Chapter Twenty-Three
Some Things Can’t Be Unmade
Death’s Door, LLC
“Kane. Rue. How is the OtherWorld’s favorite celebrity couple doing?”
I don’t turn from the window. The Piazza of Death stretches below, and at its center stands the statue. My father, frozen in a moment of conquest. His hand raised, his expression triumphant.
Death. The OG. The one who carved out this entire realm like the ancient architects of Petra.
He built something majestic. That is undeniable. But he did so through fear, manipulation, and malice. Torture and servitude, to be a bit more precise. So, I took it from him.
Staring at his frozen visage now, I remember all the plans I had before I conquered his crown, his kingdom, and his scythe. I was going to rule the OtherWorld differently. I would lead with charisma and style.
I placed that statue directly outside my office to serve as a reminder. Not to my people, but to me. To be all the things that he was not. But the apple doesn’t fall too far, does it? Even when I’ve tried to plant an entirely different tree.
The final image of Quinn Abernathy before I thoughtlessly unmade him flashes before my mind. Like father, like … fuck!
Where dear old Dad was ruthless, I hoped to be merciful.
Mercy.
That name—her name—stings in my brain. I can still taste her on my lips. I wonder where she is now. I often wonder where she is. A rush of something primal and dangerous floods me at even the mere thought of her.
I shake off that mental tangent and refocus on the most pressing issue—my loosening grip on control. Here I stand, staring at a statue of a man I hoped never to become, looking more and more like him with each turn of the moon.
Oedipus, party of one. Your table is ready …
“Gah.” I voice my frustration on a grunt, then push the thought away and turn to face them.
My entire demeanor shifts as my weight transfers from one foot to the other.
“Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.” I wave a hand, my voice smooth and welcoming.
“I don’t bite. Unless you want me to, then I’d be happy to oblige.
Consent is key, of course. I like biting, if I’m honest, but it’s got to be a two-way street.
Otherwise, I’m no better than an alligator.
And I most certainly hope to be better than an alligator. ”
I’m rambling. Even for me, that last speech was a bit out of left field. It’s almost as though if I keep talking, I won’t have to face the stark reality that I’m more than capable of the same brutality as my Pops. I need to get a grip.
WWNSTM? What Would Nana Say To Me?
Relax, boobie. You’re trying, and that makes you the best version of yourself you can possibly be.
I hear that last message in her voice and silently thank her. Calm and centered now, I give my complete attention to the pair vibrating with nervous energy. It’s delicious.
“So”—I lean against my desk and cross my arms—“tell me about the Lost Souls Division. How’s the redemption factory running? Are we saving souls left and right? Making all the realms brighter places? Very heartwarming stuff that lets us all snuggle up nice and cozy at night?”
“It’s performing well, sir,” Rue says carefully. “The expansion has been—”
“And Asher?” I interrupt, my eyes sliding to Kane. “My CAT reaper turned soul shepherd. How’s he adapting to his probation posting? Is he finding fulfillment in using words instead of, you know …” I make a stabbing motion with my hand.
“He’s adjusting, sir,” Kane says, and there it is. That little hesitation. That fractional delay.
They’re lying. Of course they are. It amazes me that they think they can hide anything from me. I’m fucking Death.
I push off the desk and move around it, settling into my chair with exaggerated comfort and making sure it lets out the delicious creak. “That’s wonderful. Really. I love a good redemption arc. Very on-brand. Very LSD-coded.”
I lean back and steeple my fingers, studying them both carefully.
“You know what’s interesting?” I continue, my tone light and conversational. “The fact that you’re both standing there like you’re waiting for execution. It’s giving tense. It’s giving”—I smile—“not telling me something.”
Rue’s fingers flex at her sides.
“So, here’s what I’m going to do,” I say, standing and walking back to the window. “I’m going to ask you a direct question.”
“Sir—” Kane starts.
“Nope.” I hold up a hand without turning around.
“I’m talking. You’re listening. That’s the dynamic we’re establishing right now.
As I said, just one question. And you will answer it truthfully or face my wrath.
Don’t worry.” I put my hand over my eyes.
“The confession will remain anonymous. I won’t even know which one of you comes clean. ”
“Uh, sir”—Kane clears his throat—“you can hear us.”
Dropping my hand, I turn back to face them. “Not if you two play along. Come now. Let’s have an acting challenge. Rue, you play Kane. Kane, you play Rue. Who plays who better?”
Rue looks from Kane to me. “I don’t think—”
“Rue, that’s a terrible French accent.”
“I didn’t do a French accent!”
“That’s apparent.” I sigh wearily while looking between them. “So”—I draw out the O longer than necessary—“where is Asher?”
The silence stretches.
Rue is the first to break. “He’s back at the Lost—”
“Rue”—I take a breath while looking at the ceiling—“I’m a nice guy, right? I mean, The OW Investigator has consistently named me Deity of the Year. Every year since its inception.”
“OW Investigator?” Rue questions.
“Gossip magazine,” Kane mutters.
I narrow my eyes. “Only those who haven’t been on the cover would call it that. Anyway, according to them, I’m a delight.”
“Seriously?” Rue laughs. “You tore me from the man I loved, forced me to die alone, and made him watch? Yeah, you’re a sweetheart.”
“Fuck,” Kane mutters as I stare at the orange-and-black haired girl.
Raising my hand, I hold my fingers out and snap them. “Was that sarcasm I heard in your tone, Rue? Are you being … glib with me?”
“Not at all, Mr. Big D, sir.” She doubles down on the saccharine tone, and her petulance would be annoying if it wasn’t also a bit adorable.
I do love a soul with spunk. But I’m not about to let her know that.
“Watch your tone,” I warn icily instead. “Now, I’m going to ask a direct question, and I expect a direct answer. Okay?” I do not wait for them to answer that question. “Good,” I continue. “Where is Asher right now?”
Rue and Kane exchange a look.
Kane dares to speak. “He is on a case.”
“A case?”
“Yes, sir. Reaping lost souls. Per your orders.”
“I do love it when people follow my orders.” I crack a grin, delighting in this little game we’re playing.
“That’s me, sir. Reaper Regulations Guidebook trained and dutiful to the last.”
“Oh, you’re full of doody all right. Caca-doody. Do you see what I did there? It’s a poop joke. They can’t all be Shakespeare.”
Rue continues, ignoring my attempt at humor, which I find rather rude. “Sir, the LSD backlog is mortal centuries long. Asher is hard at work, getting more souls crossed over into your OtherWorld.”
“That sounds great. It does, but …” I borrow some of Rue’s sweetness from before and lay it on thick with my next statement. “I know you’re lying. How do I know you’re lying? Am I just an incredible judge of character? Perceptive, to the point of prognostication?”
“No,” Kane grumbles, and fire shoots behind my eyes as I cast my gaze in his direction.
“No,” I repeat slowly. “I mean, I am those things, but that’s not how I know you’re hiding something. No, this is how I know you’re not being honest with me.”
I snap my fingers again, and a screen appears on the wall. I see Kane bristle at the monitor, perhaps remembering the last time it was on display for him in this office.
“No popcorn this time. Sorry, buddy.”
“Get to the fucking point.”
“I would watch your tone around me, reaper. I know we have history, and I like you—I do. But I’m feeling a bit … outside myself these days, and I really don’t feel like being pushed too far.”
I treat the silence as compliance and turn my attention to the screen on the far wall.
“Display Reaper Tracking,” I announce.
The screen lights up with a series of dots and a scroll bar on the right side. Lights flicker green and red on the screen while a feed of reaper names and numbers passes by on the right.
“What is this?” Rue asks.
“This is one of the many ways I maintain efficiency and order in the OtherWorld. I don’t just expect obedience. I enforce it. And this here is how I keep track of all my good little worker bees.”
I walk over to the monitor and continue explaining, “The green dots are active assignments. Reapers in the field, navigating space in the mortal realm. The red dots are those back in the OW. In stasis, rehab, rest, or debrief. And right there, in the sea of all these reds and greens, is this little tiny grey dot.”
I make my way to the monitor and tap on the dot, bringing it up in larger detail on the screen.
“Asher comma Thomas. Status: Missing.”
I pause, letting the weight of this land sufficiently. By the looks on their faces, I have their attention.
“He’s not here. He’s not there. He doesn’t appear to be anywhere. Which is … odd.” I quirk one eyebrow and turn my gaze to the skull on the corner of my desk. “Wouldn’t you say, Nana? Isn’t that odd?”
“D, lis—” Rue begins, but I immediately cut her off.
“I’m speaking to Nana, Rue. Show some respect.”
I take some time mumbling and pondering with Nana while the two of them stand there. Finally, I make a decision.
“Nana’s right,” I continue. “It is odd. But she pointed out I also really like to play games, so I’m choosing to take this grey dot as a silver lining moment. You’re not lying to me, are you, fools? You’re just initiating a super-fun game of hide-and-seek. Right?”
“We know how you love your games, sir,” Kane answers quickly, knowing when to placate me.
“I do. I also love to win. And if I find Asher before he returns from this ‘case’ ”—I throw air quotes around the word—“I am going to get the first-place trophy. And do you know what the first-place trophy in hide-and-seek is, Kane?”
“I do not, sir.”
“It’s a bronze statuette of you, Rue, and Asher, all clapping for me. And this won’t be a replica, Kane. I am telling you that I will dip you three in hot metal and turn you into a fucking shelf ornament if my reaper doesn’t return to work immediately. Am I clear?”
“Very clear, sir,” Rue chirps, and I groan.
“Am I clear?” I repeat.
“Crystal, sir,” Kane pipes in like the good boy he is.
“Excellent. Now leave. I have a reaper to catch.”
I laugh heartily as the two of them make their way out of my office. As the door begins to close on their retreating forms, I yell out for dramatic emphasis, “Ready or not, here I come.”