Slade:
A Reaper’s Tale
Strand
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to June, Lisa, and Fiona for their help, and an even bigger thanks to Valerie for giving me a heap of ideas for a certain cat...
Dedication
Rhaina.
You will forever be the most important person in my life. Thank you for all the help you’ve given me over the time we’ve been together, the support, the encouragement, and the shouting-ats when I’m being a mopey bugger.
This book, and every other, is for you.
Chapter One
Mal woke with a jolt as his heart started beating. He couldn’t remember it having stopped. Xyla lay by his side, undisturbed by his movements. He gently untangled himself from her arms and sat up to watch her sleep. She looked out of place. The most stunning creature he had ever set eyes on, lying under his dirty sheets, on his broken bed, in his tip of an apartment. He reached down to brush a stray long black hair from her perfect face, then paused.
“Ah, crap.”
Xyla stirred, her almond-shaped eyes opening far too quickly for someone who was just waking up. “What’s up?”
“We had sex, right?”
“We certainly did.” She ran a warm hand up his throbbing thigh.
“Crap.”
Her hand stopped. “Sweetie, that’s not the kind of thing a girl likes to hear after a confirmation of sex.”
“Oh, it’s not that.” He ran a furry tongue over his furrier teeth. “It’s that I finally had sex with the wom—, demon of my dreams. And I don’t bloody remember it.”
Xyla snorted with laughter, then pulled herself up and level with Mal, exposing body parts that he couldn’t believe he could forget about, no matter how drunk and exhausted he was last night.
“I’m not planning on going anywhere for a while, so we’ll just make sure you pay attention next time.” She prodded at his left leg. “How’s the break?”
He winced at the sharp pain the poke brought. “It’ll heal. An advantage to my undead...ness.” Pity it doesn’t help with memory. “So, you’re staying a while?”
“If you’ll have me.” She climbed out of bed and stretched her arms wide as she yawned. “My house was owned by The Company, so they took it back when they fired me. I can’t even get my clothes back until they’ve swept the place for their property.”
‘The Company’ was what the supernatural community called the organisation responsible for divining upcoming deaths, and assigning Grim Reapers to collect their souls. Grim Reapers like Mal.
He tried hard to avert his eyes as Xyla bent over into the kind of back bend that would make a yoga instructor jealous. She pushed her hips up until her back cracked, then righted herself in a move just as fluid as the first. “Much better.”
“Wow, you’re, um... bendy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t remember last night, do you?”
Mal felt his cheeks redden and he turned away as she dressed. When he turned back she was in some of his clothes. A black T-shirt that swamped her, and baggy jeans that rode low on her hips and came down over her feet. The air around her shimmered as she shifted her form to her demonic self. Two mottled brown horns grew from her forehead, and a long prehensile tail appeared just above the waistband of her pants.
She saw him watching in mild amazement and shrugged. “Hard to sleep if I leave it there.”
He nodded. “I can imagine. So, you’re homeless?”
“I am, which is why I’m anxiously awaiting your response to me asking if I can stay here.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He climbed out of bed and dressed faster than should be physically possible with a hangover and a broken leg. He glimpsed her from the corner of his eye and prayed to every god in the sky that this wasn’t just a fling. “I’d love you to stay.”
She grinned, then walked over and kissed him on the lips, her inch-long horns brushing against his bed-hair. “No fling. And thanks.”
He cursed silently as he remembered Xyla was a telepath, then cursed again as he realised that she would have heard the curse, too.
She laughed aloud as she headed to the door, stepping around the discarded plates, takeaway boxes and general detritus. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m sure.”
He dropped back onto the edge of the bed while he pulled his socks on. Three years of admiring her from afar, and now she was in the kitchen, talking to his cat. Mugs clattered as she pulled them from the pile of dishes in the sink he remembered not washing.
“Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, no sugar. Thanks.” He stood and regarded his mess of a bedroom. “Looks like I’ll have to clean this place up. Later.”
By the time he’d made it to the front room, Xyla was reclining on the sofa, teasing Charlie with her tail. It made a change from his original ‘run squealing’ response to her. Mal dropped down beside the pair and grabbed the mug of tea resting on the coffee table. He drank as much as his complaining mouth would allow, then sat back and cradled the mug in an effort to warm up.
Xyla swivelled on the sofa to face him, her legs crossed on the seat. “So, what do you remember from last night?”
He sipped at the tea, rolling it around his mouth while he clunked his brain into gear. “I came back from the bar with Zach’s help, because my leg snapped again. You were waiting here for me. Zach made his excuses and left, we talked, then went to the bedroom... Uh, that’s all I have.”
“So you don’t remember what we talked about afterwards either, then?”
“No idea. You said something major had happened. So big that you hadn’t been able to come sooner.”
She nodded slowly. “That news was tha—”
Xyla was interrupted by a flash of red light in the centre of the room where Mal had laid down his summoning circle at the cost of his security deposit. Mal turned to face the circle as the flames died down to see Xyla’s replacement at The Company.
“Bloody hell.”
Stooped under the ceiling – so that his huge horns didn’t poke into the apartment above – stood a demon that resembled the classic interpretation of the Devil himself, right down to the cloven hooves. He regarded Mal with black eyes devoid of all whites, then raised a red claw-like hand to waist height. An image of a woman appeared, floating an inch above his palm. Mal didn’t get up.
“You have an assignment,” the demon growled.
“So, you’re the new Xyla, eh?”
Before she had been fired, Xyla had been one of two Company employees known as apparitions. They were tasked with assigning Mal with upcoming deaths that he then had to Reap. Xyla had handled the bad people, and the good ones had been handled by a human named Morgana. Before Mal accidentally broke her neck, anyway.
The demon glared at Mal. “Are you going to take the Reap or not?”
“Like I have a choice. There are these things called manners, though, that apply to strangers who spring up in my flat without so much as a bloody phone call. What’s your name?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. My name is Rufus.” He almost looked embarrassed, though given the skin colour it was difficult to tell. “I didn’t choose it.”
“There, was that so hard?” Mal picked up a pad and pen from the table and walked over. “If it makes you feel better, my name is Malcolm, and I did choose it.”
Rufus snorted, then lowered himself onto his haunches so Mal could better see the image he held. “Her name is Michelle Cliffton, and she will be struck dead by a motorcar on the corner of Clark Street, near the bakery, at one minute past eleven this morning.”
“Tackling traffic, eleven-oh-one.” Mal closed the pad and checked his wall-clock. “Whoa, that’s in forty minutes!”
Rufus nodded, bringing his incorporeal horns within inches of Mal’s head. “The necessary rituals required to assign me to you took a while. Plus I had to deal with my own Reaper.”
Xyla stood and stretched. “You’re a temp, then?”
“Yes, my lady. Due to staffing issues, I will be acting as both apparitions for Mal until replacements can be hired.”
My lady? Mal thought toward Xyla, who winked before turning her attention back to Rufus.
“I see. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
The demon beamed at Xyla, then nodded curtly to Mal before disappearing in a second flare of flame.
Mal rubbed his eyes to try and clear the spots, then dropped back onto the sofa. “So, my lady, what does he know that I don’t?”
Xyla curled up beside him. “Nothing scandalous. His clan was subservient to mine for several millennia. Even though neither I nor what’s left of my race follow the old traditions, his people often still refer to us as The Ladies.”
“I see. He really doesn’t suit his name.”
She laughed. “As most demons have rather... unique names, when someone is hired by The Company, they are given an alias that’s easier to pronounce.”
Mal stood again and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the front door. “So your name isn’t Xyla?”
“It is and it isn’t.” Xyla stood too, and walked to the door. “It’s not my original name, but I adopted it before I began working there.” She placed a hand on Mal’s arm. “We need to talk about the news I mentioned last night.”
“Can we talk on the way to the Reap? I don’t like being late. The souls get grumpy.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, hang on.” He gestured to Xyla’s tail. “As much as I love it, the majority of humanity ain’t so broad-minded. You’ll have to shift out of your true form.”
Xyla closed her eyes and the air shimmered again as her tail faded from sight and her horns retracted into the flawless skin of her forehead. “There. And for the record, you’ve never seen my true form.”
“So the horn and tails are what? Fake?”
She snorted. “No, those are mine. I mean that that isn’t my true form. It’s a hybrid form.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “I thought demons could only go full demon or full human.”
“That’s the case with most, but succubi are different. After all, we are demons borne of lust. We need to appeal to everyone.” Just for a moment her hair turned blonde, before reverting to raven black. “I’ll show you my real form some time if you like.”
“I’d like that, yeah.” He pulled the door shut with a thump, the handle mechanism coming away in his hand. “So, what’s the news?”
“Oh, right. Death is awake.”
* * * *
Mal stopped dead. Or rather undead. The handle of the door dropped from his grip and bounced off his foot.
“The Death?”
Xyla nodded. “That’s the one.”
“I thought he was in his hibernation stage, or whatever it’s called.” The image of a robed skeleton curled up in the bottom of a cardboard box surrounded in newspaper came to mind.
“He was. According to the seers, he wasn’t due to wake for another two hundred years.” She shrugged. “Death came before magic though, so he’s hard to divine. Some are saying that recent events woke him.”
“You mean the stuff with Morgana and Amy?”
Amy was a young woman whose soul had become mingled with Mal’s in an attempt to save her from a fate worse than death. He’d spent several days on the run from various demons and gun-toting humans as a result. In the end, it turned out that Morgana, his ‘good’ apparition, had been the mastermind, seeking Amy’s magically powerful soul to raise her lover from the dead.
“The theory is that the magics Morgana used to divine for suitable souls got his attention, and her unscheduled death brought him around completely.”
“Huh.” Mal paused at the top of the stairs leading down to the exit. “My bad.”
The rear exit of the apartment building opened to a bright but cold morning. Dark clouds hovered over the car park, but they were already on the move thanks to the breeze. Mal pulled his jacket’s collar tighter and limped after Xyla, who wasn’t in the least bit bothered by the cold. Wish I had a demonic thermostat too.
Xyla turned back and held out her hand. As Mal caught up she wrapped her arm around him.
“That’s as good as I can do,” she said with a wink.
The pair walked on toward the address on the notepad in silence. Mal couldn’t quite get his head around what he had been told. His actions over the last few days had resulted in the waking of Death. As well as that was the fact that Xyla, the woman he’d lusted after ever since she assigned him his first Reap, was walking beside him. Hugging him. Hell, earlier she’d been in his bed. Granted, he couldn’t remember that part, but—
He jumped as she squeezed him. “We’re there, sweetie.”
He glanced up from the pavement to see the bakery. It was one he’d been in before, when he’d been able to afford such luxuries as food. Reaping didn’t pay well. Or at all, in fact.
According to the details he’d been given, a dark haired woman was about to bounce off the bonnet of a car. There were three minutes to go yet, though, so he turned to the bakery door, thinking he’d buy something for Xyla. He paused when he noticed that the woman at the front of the queue was Michelle, the woman who was about to die. Xyla squeezed his hand as she noticed too.
“Better not get in her way.”
He led Xyla over to the traffic light and pressed the button. What little traffic there was came to a halt and they crossed to the other side, leaving them facing an estate agents. The house prices in the area were astronomical. He tried not to think about the briefcase of money he’d been offered in exchange for the soul he’d been carrying in his head. The flat will have to do for another few centuries.
“Reaping has never been a big payer, I’m afraid,” Xyla said.
“Tell me about it.” He shifted his weight to his good leg. “Still, my place has a roof and walls. What more could I want?”
“Maybe something to remove the smell of banana from the bedroom?”
“The weird thing is that I don’t even buy bananas.”
Mal watched through the reflection of the window as Michelle stepped out of the bakery and wandered across the road, her attention on her hands as she tried to get a better hold of the box of pastries she carried. She didn’t see the large white panel van until it was too late. Xyla spun to watch the events unfold, but Mal stayed put until the woman had stopped moving. He’d long lost the rubber-necking urge.
The van driver leapt out of his van at the same time as a scream came from someone from the bakery, and within moments a small crowd of people started to gather. Damn gawkers. Mal checked the traffic, then started to hobble over. Xyla stopped him with an arm.
“Why risk getting close? Do it from here.”
Mal frowned. “I can’t do that.”
Xyla’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing and let him go. Mal pondered the question for a moment, then dismissed it and pushed his way through the small crowd.
“Let me through, I’m a doctor.”
Having spoken the magic words, the crowd parted, allowing him to limp through. Eyes flitted to him, expecting something that he couldn’t give. If she was able to be saved, he’d still be on the sofa with Xyla.
Michelle was a mess. By the looks of it, she’d broken multiple bones on hitting the van and shattered her skull on the landing. Ignoring the spreading bloodstain, he bent down and placed two fingers on her jugular, then got his lips as close to her ear as possible.
“Listen very carefully,” he whispered. “You’re dead, and I’m about to release your soul. With all these people around, I can’t do my usual spiel. Once you’re ou—”
“Is she okay?”
Mal turned to look at a woman who was crouching down beside him. Before he could speak, Xyla put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away.
“Give him some space, and he’ll find out,” she snapped.
The woman apologised and backed off, and Mal stooped to Michelle’s ear again.
“As I was saying, I’ll pull your soul and then you close your eyes and picture a beautiful green meadow, or beach, or whatever you like. Somewhere warmer than here, anyway. When you open your eyes, you’ll be in heaven.”
He hoped she wasn’t so panicked that didn’t understand, and drew her soul as he moved his fingers from her throat. Michelle appeared by his side, looking like she had when she’d stepped out of the bakery, if a little more transparent. She looked at Mal, the crowd, then the van, then took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. Within a second she was gone.
“Well?” the other woman asked.
Mal shook his head, trying to look authoritative. “There’s nothing I can do. Call an ambulance, I’m due in surgery, or I’d do it myself.”
The woman pulled out a phone and the crowd parted to let Mal out. He paused by the van driver and put a hand on his shoulder.
“She wasn’t looking where she was going. You’re not to blame.”
The man nodded and thanked him, but Mal doubted it’d help. Guilt and logic rarely went hand in hand.
Xyla appeared at his side and they walked away, back the way they had come. Once they were out of earshot, he breathed a sigh.
“Well, that was fun.”
“You did well,” Xyla said. “I heard what you whispered to her.”
Mal smiled and added ‘great hearing’ to his mental list of Xyla’s abilities.
“I have a question though.”
“Ask away.”
“You said you couldn’t draw her soul from a distance, and you then told her to pass on by herself. Is that because you’re still tired from the past few days?”
“No.” Mal stopped beside a bench and dropped onto the damp wooden slats, taking the weight off his complaining leg. “It’s because I can’t do either of those things.”
Xyla laughed, then stopped, her eyes wide. “You’re serious?”
Mal nodded. “I can remove an unwilling soul through an incantation, but that’s all.”
“But Reapers can do both of those.” She paused as someone walked past. “In your training, you should have been taught both.”
“Training?”
“You weren’t trained?”
“Nope.” He explained about how the Reaper that had recruited him had taken him on one Reap, witnessed his death, and then passed on to the afterlife.
Xyla listened with rapt attention, her eyebrows rising further and further as he went on. She swore as he finished. “And her apparitions didn’t fill you in?”
“No one ever brought it up.”
“But you’ve been Reaping for three years! Didn’t you think it was odd that nobody showed you the ropes?”
Mal shook his head. “I just assumed that everyone started like this.”
“If I’d known when I was assigned to you...” She sighed, then stood. “Well, there’s no time like the present to do something about it. Let’s go to Earl’s.”
Mal grudgingly let her help him back onto his sore leg. “The bar? Why?”
“To get hold of a manual.”
“There’s a manual? I really have been missing out. Though why not ask The Company for one?”
“The modern copies are useless. Half of the pages are taken up with demonic relations, health and safety and the importance of stealth.” She rolled her eyes. “As if all that wasn’t obvious.”
Mal shrugged and followed. He wasn’t one to turn down a pint or two, even if they precluded book learnin’.
* * * *
A demon was leaving the ramshackle bar as they arrived, and Earl
was standing in front of the counter, wearing an apron that would
make a health inspector break into tears. The floor of the bar was
littered with broken bottles, chairs, and even what appeared to be a
car’s gearbox over in one corner. Every table had at least one leg
missing, and every surface had a good inch of dust on it. Earl almost
smiled on spotting Mal.
“Back so soon?”
“You know me, can’t keep away from your watered-down beer and cheap whisky in fancy bottles. Where’s the bouncer?”
“I let him go. Asked for a raise.” He folded his arms. “Who’s your friend?”
Despite running a bar designed as a demon haven from humanity, Earl was always cautious of new blood. One human angry drunk could wreck a table or two before they were subdued, but one demonic angry drunk could level the bar.
That’s not to say Earl wasn’t capable of throwing them out on their ear afterwards, though. The bar was inhabited by all sorts of devils, demons and demigods, and every one of them knew the old stories of Earl’s past. A lucky few even got to play with his swords.
“Earl, this is Xyla. Xyla, Earl.”
“Ahh. Thought it might be.” He scratched his cheek and the tattoo of a bird on his hand fluttered, making Mal jump despite the number of times he’d seen it move. “He was babbling about you last night, you know. Worried about you, what with you disappearing on him.”
“Yeah, well, I was drunk,” Mal said, feeling himself colour. And I really was worried, he added in his head for Xyla’s benefit.
She smiled and shoved Mal. “Bless.”
Earl cleared his throat and the pair turned back to him. “We don’t get many apparitions drinking here. My beer not good enough?”
“Ex-apparition. And the Company has a bar on the premises.”
“Ah, staff discount. That’d explain it. Come on in, then.”
Earl held out his hand and Mal grabbed it and Xyla’s. There was a moment of heat and complete darkness, and when it passed the three found themselves in the real bar. Earl walked off to deal with a couple of demons at the other end of the bar, and Mal and Xyla found a table.
“Nice place,” Xyla said as she cast her eyes about the dark shadows and dirty tables.
“Meh, the beer’s cheap and the company’s pleasant, for the most part.” Mal nodded to a purple-skinned mountain of a demon. “So, you and Earl have never met?
“No, though I’ve heard plenty. He’s quite the character, by all accounts.”
“That’s one way of putting it. If you’ve never been here before, though, how do you expect to find what you’re after?”
She smiled. “The Company had been receiving reports of a demon selling stolen arcane property.”
“Well, that narrows it down to about half the clientele.”
“Short, blue skinned, no hair, some say he smells bad—”
“Oh, Cralth.” Mal nodded to a lone figure drinking in a dark corner. “There’s your man, uh, demon.”
Xyla walked over to the demon and sat across from him. There were no more seats on Xyla’s side, so Mal remained upright, feeling like the odd one out. A common feeling in the bar though, since only two humans ever came in, him included.
The man took one look at Xyla then turned his head toward the bar. “I don’t talk to Company.”
“I’m no longer Company. I was fired.”
He turned back, his blue head cocked. “Yeah? What for?”
“I believe the term they used was ‘gross incompetence.’” For a moment, her top lip curled into a snarl. “I tried to help Mal, and I was punished.”
Cralth glanced up, allowing Mal to get a good look at his blazing red eyes. “This true?”
“Yup. The Black Market was after me.” He left out that the ringleader had actually turned out to be a member of The Company. The demon seemed to dislike them enough as it was.
Cralth nodded slowly. “Heard about that.” He turned to Xyla. “Normally I’d still tell you to get lost, but Mal’s a nice enough guy. What do you need?”
“A Reaper handbook, any issue from two to thirty eight. The earlier the better.”
“Consider it done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to look dark and mysterious.”
Xyla raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”
“I get more customers this way.” He gestured with his pint glass. “If you want something stolen, who would you consider more likely to be able to obtain said goods? A guy in the middle of the room, chatting to people, or the shifty bloke in a darkened corner who looks and smells like he spends his life hiding from the authorities?”
“He’s got a point,” Mal said.
Cralth told them he’d be in touch, and the pair headed back to Earl to leave. Part way across the room, a very large and very drunk demon stepped into their way. His gaze ran the length of Xyla’s body, pausing on all the bits Mal tended to pause on, too.
“H-hey, cutie,” he said, attracting the attention of half the bar with the volume. “Buy you a drink?”
“I’m flattered,” Mal said, batting his eyelashes. “But we have elsewhere to be.”
The bar roared with laughter as the demon frowned, trying to work out what just happened. His eyes widened as it struck him.
“I meant her, not you!”
“Really? Well now I’m just embarrassed.”
“You wanna watch your mouth, human.”
“Or what? You’ll start a fight?” Mal gestured about the bar. “In Earl’s?”
“I don’t give a damn where we are, I’ll rip yer head off and use it as a bowling ball!”
Mal scratched his neck. “You wouldn’t get many strikes.”
“Huh?”
“Heads aren’t round enough, you see. You wouldn’t be able to accura—”
His attempt at neutralisation via sarcasm ended abruptly as the demon swung a large fist at his face. It came too quick for him to dodge, so he closed his eyes and tried to think painless thoughts. The blow never came. He opened one eye tentatively to see the demon’s fist held fast in Xyla’s hand. She cocked her head as he struggled to pull free.
“Did you just throw a punch at my boyfriend?”
The demon screeched as she squeezed, and Mal winced at the sound of grating bones.
“Well?” she asked again, the picture of calm. “Hurry up. We have places to be.”
“N-no, I mean yes! I mean...” He paused. “Can I have my hand back, miss?”
“Not until you apologise.” She squeezed again.
The mountain of a demon babbled a number of apologies, in several languages, and Xyla let go.
“There’s a good boy.” She turned back to an amused Mal and held out her hand. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” He took her hand, and they walked over to a bemused Earl. “So I’m your boyfriend, am I?”
“Yup.”
“Do I get a choice in the matter?”
“Nuh uh.”
He feigned a sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to go along with it, then.”
She grinned. “You know, most men would chastise me for stepping into that fight.”
“Meh. Most men are stupid. Also, most men’s girlfriends aren’t millennia old demons capable of head-butting their way through a bank vault.”
“You put it so lyrically, Mal.”
He dropped into a short bow and hoped that she wasn’t paying too much attention to his thoughts. Boyfriend? Booya! If he was anywhere else, and had two working legs, he’d have danced a jig.
A moment later, they were in the fake bar again. Earl said his goodbyes, and was about to shift back to the real bar when Xyla held out her hand to stop him. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“I’ve got demons to serve.”
“Can’t you smell that?”
Earl frowned and took a not entirely catarrh-free sniff. “Hang on...”
Mal watched, baffled, as Xyla and Earl homed in on one corner of the bar and peered over an assortment of broken tables. Earl recoiled and swore a blue streak.
“Sweetie, you’re needed,” Xyla said.
Mal was by her side in a second. “Ah.”
Behind the pile of tables was a corpse. A very fresh one.
Chapter Two
Common Reaper Misconception Number Seven: “There is only one Grim Reaper.”
Incorrect. While they work by themselves, there are in fact many Grim Reapers. In some countries, as many as one per major city, all organised using telepathy and/or ‘apparitions’ sent by the local syndicate in charge of that country’s deaths. (In modern times, the syndicates have experimented with such new inventions as telegrams. These experiments have met with moderate success, but many mistrust such devices and prefer the personal touch an apparition brings.)
* * * *
From the look of the surrounding area, the small demon had been run through with a blade of some sort, then thrown into the corner. There was no sign of a struggle, so the killing wound was probably delivered from behind. Who says watching cop shows is a waste of time? Mal turned to Earl, who was standing a little further back, his arms locked across his chest.
“Do you know him?”
Earl shook his head. “Doesn’t look familiar, and I know all the drinkers pretty well. His soul still in there?”
“Hang on, I’ll check.”
“You do that. In the meantime, someone’s shouting my name in the bar. Call me if you need me.”
Earl disappeared as Mal stepped around to the side of the pile and crouched by the corpse. He touched a patch of exposed flesh on the scaled neck, then stood. The soul appeared to his side, glanced at its body, then howled. Mal was glad he was the only one who could hear it. For a small guy, the demon could really crank the volume.
“The bastard jumped me!”
Mal glanced around the bar. “Did you get a look at them?”
“No. First thing I know, someone has their arm around my neck, then there’s a bloody sword sticking out of my ribs. Went black after that.” He took a deep – and unnecessary – breath, then noticed his body. “I guess I’m dead, then.”
“That, or you’re having one hell of an out-of-body experience.”
Xyla peered at Mal, then to the side he was facing. “So, I take it his soul was still there?”
Mal nodded, and the soul looked up at Xyla. “She can’t see me?”
“Nope. Just me.” Mal gestured to the hole in the corpse’s chest. “Did you at least notice the weapon?”
“Just the end that came out of me. Pointy. Sharp.” His face dropped. “So if they can’t see me, my family wouldn’t either.”
“Nope. Not that it matters, as you can’t move more than about fifteen feet from your corpse.”
The soul scowled. “You could have called them over.”
Mal shrugged. “Either way, no talky-talky.”
“Can you at least tell my family what happened? My address is in my wallet.”
“I’m not normally allowed to contact the...” He caught the look in the demon’s eyes and sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell ‘em.”
The soul tried to shake his hand, then cursed as his hand passed right through. “So, how do I pass on?”
Mal thumbed toward an old unused door. “Walk through the doorway. On the other side, you’ll find the afterlife. It’s metadoodah,” he added when the soul frowned. “Metaphorical.”
“Alright, then. Tell my wife that I love her.”
Mal watched the demon step through the door, then turned to find Earl had just reappeared. “Can you dispose of the body?”
“Yeah, leave it with me.”
The demon’s wallet revealed that his name had been Ted Smith – a rather unoriginal pseudonym – and he lived a mile or so away. There was also a badge sewn onto the leather of the wallet; ‘DOD’ was embroidered in white lettering, circled by a red snake eating its own tail.
“Mean anything?”
“Stands for Demonic Organ Donor,” Earl said, then headed to an old phone behind the bar. “Hang on, I’ll call ‘em.”
Mal pocketed the wallet. “They’re like the human one, I assume?”
Xyla nodded. “Only difference is that the rest of the body is eaten instead of buried.”
“Yum.”
Xyla snorted, then schooled her expression. “We should head over to his family. Earl will be fine on his own.”
Earl put his hand over the telephone’s microphone then nodded. “Go on, the DOD are pretty speedy.”
“Wonderful.” Mal headed toward the door with Xyla. “I’m not good with informing people that their loved ones have just snuffed it.”
Xyla rolled her eyes. “Really? I’d never have guessed you have difficulty being serious.”
“Sarcasm and beauty in one package.” Mal held her hand to his chest. “Be-still my crappy heart!”
“Play your cards right and I’ll try to later. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
She snatched the packet of cigarettes he’d smuggled out of the demon’s pocket, then crushed them in her palm.
“No more smoking.”
Mal shrugged. “Fair exchange.”
* * * *
The meeting with the family went better than Mal had expected.
Once the howling stopped, anyway. He was pleased to find that Ted’s
clan considered death as nothing more than a passing on to new
places, which was technically correct as far as Mal was concerned.
Even if he had no real idea where the new places were or what they
looked like.
As he and Xyla were already there, they agreed to help the family hide some of the more dangerous looking paraphernalia that their religion used in its ceremonies, in readiness for enquiring police when people realised Ted was missing. By the time Mal and Xyla left, both were covered in dust from crawling about in the house’s attic.
“This is why I don’t like people,” Mal said as he stepped out of the front gate. “Bloody favours.”
“Misanthrope.”
Xyla nudged him with her shoulder in between steps, and Mal stumbled, then crashed into a lamppost. He made a grab for the pole, but slipped further, landing with a thump on his already sore leg. Xyla winced, then stooped to help him up.
“Sorry, sweetie, I’m used to... sturdier boyfriends.” She pulled him up like he was made of nothing more substantial than wet paper. “Is your leg okay?”
Mal allowed himself to be hauled up, then put his weight on his bad leg. It responded with a dull throb.
“It’s bearable,” he said.
“Well, let’s get back to your place. A hot shower will ease it.”
“Shower? As in nudity?” He grinned. “Race ya.”
Xyla laughed and squeezed his hand “That’s probably not wise. Besides, I’d win, so why bother?”
“Fair point.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “At least it’s not too bad out.”
They walked in silence for a while, Mal trying his best not to think about the upcoming shower every few seconds, lest Xyla think him a pervert.
“So, death,” Xyla said as they strolled toward Mal’s building. “Lower case ‘d’.”
“What about it?”
“How do you cope? I mean, seeing it every day, being around bodies, coping with souls and the like.”
“You’re old enough to have considered Beethoven an upstart new composer, Xyla. I’m sure you’ve seen your share.”
“Oh, of course.” She smiled, looking wistful. “Caused a great deal, too. But you’re human, you’re not built for it.”
Mal shrugged. “It was hard at first. I spent a lot of time crying and vomiting. Often at the same time.”
“Lovely.”
“You asked,” he said with a wink. “After a while though, I just became desensitised to it. Like kids and video game violence, or martial artists and kicks to the crotch.”
“Did you ever try and save anyone?”
“Yup.”
“Really?”
He stopped. “Is that so shocking?”
It was Xyla’s turn to shrug. “You’ve always seemed so blasé about it. Almost cold, even. Like with the demon in the bar.”
“That took a while. When I was new to it, I often turned up early and tried to stalk the Reap for a while, if I could find them. Once or twice, when the death was easily avoided, I’d hint.” Xyla frowned so he elaborated. “Like if it was a traffic accident, I’d tell them that the road was particularly busy, and to use the traffic lights if they were crossing.”
“And it didn’t work.”
It was a statement and not a question. “Yeah. I’ve never been able to stop a death. With the traffic ones, the person would ignore me and cross anyway, or they’d stop at the lights and a car would mount the pavement and mow them down.”
Xyla nodded. “You can’t cheat Death.”
“Which is why I tend to arrive within a few minutes these days. Less time to be tempted to try and help. Plus, y’know, I’m cold now.” He poked out his tongue.
The sun had set by the time they arrived back at the flat. Mal’s leg had started to really hurt half a mile ago, but he’d soldiered on despite the urge to fall to the floor and weep.
“Turns out breaking it three times in a row wasn’t my cleverest idea,” he said as they stepped through his door into the front room.
“Maybe you should use a stick for a couple of days?”
He dropped onto the sofa. “I don’t have the flair to pull that off. Or the purple velvet.”
“Um, sweetie? Shower?”
Mal looked up to see Xyla lifting her shirt up her torso, and the pain in his leg suddenly became unimportant. He climbed back onto his feet and limped toward her. Just as a translucent blue figure walked through his back wall.
“Mister... Um...” The ethereal glanced at his clipboard. “Mal. Oh, no last name?”
Mal watched in dismay as Xyla readjusted her shirt, then rounded on the man. “This had better be very important.”
“I can assure you that The Company don’t hire ethereals for everyday things,” he said in a sing-song voice as he brushed the arms of his suit. “We’re too expensive for that.”
Mal sighed. “Yes, I’m Mal, and no, I have no last name.”
“Aha.” The ethereal made a note on his board. “Like Madonna, eh?”
“I was thinking more like Mozart.”
“Or Death,” Xyla said, seemingly enjoying Mal’s mockery a little too much.
“And that’s who I’m here about,” the ethereal said. “As I’m sure Xyla here has informed you, Death has risen.”
Mal nodded. “So there’s going to be a review.”
“Indeed. There is a meeting taking place very shortly, and you are required to attend.”
“Wonderful. Can I at least grab a shower first? One in which you leave the house? Or at least put your fingers in your ears.”
“The meeting won’t take long.” The man glanced from Mal to Xyla. “I’m sure you can hold onto your urges till then.”
Mal rolled his eyes. “What’s an hour or two, compared to the past five years, eh?” He grabbed his jacket off the hook behind the door. “Shall we?”
“No need.” The ethereal gestured to the summoning circle that Rufus had used earlier. “The meeting will be conducted via the circle. Just step inside and I’ll deal with the magics.”
Xyla dropped onto the sofa. “I’ll keep an eye on your body while you’re out of it.”
Mal dropped his jacket and tramped into the circle. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get back.”
* * * *
Before Mal realised a spell had even been cast he found himself
stood in a large white-walled boardroom. The room was windowless, and
lit instead by several glowing panels fitted flush into the ceiling.
A large oak table sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by
matching chairs. Around the sides stood a dozen other humans, all
Grim Reapers. Mal wasn’t sure how he knew, he just did.
“Huh.”
Not including his predecessor, he had never so much as glimpsed one other Reaper before, let alone twelve. Seven men and five women made up the group, all casually dressed, apart from one man who for some reason was wearing an evening suit.
The man to Mal’s right looked around. “So... We’re all undead?”
There was a ripple of nods.
“And there was me feeling unique,” he said, eliciting a subdued chuckle from most, and a guffaw from the one in the suit.
The doors across from Mal opened, and a variety of demons and humans walked in, split up and stood beside the Reapers. The apparitions. Toward the back of the small crowd was Rufus, who made his way around the table and stood halfway between Mal and the Reaper to his right.
Given that he’d killed one, and the other had been fired because of him, the job of ‘Mal’s New Apparition’ probably wasn’t hotly contested. He got the feeling he’d be seeing Rufus around for quite some time.
The Reaper to Mal’s right leaned around the back of the demon – no easy task – and nodded.
“So you’re the infamous Mal, eh?”
“That’s me.” A murmur rippled throughout the attending group as he nodded. “Though I don’t know about infamous.”
“Well, let’s see, shall we?” The Reaper lifted a hand and counted on his fingers. “You had a soul bonded to yours, escaped Rallyn, killed an apparition after she beat the crap out of you, then got your other apparition fired. Then bonked her.”
“Well, yeah, bu—”
“Oh! And you took on like twenty shotgun-toting Black Market goons and won. Miss anything?”
I did most of it with a broken leg. “That about covers it, I suppose.”
More murmurs spread. Technically, he’d hid in a barricaded room while a demon named O’Hara dealt with the goons, but Mal decided that a reputation as a bad-ass couldn’t hurt.
The Reaper laughed. “If I could touch anything, I’d shake your hand, man. I’m Barry, by the way.”
A woman a few Reapers along snorted. “No one ever gossips about my achievements.”
One of her apparitions spun to face her. “Your achievements are why we’ll be here late, Stacey.”
The Reaper crossed her arms over her chest and opened her mouth to retort, but before she could reply, the double doors opened for a second time. The apparitions and Reapers snapped back to attention as four human women walked in, all in sharp business suits and all carrying leather briefcases. Probably for show. They sat in the centre of the table, two on each side, then the apparitions moved to join them. Rufus remained where he was, explaining to a questioning suit that he’d turn the chairs to kindling if he tried to sit in them.
One of the four women stood and looked around at the Reapers. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll try and keep this brief, given the late hour.” She flipped open her briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “Now, as I’m sure you all know by now, Death is indeed awake.”
The woman paused, but no gasps of dismay came.
“Oh, I guess you all really did know.” She cleared her throat and checked her paper again. “So, anyway. Death is currently resting, as waking up from a centuries long sleep is tiring, as strange as that sounds. When he is fully awake though, we wish to have a series of progress reports ready for him. This means that there will be a review.”
A low groan came from a few of the apparitions. The woman cleared her throat again and the voices ceased.
“The review will involve a variety of things, all of which will be covered in your information packs. Time is limited, so we’ll need the paperwork back within a few days. The interviews and accompanied Reaps will take a little longer, due to staffing issues.”
Barry snorted. “Yeah, be sure to keep any new staff away from Mal.”
The suited woman eyed the man, but didn’t respond. “You are all free to go now. Excluding...” She checked her page. “Stacey G.”
Stacey rolled her eyes and re-crossed her arms as the other Reapers disappeared one by one. “I did nothing wrong!”
“Playing with the corpses is a serious offence, Miss Graham.”
“I di—”
“You took three home, dressed them in taffeta gowns, and had a tea party.”
“That’s a lie,” she said, her eyes darting about. “I’d never do such a thing.”
“We saw the photos.”
“Crap.”
Mal stood there and watched, partly because he was amused by the unfurling event, but mostly because he had no idea how to cancel the summoning spell. He cleared his throat and several people turned to face him.
“How do I... You know... Leave?”
“Just step forward, Mister...” Another page check. “Mal.”
Mal thanked the woman and stepped forward. A moment later he was facing his apartment wall. He turned around to see the ethereal was waiting for him, a folder in his hand.
“I trust the meeting went well?”
Mal took the folder, though grudgingly. “I suppose so. Turns out I have quite the reputation.”
“You can thank the Apparitions. They’re such gossips.”
“Apparently. Where’s Xyla?”
“Someone called saying they’d managed to get hold of a package for her. She said it was the man from earlier, if that helps?”
“Oh, right, the guy with the book. More reading matter.” Mal threw the folder onto the table. “Did she say how long she’d be?”
“I’m afraid not, no.” The ethereal snapped his fingers and his clipboard reappeared. “Well, must be off. Goodbye, Mal.”
The man walked back through the back wall, and this time Mal went to the window to watch through the gaps in the wooden boards that covered it. The ethereal stepped out into thin air for a moment, then disappeared.
“Dunno why he couldn’t just disappear inside the flat.”
He picked the folder off the table and dropped onto the sofa with it, thinking he’d get through as much as he could before he dropped. He made it one whole page.
Chapter Three
Xyla opened the front door without a sound, catching the plummeting door handle on her foot. She flipped it up and caught it with her free hand and pushed it back into place. I’ll fix that later. Mal was lying on the sofa, face down in a sheaf of papers. She bit back a laugh, then stooped and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to rouse him, before walking into the bedroom and closing the door.
Charlie lay splayed out upside down on the bed, and watched her as she dumped the box she’d held under her arm onto the quilt. It held a few tops and two pairs of leather pants that she’d bought from a late night store on the way back to the bar, and a large bound book entitled ‘Grim Reaping In The Modern World - 1887 edition.’ It had cost a pretty penny, not that she’d tell Mal. She ran her fingertips over the cover.
“Better not tell him what it’s bound with, either.”
Charlie mewed at the sound of her voice, and she tickled him on the tummy. The cat purred at her touch and batted her with a lazy paw. She smiled and bent to kiss him on the chin before standing and sliding out of Mal’s clothing.
With a shudder, she allowed herself to take on her hybrid form again. If she’d been in her own home, she would have reverted to her full demon form, but without knowing how Mal would take the sight, she decided not to take the risk. She dropped into the chair in front of Mal’s decrepit computer and switched it on, leaning back against the cool wood while the machine booted. Her ears pricked at movement behind her and she began to swish her tail from side to side, moving just quickly enough so Charlie’s paw missed every time.
The cat bolted as the speakers blared out the Windows start-up jingle, and Xyla scrabbled for the volume control. Thankfully, if Mal had heard it, he wasn’t letting it interrupt his sleep. Satisfied, she turned her head back to the screen and loaded up the internet browser. May as well get the job search started. Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she typed in the address to a demon-only search engine, then tapped in her password. The site appeared, along with several pop-ups advertising demon dating services, which she clicked away.
“Let’s see what’s out there.”
An hour of searching later, she’d found only three opportunities that suited her abilities and each one was on a different plane of existence. I hate commuting. She turned off the browser in frustration and decided to have a look at what Mal kept on his hard drive. Other than illegally downloaded music, and enough pornography to make even a demonic hussy such as herself blush, there was only one item of interest. A file entitled ‘Autobiography’. It was spelt incorrectly. She opened the file and began to read, ignoring the atrocity that was Mal’s skill with grammar.
She knew that he had been writing it – she’d even told him to be careful about what he put in it, despite his assurance that he was going to sell it as fiction – but she’d not had a look before. After the first few paragraphs, she stopped and shut the PC down. While it was fascinating, and she really wanted to know how he’d managed this long without correct training, it felt wrong somehow. Like reading someone’s diary. She decided she’d ask permission when he was awake.
As she stood from the chair, she realised how tired she was, and pulled the covers back on the bed. She considered carrying Mal to the bed, but he looked comfy enough where he was, and moving him might ruin his sleep. Instead she flipped the lights and climbed into bed alone, joined shortly after by Charlie.
* * * *
Mal awoke with a hail of curse words. What felt like shards of
metal were stabbing into his side, grating against his ribs every
time he moved. He reached between himself and the sofa cushion to
find that he’d spent the entire night sleeping on his keys.
“Morning, cutie,” came Xyla’s voice from the bedroom.
A moment later, her head appeared around the door. God, I love those little horns. Xyla grinned as she picked up the thought, and the rest of her stepped out from the doorway. Sans clothes.
“I was thinking about that demon’s death last night,” she said. “I know you’ve a lot on, what with the review, but I think maybe we should investigate a little.”
Mal looked away and forced himself to think of the weather and the pile of paperwork he’d drooled on.
“Why? Did you pick up some thoughts?”
“No. I can’t read souls, and I can only pick up emotions from most demons.”
He breathed a sigh of relief as Xyla stepped into the kitchen, allowing his hammering heart to recover. “But you could hear Amy when she was trapped in my body.”
“She was in your mind. I heard her voice as your thoughts. Tea?”
“Oh. Um, yes, please.” Mal stuffed the papers back into the folder and dropped it onto the table. “So, why are you suspicious about the death?”
“Well, first up, it was murder, Mal.”
“True, but still. It could have just been someone with a grudge against the guy.”
“Earl.”
Mal frowned. “What about him?”
“Didn’t you think it was odd how he disappeared just before you pulled out the soul, and reappeared just after?”
“He said he was busy.”
“True, but he had some weird emotions going on.” Xyla reappeared while the kettle hissed in the background. “Grief being one of them, though it was slight.”
Mal readjusted his vision. “Earl was lying?”
“Sweetie.” Xyla stepped into his field of vision again. “If I didn’t want you looking, I’d put some clothes on. I didn’t take you to be a prude, especially given the videos on your computer.”
Mal held her eye line, fighting the urge to drop his gaze. “It’s not that. I’m just kinda, um... not uncomfortable...” He scrabbled for words. “Not used to it?”
“Maybe a shower would...” She paused. “You have company, I’ll get dressed.”
“Company? I didn’t hear the doo—”
Someone knocked on the door.
“That’s some hearing you have,” he called into the bedroom.
He opened the door to find Zach standing in the frame, a grin on his face and a newspaper in his hand.
“Come on in.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Zach stepped past and dropped onto the sofa, before springing back up, Mal’s keys in his hand. “Not the best place to put these, mate.”
Mal took the keys and dropped beside him. Zach was Mal’s best friend, and one of few humans that new about his occupation. Recently, Zach had been inducted into the murky world of demons, too, after being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He owned the local pawn shop and as of a few nights ago, was the unofficial ‘token human’ at Earl’s bar.
Zach handed Mal the paper, which was open to the obituaries. “That’s the woman that was in your head, right?”
Mal glanced at a circled article, announcing the death and funeral of one Amy Benedict. There was a small photograph of her beaming at the camera. The last time he’d seen her she was stepping through a portal to the afterlife.
“That’s her.”
“Says the funeral is today.” Zach pointed at the bottom of the article. “Thought you might want to pay your respects.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. I don’t know if I’ll have time.”
“Of course we’ll go,” Xyla said as she stepped back out of the bedroom, now clad in tight leather pants and a skimpy black top. She squeezed herself between the two men, grinning as Zach fixed his gaze on a point on the other side of the room. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a human funeral.”
“Me too,” Mal said.
The last one he’d been to was the joint burial of his parents and sister, at the age of seven. They’d died from a gas leak that had almost killed him too. After that he’d had no interest in going to another.
Xyla’s eyes widened as she plucked the thought from his head, but he smiled and nodded.
“It’ll be nice to say goodbye the proper way.”
“Alright, well.” Zach stood and turned to face the pair. “I’ve got to go open the shop. Never know, might get a customer one of these days. Stop by later if you have time, yeah?”
Mal waved his friend off, then turned to Xyla. “So, funeral.”
“Funeral.” She patted his hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine. I was thinking of going anyway,” he lied, hoping Xyla wouldn’t call him on it. “We could visit my family’s graves, too, if you don’t mind. I think once every couple of decades is probably about right.”
“That sounds nice, sweetie.” She stood and stretched. “When is the funeral?”
“Um, lemme look.” He checked the paper and swore. “Two hours. We’d best get ready.”
“Looks like it’ll just be a quick shower then.” Xyla pouted, then winked. “Maybe next time.”
“I can’t get a break.”
* * * *
The funeral service had just finished when they arrived at the
church, and the few relations that Amy had had were making their way
to the graveyard along the white gravel path that ran around the side
of the neat little building. Neither Mal nor Xyla minded missing the
service. Churches reminded Mal of the funeral of his family, and Xyla
came out in a rash if she set foot in one. Besides, it was a family
thing. Mal had only known Amy for a couple of days. He was closer to
‘passing acquaintance’ than anything else.
While many would consider a graveyard a peaceful place, in the daytime at least, Mal was aware that he’d been present for at least ten per cent of the deaths of the people buried there, and most weren’t particularly pleasant. It was an odd sensation, and one he didn’t particularly like. There was also the fact that he knew there was nothing in the boxes other than organic matter. Once the soul passed on, nothing else remained behind.
“Think of the place as a mass telephone service, then,” Xyla said, showing once again that Mal still wasn’t used to telepathy. “Every headstone is a way for the living to chat to the dead.”
“Given that nobody ever picks up, it’s more like voicemail.”
The sun was bright, if cold, and reflected off a cluster of polished marble headstones in one corner, causing Mal to shield his eyes from the glare.
“Is that where your family is?” Xyla said, mistaking his glances in that direction.
Mal smiled, despite the maudlin mood that threatened to settle somewhere around his ears. “My family were poor. The only marble they ever saw was in the pillars of the town hall when they went to pay their taxes. I think they were buried over there.” He waved toward another corner. “I don’t remember.”
“We’ll find them. Let’s say goodbye to Amy first, though.”
They caught up with the plodding procession, then headed to the shade of a nearby tree to watch as the men and women gathered around a freshly dug hole. The priest appeared from somewhere around the back of the church and began the ceremony. The odd word drifted Mal’s way, but he had little time for religion.
“Now Amy could afford marble,” he muttered.
For the few days that she had been attached to him, Mal had gotten to know a fair bit about Amy Benedict, including the identity of her father. He had been an incredibly powerful warlock, and when he died his power had passed to his daughter, unbeknownst to her. Unbeknownst, that is, until she killed three would be attackers with her thoughts.
Despite the numerous good deeds in her life, the murders served to put her soul in the balance, making her an Undecided – a soul that had to be judged before a tribunal to decide where in the afterlife it was headed. It also meant that the Black Market, a seedy syndicate who dealt in the trade of souls, took a sudden interest, along with Morgana, as Undecided souls – especially ones with great magical power – were of immense value.
“Not the kind of value she could borrow against, though,” Mal muttered.
Xyla turned from the ceremony to shoot him a questioning glance.
“Don’t mind me,” he said with a sigh. “Just being daft.”