Chapter Seventeen
No Turning Back Now
The City Center
We make it to the Piazza of Death—a charming name. Big D is known for many things; subtlety is not one of them.
The plaza sprawls before us, a massive open square, where several major thoroughfares of the OtherWorld converge. Beings move through the space in their usual patterns—reapers heading to assignments, administrative workers shuffling between offices, the occasional soul wandering toward downtown.
None of them pay us any attention. Three hooded figures are hardly unusual in the OtherWorld, especially near memorials, where souls come to pay respects or contemplate their eternal existence.
I’m flanked on either side by the first couple of the Lost Souls Division. Each of us is shrouded in a large black cloak that obscures our features and provides at least the illusion of anonymity.
The statue dominates the center of the plaza.
A large rectangular marble base provides the platform on which Big D’s father, Death himself, stands frozen.
We look up at the imposing figure—and imposing is the only word that fits. The statue is massive. Death’s body is captured in a pose that looks as though he’s mid-speech, one hand raised dramatically, his mouth open.
His robes flow around him in waves of carved marble that somehow convey movement despite being static.
His face carries an expression of fierce conviction, eyes blazing with power and purpose.
The detailed work is extraordinary, every fold of fabric, every strand of hair rendered with meticulous precision.
Thousands of cuts and chisels in the rock capture what must’ve been a moment of fiery rhetoric and passionate delivery.
It’s beautiful, in a severe sort of way.
Rue breaks the hushed silence among us as we gaze between the statue and the souls milling through the walkways and streets in the square.
“He looks rather large from this angle,” she whispers.
“I think he was large from every angle,” Kane responds, tilting his head back to take in the full scope of the monument.
“Why would Big D make a shrine to his dad?” Rue wonders aloud.
“You mean after he killed him?” I ask.
“It does seem an odd remembrance,” she points out, “for someone you murdered.”
“Families are weird.” I tear my gaze away from the statue to scan our surroundings, checking for observers. “We don’t have time to unpack the psychology of Death and their familial lineage right now. We need to see if this statue is a portal to The Catacombs before anybody notices that we’re here.”
“Most notably, the Weaver Sisters and Big D himself,” Kane chimes in, stealing a glance to the left, where the imposing tower of Death’s Door, LLC’s main office looms, casting a literal shadow over the statue.
“Quite right,” I agree. “So, focus.”
“Okay, reapers, cool your jets.” Rue holds up her hands. “Just taking a moment to appreciate the art and the psychological complexity of its creator. Now, what did Chance say?”
I repeat the riddle from memory, the words burned into my brain from constant repetition. “Find the stone that wants to speak, but never does.”
“That is a statue that sure does look ready to make some noise,” Kane mumbles, studying Death’s open-mouthed expression.
“Daryl’s father was known for his bloviating rants,” I point out, beginning to circle the base slowly, examining the outline and details of the work, searching for a way in. “Apparently the man could talk for hours without pause. Speeches could go on for days, according to the histories.”
“That explains where Big D got it from,” Rue responds in a hushed tone.
“Now, if this is the right place …” I trail off, running my hand along the smooth stone surface. “There must be a key around here somewhere. ‘Underneath lies the key,’ is what Chance said. But I don’t see anything.”
I scan as much as my eyes can take in, but nothing jumps out at me. No hidden compartments. No obvious switches or levers. Just smooth, expertly carved marble, reflecting the perpetual moonlight of the OtherWorld.
“Let’s split up and explore all sides,” I suggest. “But stay inconspicuous. We’re just three souls admiring a memorial. Nothing suspicious about that.”
“Right,” Kane says dryly. “Nothing suspicious about three cloaked figures fondling every inch of a statue while the creator of said statue could potentially be watching from his office window.”
“Then we’d better work fast.” My earnestness stifles his sarcasm—for now anyway.
We separate, each taking a section of the base to investigate. I move around to the side facing away from D’s tower—if he is watching, at least this gives us some cover.
My fingers trace over the carved letters and decorative flourishes. There has to be something here. Chance wouldn’t send us on a wild chase with no payoff. That’s not his style. He’s chaos, not cruelty.
At least, I hope that’s not his style.
“Guys, look at this,” Rue calls softly from her position.
“What is it, Mayday?” Kane coos, immediately abandoning his section to move toward her.
“What is it, Mayday?” I parrot back. “Can you hear yourself? You sound like a sick puppy.”
“I am, Asher,” Kane says without a trace of shame. “Lovesick. And I don’t want to be cured.”
“Woof,” I grumble in mild disgust.
“That’s my line,” he says playfully, then returns his attention to whatever Rue found.
“Does this look like a key to you?” she asks Kane hopefully, but it turns out to be nothing more than some decorative scrollwork.
We continue searching.
As time passes, my internal clock ticks louder and louder. Every soul that walks past the plaza makes my shoulders tighten. Every shadow that shifts feels like it might be Time or Fate materializing to stop us.
“What you got over there, Asher?” Rue asks, having moved to scan another surface around the bend of the marble.
“Just a self-important inscription,” I mutter, squinting at the carved text.
“Read it,” Rue insists. “Clues could be anywhere.”
I lean closer, reading the words aloud. “Welcome to the OtherWorld. May you find your purpose deep within.” I pause. “Or may your purpose find you.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Rue muses.
“On brand then,” Kane retorts.
“It goes on,” I whisper, my eyes catching additional text below. “In a world full of locks, Family is the key.”
Kane and Rue both shoot from around their respective corners to flank me again.
I eye them both before taking a cautious step forward and crouching down to get a better look at the letters engraved into the side of the marble base.
Family is the key.
I run my fingers over the stone, marveling at the quality of the craftsmanship.
Just then something changes.
The letters twinkle and glisten under my touch. I can feel heat and electricity radiating off the beveled edges. I want to pull my hand away. The sensation is strong. But I dare not.
I think of Maddy and all the fires I’d be willing to step through to get to her. All the fires I’ve already endured.
I press my hand harder over the three etched letters that spell KEY.
When my hand covers the word, a sound erupts from the marble base, like a vacuum seal breaking, a sharp hiss that makes Kane and Rue both step back instinctively.
A soft rumbling follows, growing louder.
The statue’s base turns soft under my touch, and the grey marble becomes porous. I look at the denizens of Death’s Door milling about the plaza, none of whom seem to have noticed the change in the statue’s solidity.
At the feel and change in appearance, I keep my hand in place, but bring my eyes to Rue and Kane, seeking some verification that I’m not the only one witnessing this transformation.
“You both see what I see, right?”
“This must be the place,” Rue breathes, her eyes wide.
The pixelated fog swirls in front of us.
What was solid stone before has now transformed into a grey-black smudge that I can easily plunge my hand through.
What else lies beyond this secret passageway I have no way of knowing.
The opening does not permit me to see into the space beyond.
I pull my hand back from the mist that looked as if it had swallowed my arm whole.
I massage my palm and forearm with my other hand, noting a coldness I have not felt in the OtherWorld in centuries.
I glance at my hand briefly, then dart my eyes to the office window of Death’s Door, LLC. I cannot see into the building. I can only hope that Big D is not currently looking out.
“You’re on your own from here, Asher,” Kane says quietly, an unfamiliar note of respect and understanding laced through his words.
“We’ll do everything we can to keep the higher-ups off your scent for as long as possible,” Rue adds. “Good luck.”
“Where he’s going, he won’t need luck,” Kane says to Rue, then turns toward me, extending his arm and tapping the top of my blade, which is slung on my right hip. “You’ll need this.”
I look down at my bowie knife, Ifaísteio, then look back at the Frenchman. “I think we all may need a little luck, mate,” I admit, allowing a moment of weakness to peek through my rough exterior.
“You’ve been given a chance; take it,” Kane presses.
He’s right, though I won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that out loud.
“I intend to,” I voice confidently, knowing that I can only control what I can control.
What lies ahead, I cannot know. But what I do know is that I’m willing to find out.
“See you soon,” Kane says. A slight smirk pulling at his lips. “Or never again. Who knows?”
“There’s no time for goodbyes right now, Asher,” Rue cuts in before I can respond. “So, this can’t be one.”
“That’s stubborn,” I point out.
“That’s logic.” She smirks, and then after a pause, her expression softens as she says, “Be careful.”
“Just remember”—Kane speaks when I don’t—“love never ends.”
I laugh, remembering the conversation we had many moons ago in his prison of a room in Clerical Accommodations. When he was the one broken and lost, and I was trying to convince him not to fade into nothing.
“It’s the only thing more enduring than death.”
I grip the blade’s handle tightly. I look to the foggy unknown through the newly arrived door and speak softly but with fierce conviction.
“I don’t know where you are, Maddy. But I’m going to find out.
” My voice grows stronger. “I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to enter The Bliss.
I’m going to find you and set you free. Hold on, Maddy. I’m coming.”
Then I pull the cloak tighter over my face and make my way through the pixelated portal in front of me.
There’s no turning back now. Only forward, toward Maddy. The darkness wraps around me as I step fully through to the other side. The moonlight of the OtherWorld disappears from view, and I fully enter the darkness of The Catacombs.
I’m coming, my dove. I hope.