Chapter Eleven
Reporting for Duty
Lost Souls Division HQ
“Another lost soul found!” The supervisor’s voice carries over the din of the crowded office, cutting through the constant hum of activity.
A brief moment of appreciation passes among the workers before everyone returns to their tasks.
That’s the tenth soul we’ve recovered this moonturn and the one hundred forty-third since we officially opened the doors to LSD—the Lost Souls Division.
The acronym still makes me smile, though I refuse to let Big D know that.
He would be petty enough to make me change it simply because it brought me joy.
The big ticker mounted on the far side of the open-plan office space slides from 142 to 143 with mechanical precision. A gentle, brightly sung musical note accompanies the change. A single clear tone that rings out like a bell, pure and hopeful.
The board was my latest idea, one of many since getting this operation underway. It was installed recently, and I hope it helps with both motivation and accountability. A visible reminder that every number represents a soul we’ve helped. A person who was lost and is now found.
From the quiet grumble I hear from the broody Frenchman to my left, the sound does not always have its intended effect.
I turn to look at Kane, who’s scowling at his Tombstone Phone as if it personally offended him. His dark hair is brushed back neatly, with just one lock falling forward due to the tilt of his head.
“It’s supposed to be inspirational,” I say, keeping my tone light.
Kane’s expression softens immediately when he hears my voice. He turns to look at me, and a gentle smile breaks across his face, transforming him entirely. There’s my guy, the one who looks at me like I hung the moon in the OtherWorld’s sky.
“And it is, my pet. Another brilliant idea from your beautiful brain.”
“Flattering the boss will not lessen your caseload, reaper.” I arch a brow at him, fighting my own smile.
A menacing glint flashes behind Kane’s eyes before he speaks, his voice dropping to a lower register. “The only load I want to lessen—”
I cut him off before another lewd syllable can cross his gorgeous lips. “Kane Deveraux, do not finish that sentence.”
“Awwww, you’re no fun, ma chère.” He pouts—actually pouts—and it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.
“I am plenty of fun.” I mirror his mopey expression, then lean closer and lower my voice. “Just not in the middle of our office with my employees within earshot.”
“Funny, you’ve never been one to be shy befo—” He stops his teasing when he notices my glare. “Very well, Ms. Chamberlain. Strictly professional.”
“Uh-huh, until I bend over and pick something up. You are an HR nightmare, Grim.”
“And you bent over is a wet dream, Mayday.” If I were capable still, I would be as red as a tomato. Deciding to throw a bucket of ice water on this heated conversation, I motion to his phone. “So, why the brooding groan? I thought you liked the board.”
“I do.” Kane’s expression shifts, concern replacing the playfulness. “Just worried about Asher. He was a mess at the bar, and now he’s late.”
“He’ll be here. Not like he has much of a choice.”
“We’re all responsible for our own souls in the end,” Kane mumbles under his breath, that philosophical melancholy creeping into his tone. “That’s both comforting and terrifying.”
Before I can respond, our conversation is interrupted by one of the floor workers, who breaks in to share an update. Her name is Beatrice. I make it a point to know the names of all the workers in the LSD. She pulls her face up from her Tombstone Phone long enough to give me a report.
“Ms. Chamberlain.” Her voice is crisp and efficient. “Inexplicable disturbances have been reported in a locker room at a sports stadium in Milan, Italy. Sighting consistent with a potential abandoned soul.”
“Log the case details, Bea, and send a pair of reapers to Briefing Room D for intel and intake.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Beatrice.” I pause as she starts to turn away. “And, Beatrice?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Rue is fine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I shoot her a soft, chiding expression.
“I mean, yes, Ms. Rue.”
Close enough. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
She nods and returns to her station, already pulling up the case file on her device.
Before Kane and I can pick up where we left off, the main doors to our office swing open with enough force to draw every eye in the room.
Asher fills the doorframe. Even slouched and apparently moping, he’s still a massive man.
But something is lacking in his posture, like the life has been zapped from the center of him, leaving only the shell.
His dark hair is disheveled in a way that suggests his hands have been running through it repeatedly.
His coat hangs slightly askew, one shoulder higher than the other.
The scent of Lethe hits me as he steps closer, mixed with the very pungent aroma of despair.
The entire office has gone quiet, everyone watching this entrance with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
He and Kane share a lengthy glare across the space. Kane’s jaw tightens, and I can see him fighting the urge to say something cutting.
Asher finishes his less-than-grand entrance with a most obvious opening statement. “I’m here.”
“You’re late,” Kane claps back.
I ignore the frustration in his tone and float through the crowd of buzzing souls to greet Asher before this can escalate. The last thing I need is these two reapers brawling in the middle of my department.
“You made it.” I keep my voice warm and welcoming. “Welcome to the Lost Souls Division, Asher, where second chances are our first priority.”
Asher’s gaze finally lifts to meet mine, and something flickers in his expression. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, little one.” His tone is a mix of obstinacy and longing that pulls at my chest. “Fell from that roof and landed on your feet.”
“Meow,” I reply in an attempt to make light of the moment, but even the cat noise has a hint of sadness in it.
“Just one of your many lives, little one.”
“Call her that one more time, and I will take Baiulus to your flesh and give you a matching scar on your other arm, Asher.”
“Promises, promises, Kane ol’ boy.” Asher’s lips curve into something that might be a smile if it reached his eyes. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
I cut them off to keep us on task.
“Your timing is perfect, Asher. A new case has just come in with your name written all over it.” I pause, glancing down at the details on my Tombstone Phone. “Literally. You were specifically requested.”
“Yes, your boyfriend mentioned this to me when he so rudely interrupted my–”
“I will rudely interrupt the contours of your face if you don’t pipe down and show some respect to your bosses.”
“Kane, sweetie, we catch more flies with honey …”
“Perhaps, but honey is sticky and leaves behind a mess.”
“Better than the stink of vinegar.”
“Listen to the lady, Doc,” Asher mumbles at Kane.
I move us along before the two of them get at each other’s throats. “Follow me to Transitions Preview, and we will get you both up to speed and on your way.”
“Both?” The two dour reapers in my life bark the word at the same time, equal measures of incredulity in their voices.
I turn slowly to look up at them while crossing my arms over my chest. “Yes. Both. Who better to show Asher the ropes than my star soul shepherd himself?”
Kane’s expression suggests he can think of any number of better candidates, and I might humor him if he knew any of their names.
But since he doesn’t know Phil from Susan and he knows I have a rule about him snapping his fingers, pointing at the employees, and saying, “You,” he keeps his mouth shut.
Asher, on the other hand, looks like he’s wishing he could be sent to The Nothing.
I ignore their mumbling protestations and make my way to the conference room off the main artery of LSD. The space is smaller than I’d like, but functional—a conference table, chairs, and a wall that serves as a projection screen for case files.
After Kane and Asher follow me in, I bring the case details up on the wall. Kane sits studiously in his chair, back straight, hands folded on the table like he’s attending a board meeting. Asher leans against one of the walls, arms crossed, radiating reluctance.
Deciding to pick my battles, I dive straight into the portfolio.
“You boys are headed to Sin City.”
I don’t get far before Kane cuts in, unable to help himself.
“Sin is a construct from a bygone era. A concept from small subsections of the mortal realm that do not hold weight in the OtherWorld, and as such—”
“It’s just a nickname, Kane,” I interject gently. “Feel free to just call it Las Vegas.”
“Okay. My apologies, princess. Go on.”
“Ugh, would you two get a bloody room?” Asher grumbles from the corner.
I turn to face him, keeping my expression pleasant. “We have a room. Several, in fact. But right now, we have this room. And this room is for briefing you two on your next assignment. So, and I say this without any malice at all, sit down and shut up.”
I smile sweetly.
Asher’s lips twitch, the closest thing to genuine amusement I’ve seen from him since he walked in. He pushes off the wall and slides into the nearest chair with exaggerated obedience.
“Thank you.” I turn back to the projection. “We have a spirit who’s been haunting the Golden Egg in Las Vegas. Gerald Nance. Gambler. Died of a heart attack at a poker table in 1984. Refused to cross, citing unfinished business.”
“Shocking,” Asher drawls while examining his fingernails. “A gambling addict with poor impulse control. Probably thinks his luck’s about to turn. Any second now …”
I ignore the sarcasm and continue reading from the file.
“The casino has reported increased paranormal activity over the past several weeks. Chips are moving on their own. Cards shuffling without dealers. Several patrons have complained of feeling watched while playing, and security cameras seem to be catching odd lights on the screens.”
“So, we’re ghost-busting a dead gambler who can’t let go of the tables.” Asher crosses his arms. “Sounds simple enough. Let’s rip him and move on.”
“We don’t rip in Lost Souls, Asher,” Kane chimes in, having fully bought into the mission of LSD. “We help them find closure so they cross willingly. We shepherd them. We don’t butcher here.”
Asher’s lip curls in disgust as he gives Kane a hard look. “Mate, what the fuck happened to you? You sound like you’ve lost your golden eggs.”
“On the contrary, mate.” Kane clips the last word, echoing Asher’s accent with deliberate mockery. “I found my goose.” He looks lovingly at me. “Golden eggs are still very much intact.”
“I didn’t think it was possible to throw up in the OtherWorld,” Asher mutters, “but I feel like I’m getting dangerously close with lover boy over here.
Also, you compared your girl to a goose?
A fucking goose. Of all the beautiful birds in the world, you chose the loudest, most stubborn, pain in the a—oh, all right, I see it now. ”
Kane moves to launch at Asher, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him before walking over to the snickering man.
“Asher”—I place a hand on his forearm and notice how rigid he becomes—“no soul is worth giving up on. Everyone has a story, a reason for being. Our job is to find that purpose. Validate it and give them permission to let it go.”
“Sounds like a nice fairy tale, princess. Forget the important bits that made you who you were so that you can be molded into something useful.” His tone is sharp with cynicism. “I’m sure after a group hug session, Gerald will see the error of his ways and skip merrily into the afterlife.”
My jaw tightens. I clear my throat and ignore his attitude. I’ve had a fair amount of practice in that department with both these men.
“The goal is to understand why he’s stuck. What’s keeping him tethered. Usually, it’s not about the addiction itself; that’s just the manifestation. There’s something deeper. Unfinished business. Regret. Loss.”
“Or he just really likes poker.”
“Then we help him see that poker isn’t worth sacrificing eternity for. Let’s go. Allons-y.” Kane gets up from his chair and makes for the LSD Portal off the main room.
Asher speaks up. “Okay, Doctor Who.”
“Kane Deveraux.”
And the two volley words back and forth, losing me in the process.
“What?”
“You asked who.”
“No, I said Doctor Who.”
“Yes, and I’m the doctor. Dr. Deveraux.”
“What?”
“Who?”
“Doctor Who.”
“Oui. C’est moi. Kane Deveraux.”
“No. Never mind.”
“D’accord. If you say so.”
I cut in before they spiral any further. “The case details have been delivered to both of your Tombstone Phones. You can devise a strategy on the way.”
“If my partner speaks English, you mean.”
“Languages are a lost art. We must speak them to keep them alive.”
“We’re already dead. Can’t French join the party too?”
“Comment oses-tu! How dare you.”
Kane pronounces the translation with exaggerated slowness, infuriating Asher even further, who replies under his breath. “Smug bastard.”
I smirk, not sure what, if anything, there is to say to help these two. I settle on, “Good luck, boys.”
“We’re dealing with a soul with a gambling problem, Mayday. Perhaps we should keep luck out of it.”
“It’s Las Vegas, Doc. Don’t want to keep luck out if you want to win.”
Before he makes his way out of the room, Asher’s eyes meet mine. For a moment, I see something beneath the sarcasm, exhaustion, or pain maybe.
Then he pushes past Kane and makes his way to the portal, already scanning his phone as he moves.
“We’ll report back after the crossing,” Kane tells me, stepping closer.
He bends down to give me a loving yet professionally appropriate kiss.
“Be patient with him,” I whisper.
“The spirit or Asher?”
“Both, Grim.” I pull back to look at him properly. “Both.”
Kane’s expression softens with understanding. He knows what it’s like to be the broken reaper. He was that reaper not so long ago.
“I’ll try, Mayday. For you.”
“That’s all I ask.”
I watch Kane leave the briefing room, his steps purposeful as he joins Asher at the portal.
I return to my desk, already pulling up the next case file. There’s always another case. Always another lost soul waiting to be found.
The ticker chimes again, the musical note ringing out clear and bright.
One more soul. One more chance. One more number climbing higher.
That’s what we do here. We find the lost and bring them home.
Even the ones who don’t think they deserve it.
Especially those ones.