Chapter Fifteen
The Secrets of the Statues
Lost Souls Division HQ
“Go back to the beginning,” I insist, holding up both hands to stop the chaotic word vomit happening in front of my desk.
Kane and Asher are both talking over each other, gesturing wildly. They’ve returned from their reap in the mortal realm, looking disheveled and disoriented in a way that has nothing to do with portal travel and everything to do with whatever the hell happened in Vegas.
“And then the table just appeared—”
“It didn’t appear, you imbecile. It was always right there. You just weren’t paying attention—”
“Fuck off, Doc. I was paying perfect attention, thank you very much. Anyway! Then Chance said—”
“Before or after you tried to strangle him—”
“I didn’t strangle him. I used physical touch to assert an emotional need—”
“When did you start therapy, Professor Textbook?”
“Boys!” I raise my voice, stopping them both mid-argument. “One at a time! Preferably in chronological order and with fewer tangents about who was or wasn’t paying attention to mysteriously appearing furniture.”
“We don’t have time to go over this again, Rue,” Asher says, his voice barely restraining his apparent sense of urgency. “Maddy is out there somewhere, and I have to find her.”
“Well, she’s in The Bliss—we established that much,” Kane responds with a hint of smug satisfaction.
“I know that,” Asher grinds through his clenched jaw. “But I don’t know how to get there.”
Kane clears his throat. “Well, you will if we unpack this riddle properly. Apply logic and work through it systematically—”
“Which I can’t do if we keep talking in circles!” Asher pulls at his hair, frustration evident in his entire demeanor. His usually controlled exterior has cracked completely, replaced by a look that can best be described as mad-scientist chic.
I interrupt their adorable bickering before it can spiral any further. “But the soul was shepherded, correct? Gerald crossed successfully?”
“Oui, ma chère,” Kane confirms, his expression softening slightly when he looks at me. “Asher managed it in the end.” A pause. “Barely.”
I don’t like the tone in Kane’s voice on that last word, but before I can ask for more clarity, Asher changes the subject to more pressing matters in his mind.
“Never mind about all that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I need to find a stone that wants to speak. And I need to find it yesterday.”
I look over at Asher—really look at him—marveling at the transformation I’m witnessing.
Gone is the broody, disaffected reaper. In its place stands a soul that feels. It’s unmistakable.
An earnestness in his speech makes me immediately aware of just how much this means to him. How much Maddy means to him. His eyes are bright with something I haven’t seen in him or just about any other reaper before—hope. Desperate, terrifying, beautiful hope.
It’s the look Kane had when he was trying to save me, when he was fighting Time and Fate to keep us from getting separated.
I understand it now in a way I couldn’t then.
I table my thoughts and concerns around Asher’s role in the LSD for the moment and focus on Chance’s cryptic words. We can worry about job performance later.
“Okay,” I begin, moving around my desk to stand with them.
“Let’s figure this out. A stone that wants to speak, but never does.
” I repeat the riddle slowly, letting each word settle.
“Are there any golems or monsters or talking rocks anywhere in the OtherWorld?” I look at Kane for an answer since he’s been here the longest.
“Not that I’m aware of, Mayday.” Kane’s brows furrow in concentration. “I have not encountered any speaking stones in my time here. There are the Moonless Mountains, but I don’t believe that fits the bill. And I do not know of any rock creatures in the OtherWorld.”
I see an idea spark behind Asher’s eyes as he snaps his fingers.
“What about a tomb? That’s a stone that speaks, isn’t it? Speaks of the dead, right? Or could, if it could give voice. Is the answer in our Tombstone Phones?”
I consider the devices we were all issued during passage through AfterLife Processing. “Seems unlikely they’d fit these devices with anything beyond the most basic functionality,” I say slowly. “They’re administrative tools, not treasure maps.”
“That’s fair. I can barely get this thing to pick up a signal most of the time.” Kane pulls out his own Tombstone Phone, regarding it with distaste.
“Are there any cemeteries around?” Asher asks, pacing now in a tight line across my office. Three steps one way. Turn. Three steps back. The energy radiating off him is almost frantic.
“Afraid not,” Kane says, disappointment evident in his tone. He wants to help, even if it’s hard for him to admit. “Not much use in laying souls to rest in a place full of restless souls, is there? The OtherWorld doesn’t bury its dead. We are the dead.”
“Wait a second,” I say, a thought forming as I speak.
“What?” Asher stops pacing, turning to me with such intensity that I almost step back. “What is it?”
“That’s not entirely true, is it?” I say, my eyes on Kane.
“What are you talking about?” Asher motions with his hand for me to continue.
“Cemeteries? No. But memorials? Yes.”
“Of course, Mayday. That’s brilliant.” Kane’s expression lights up with understanding, and a surge of warmth courses through me at his praise before I continue my train of thought.
“Didn’t Big D erect a series of statues in honor of his family and the lineage of the OtherWorld Royals?” I direct the question to Kane, who nods immediately.
“Yes, he did. An entire memorial garden, actually. Quite ostentatious. Very much in D’s style—excessive, grandiose, impossible to ignore. And what’s more like a stone that wants to speak but can’t than a statue of a once-speaking being?” Kane encourages.
“Exactly!” I turn to Asher. “And didn’t Big D commission one specifically in honor of his father that captures him delivering one of his most famous speeches?”
Asher’s eyes widen. “The statue of Death’s Prime. In the memorial plaza around the corner from Death’s Door, LLC’s main office building.” He looks at me, and I can see the pieces falling into place behind his eyes. “You think that’s it?”
“ ‘Find the stone that wants to speak, but never does,’ ” I recite. “A statue of the Original Death, frozen mid-speech, words unspoken but eternally present. It fits.”
“Underneath lies the key. Use it to unlock the unknown and face what lies below,” Kane finishes. “If there’s an entrance to The Bliss, it would be hidden beneath something significant. Something D would never suspect anyone to disturb.”
“His father’s statue,” Asher breathes. “No one would be foolish enough to desecrate Death’s Prime. It’s the perfect hiding place.”
For a moment, we all stand there, the weight of the revelation settling over us.
Then Asher moves, already heading toward the door. “We need to go. Now. Before—”
“Wait.” I grab his forearm. “You can’t just rush over there and start digging under statues!”
“Why not?”
My face falls. It’s comforting to know that in every manner of existence, men still seem to go from A to Z without thinking about all the obstacles the other letters of the alphabet may throw at them.
“Because,” I sigh, “subtlety exists for a reason, Asher.”
“Precisely.” Kane crosses his arms over his broad chest. “The memorial plaza is visible from D’s office. You start excavating around his father’s monument, and you’ll have security on you in seconds.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Asher’s frustration is palpable. “We wait? Plan? While my Maddy is right there, just beyond the walls?”
“We go prepared,” I say firmly. “Grab a cloak, Asher. We’ve got a statue to pay tribute to, but we need to look like we’re there for legitimate reasons.”
“A cloak, Rue?” Asher asks, his tone noticeably pessimistic. “Really? That’s your grand plan? Wear a disguise?”
“Yes, Asher. Really. We need to avoid detection whenever possible.”
“What if we’re right? Then what?” He runs a hand through his hair again. “I can’t exactly take a vacation and disappear to The Catacombs for an extended trip. Big D will have questions. My absence will be noted. I’ll be flagged missing in the system.”
He’s right, of course. The OtherWorld runs efficiently because there are measures in place. So many measures.
“The consequences are too dire. I cannot ask you to help me with this,” he points out, a look of defeat clouding his sharp features. “The most likely outcome is The Nothing, or whatever might be worse than that. I cannot ask you to take that risk. Not for me, not for Maddy. Not for anyone.”
Our eyes lock.
And as often happens when souls connect through eye contact, memories pour between us. Not telepathy—nothing so invasive or clear as thoughts being shared. But emotions. Moments.
Suddenly, I’m back on the roof of my family home. The clock on my mortal days creeps down toward zero.
I remember my obstinacy, my sadness, my overwhelming anger in that moment, making me cruel to the reaper who’d come to sever my soul.
I’m grateful to Asher for meeting my wrath with kindness, my chaos with calm. The connection we formed in that moment—a bond forged in fatality.
Living with someone creates a unique and special tie—it’s true.
But so, too, does dying with someone.
I see the same memory reflected in Asher’s eyes. The understanding passing wordlessly between us. He was there for me when I needed him, even if I didn’t want it to be him. He was there to help me when he could have simply moved on.
Now it’s my turn to be there for him.
Asher remains silent, but the shift in energy is apparent. The defeat drains from his expression, replaced by something that looks like gratitude.
Kane groans audibly from his position by my desk, breaking the moment.
Their history predates my part of their timeline. Kane has mentioned briefly about their contentious relationship, the years of mutual disdain and professional rivalry. This story shared with Asher only rankles my broody reaper further.
“You’re not asking, we’re offering.” I lock eyes with Kane to seek his support in this. He takes a stubborn pause, then voices his agreement.
“We’re insisting, Asher. Nothing you can do about it. You’re stuck with us.”
They share a look that not even the most attuned clairvoyant could decipher.
“We’ll protect you, Asher,” I say firmly, keeping my eyes locked on his. “If we find The Catacombs, Kane and I will make sure you have as much time as possible in there before the higher-ups catch wind of your absence. We’ll cover for you, create a paper trail, forge an assignment if we have to.”
“Resiliency to the last?” Asher asks softly, and I realize he’s quoting my words from the rooftop back at me.
I offer him his own words in kind. “Despite its utter uselessness.”
He and I smirk and share a quiet laugh.
Kane makes a vomiting noise that is both unsettling and distasteful.
“Don’t mind him. He’s a petulant child.”
“Oh, I’m quite aware.”
“Am not.” Kane mopes.
“Are too.” Asher chirps back.
Before they can get a proper head of steam going, I redirect the energy. “Boys. Another time. Right now, we need to go speak to a statue.”
I reach in the closet next to the exit and grab the items before tossing the cloaks to both of them. They both catch them smoothly.
“Do we have a plan beyond show up and hope no one notices us digging?” Kane asks, already fastening his cloak. “Because I’m quite fond of not being punished, and D has a tendency toward the dramatic.”
“Funny. I always figured you’d be into spanking.”
“We investigate first,” I say, ignoring them, and pulling on my own cloak. “Pay our respects. Look for any indication of a hidden entrance. Markings, symbols, loose stones. Anything that might confirm this is the right location.”
“And if we find something?” Asher asks.
“Then we move carefully. Quickly. And hope that Chance wasn’t lying about everything.”
“He’s Chance,” Kane points out. “Lying is statistically probable.”
“But so is telling the truth,” I counter. “That’s the beauty of true randomness. You never know which way the coin will land.”
Asher huffs a dry laugh. “Unless it’s doubled-sided.” He gestures toward the door. “Let’s go have a look then.”
As we step out into the main office space, several workers look up from their Tombstone Phones. Beatrice waves. I wave back, trying to project an air of casual normalcy.
Just the boss and two reapers heading out for an evening stroll. Nothing suspicious here.
We make our way to the exit, three cloaked figures on a mission that could end in our permanent erasure or in Asher finding the love he’s carried for over a century.
High stakes. Impossible odds. Probable disaster.
Just another day at the Lost Souls Division.
“For the record,” Kane mutters as we step through the portal, “I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Noted,” I reply.
“But I’m still helping.”
“Also noted.”
“Because you were going to ask me to.”
“I know, baby.”
“Not because I like him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise.”
Asher snorts. “You two are adorable. It’s disgusting.”
“Shut up, Asher,” Kane mutters.
The portal deposits us three blocks from the memorial plaza—close enough to walk, but far enough to avoid immediate suspicion.
The hunt for the stone that speaks begins now. And with it, Asher’s chance to find his way back to Maddy.
If we’re right about the statue. If Chance was telling the truth. If the entrance actually exists. If we don’t get caught.
A lot of ifs.
But then again, love has always been a gamble.
And Asher already won his spin at the wheel.
Now we just have to hope his luck holds.