Gina Grant - Scythe Does Matter

The three examinees stood shoulder to shoulder at the front of the room. A drop of sweat trickled down Ira’s cherubic face. Amber and Crystal looked shaken, no doubt at the prospect of competing with each other.

Professor Schotz smoothed out his paper. “As soon as you know the answer, raise your hand. First person to raise his or her hand gets to respond. Answer to the best of your ability. I’ll decide if the answer is correct.” The professor tapped his own chest, indicating there was no higher authority than himself. “If nobody answers, everybody standing up here fails. No marks given for vagueness, stalling or faking it.”

Everybody tittered.

“Remember, I was a student once myself, lo these many, many decades ago so I know all the tricks. No telepathy, either.” He stared pointedly at Kali. “Don’t make me get the tinfoil hats!”

He held out his sheet of paper. I squinted at it but no way could I make out even word one from where I sat.

“First question.” He ran one finger down the page. “In three sentences or less, describe a Reaper’s responsibilities.”

All three hands whipped ceiling-ward but only Amber’s stayed up. The others struggled as their arms were forced back down and pinned to their sides by magic. There was no question about who was going to answer the question. And what an easy question it was, too. Oh, skeg. He was starting at the beginning. I should’ve gone first.

“As you can see, I’m using a spell to determine who raised their hand first. In this case, our Ms. Amber has the floor. Go ahead. A Reaper’s responsibilities are . . . ?”

Amber took a small step forward. She usually enjoyed attention, but today she looked like she’d rather be under a rock. She licked her lips and stared at the floor.

“A Reaper’s responsibilities are as follows . . .” Now she raised her head and looked so far upward that only the whites of her eyes showed. “One.” She held up her perfectly manicured index finger. “When on the Mortal Coil, a Reaper will apprehend any soul or shade not traveling to Hell of its own accord. Two . . .” She raced on, as if afraid she’d lose her momentum. “When in Hell during peacetime, a Reaper will answer calls of distress and maintain some semblance of peace as decreed by his or her own judgment. Three . . .” At this point she realized she’d neglected to hold up a finger on two and seemed to get confused by all the advanced math involved. Finally she sorted it out by clasping both hands behind her back. Out of sight, out of mind; she was no mathlete. “Should Hell be under attack, the Reaper Corps will rise and defend our home unto the death. ”

You know, I’d studied that passage, too. But I’d been so focused on memorizing the words, it wasn’t until I listened to Amber that I actually comprehended what was being said. What did they mean, “during peacetime?” When did Hell go to war? Did we fight with the next Hell over? I knew there were other Hells and other Hell dimensions. It was in one of the handouts.

What if I got asked a question about Hell going to war? Panicking, I leaned over and whispered my question to Kali.

Keeping her eyes focused straight ahead, she grabbed a pen and paper, scrawling one word across it: apocalypse .

Ah, now I remembered. I sagged back in my chair, adrenaline draining from my body. At some point in the undefined future, Hell would go to war with Heaven. In the meantime, most disputes were solved by playing ice hockey every second Tuesday.

Professor Schotz rang the bell enthusiastically. “Very good, Amber. Please take your seat and send up another of your team members. That is indeed the correct answer, right out of the textbook, and it segues nicely into my next question.”

M’Kimbi jogged to the front, high-fiving Amber on the way.

“Can a Reaper, who is either an immortal being”—he nodded toward Kali and Ira—“or an already dead soul like most of the rest of us—except you, of course, Kirsty.” He smiled in my direction.

I squirmed in my seat, wishing he hadn’t singled me out like that. And I wished he’d finished the question. Or had he and I’d somehow managed to miss it?

Behind me Rod made a rude noise.

“Can a Reaper die?” the Professor finally finished his question. “Ira?”

The angel stared straight ahead, shoulders back. The big bulge under his hoodie twitched and I wondered if he was nervous. He claimed it was a backpack but you never saw him get books or snacks from it. And I’d never seen a wing-shaped backpack before.

“Yes, Professor. In some extreme cases, sir, an individual, whether mortal or immortal, can die a permanent death whereby they disappear and are not to be seen again on any plane: Heaven, Hell or Mortal Coil. They just sort of fade away.”

Professor Schotz nodded and rang the bell absently, as if he hadn’t really been listening. The bell hung from a little stand and now I noticed it had a string tied to its clapper. So if the bell is rung by yanking on the string, what then, was the hammer for? I swallowed hard, not looking forward to seeing a demonstration or worse yet, feeling one.

“Yes, Ira. That is also correct. Thank you.”

Ira walked back to his seat. I wanted to acknowledge his triumph but somehow the subject matter was a big ol’ buzzkill. Kali caught my gaze, nodding. She went to the front of the room.

“Question three. Where do these doubly dead souls go? Yes, Crystal.”

“They get fed back into the death cycle, sir.” She grinned hugely, obviously very proud of herself.

“I’m afraid not, Crystal.” He held out his hand like a surgeon. “Hammer!” Dante slapped the small hammer into Schotz’s outstretched palm. I shivered in my seat. Here’s where we find out what the hammer is for.

“Thank you for playing along, Crystal. Have a nice afterlife.” He tapped her hard on her dyed blonde head with the hammer.

“ Ow. ” She rubbed the spot. “What is up with that? It, like, hurt, you . . . whoa!” A strong wind rose inside the classroom, whipping papers and pencils off desks. I yanked my hair out of my face, squinting against the stinging dust.

At the front of the room, Crystal began to spin as if she were in the midst of her own personal tornado, like the Tasmanian Devil in the cartoons. The swirling vortex whipped her out of the room, not via the door, but directly through the wall—without damaging the wall. It was like when I’d first been scythed up on the Coil and some physical laws still applied while others went out the window.

The room remained silent for a long moment as the papers and dust settled and then it erupted into a chorus of questions.

“What just happened?”

“Where’d she go?”

“Is that fair?”

Tiffany and Amber just squealed.

The professor waited for the commotion to die down. Dante tapped the hourglass, raising a single eyebrow at the professor.

“Did you think there’d be no penalty for an incorrect answer? We cannot have mistakes—forgive me, Dante—in the Reaper Corps. Ms. Crystal has been cast out. As you know from the readings, there’s quite an honored tradition around casting out.”

Tiffany and Amber squealed louder. Professor Schotz shook his head and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Now, girls, please. It’s only temporary. She will have the opportunity to retake the in-class portion of the training with the next group. Hopefully she’ll do better next time. It was obvious to me from her answer that she was not nearly as familiar with the coursework as a Reaper needs to be. Once you’re out in the field, there’s no room for error. Souls are at stake!”

Crystal’s BFFs settled down, apparently realizing they still had an opportunity to carry out their plans to be reincarnated together. Since they intended to pool their Karma Kredit points, this was just a temporary setback for them. Once they’d been assured their friend was safe, they turned their attention to more important things—like re-sheveling their disheveled hair and makeup.