Gina Grant: Scythe Does Matter

Behind us the doctor called Conrad’s time of death, citing heart attack. And mine, citing blunt trauma. Strangely, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I’d spent a year trying to get my life back and now all I wanted was my afterlife.

The medical staff began to pack up their gear. Hospital security took possession of the stapler, dropping it in a clear plastic bag. They led Shannon away, sobbing. I hoped a few of those tears were for me.

Dante and I were alone now, except for the dead bodies, but that was okay. Some of my best friends are dead people.

“So . . .” I moved another inch closer. “Is there anything of mine you’d like to touch to make us even?”

Dante looked exasperated, pursing his lips and furrowing his forehead. A tiny muscle in his cheek jumped. He gripped my shoulders. Was he about to shove me away? I guess I deserved it.

Apparently not. Slowly, he lowered his face until his lips were just a breath away from mine.

“So you think you’ve won, don’t you, you little bitch?”

Not exactly the romantic words I longed to hear.

But wait, Dante’s lips hadn’t moved. I’d know if they had because they were barely a millimeter from my own. We looked at each other, eyes crossing with the proximity, and then at Conrad’s body, which was still lying on the floor where he’d died, awaiting the coroner.

Above his corpse, Conrad’s spirit rose. Most people’s souls look like healthy, younger versions of their favorite incarnation, but in Conrad’s case, instead of a handsome, young man, he retained his toad-like, smarmy bastard look. That must have been how he truly saw himself.

“You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted.

“But you’re not ali—” Dante began.

Conrad turned to flee, but Dante was an old hand. In one smooth motion, he activated his scythe and hooked the blade around Conrad’s feet, sending him crashing to the ground. In a ninja-esque move that struck me as very sexy, Dante leapt across the room and pinned the escaping spirit to the floor.

“Cuffs!” Dante called.

I pawed through the pockets of his robe and produced a pair of rusty iron manacles linked together with a length of clanking chain. Dante was so old-school.

I slapped them on Conrad just like we had in Reaper practice sessions.

I helped Dante haul Conrad to his feet. The newly dead shade fought and struggled, but with both hands secured behind his back, he was no match for two trained Reapers.

Without meeting my eyes, Dante said, “You sacrificed your remaining life for her. That was very noble.”

“Do you think I shouldn’t have?”

“Absolutely not, you little—” Dante clapped a hand over Conrad’s mouth.

“No, I have to say I’m glad you did.”

“And you, Dante.” I pulled him in close. “You were willing to give up everything for me. To go dirt-side again, even though you don’t want to.”

“For you, cara, I would give my all.”

Conrad made muffled noises and rolled his eyes.

I laughed. “Let’s get this skegger home where I can tell you I love you, too. And show you. In private.”

We tried the teleportation method, but apparently it doesn’t work when there are three on one scythe and we weren’t willing to separate now that we were finally together. So we had to walk to Hell. Again.

We hurried through the wall and the void. We had a brief battle with the gee-gnomes. I was tempted to let them sting Conrad but I was a professional now. I did my duty, getting a defiant soul home. We skated across the Good Intentions and slid down the slippery slope. Finally we crossed the Soul Train tracks and met Char as he was just about to push off with another load of the recent dead.

Char had updated his drag inspiration by a few decades since I’d seen him last. Today he was wearing a knock-off of Lady Gaga’s meat dress, much to Cerberus’s slobbery delight. If it hadn’t been a miniskirt at the beginning of the day, it was now. Cerby licked his chops, looking very satisfied.

“Hey, guys. Good to see you again. Girlfriend, I love your new look! You just can’t go wrong with leather pants. But what’s with the stupid matching grins?”

WE DROPPED CONRAD,still protesting and fighting his bonds, at Hell’s Cells. We filled out the paperwork as fast as our veins could provide ink, but the processing took ages. Midnight chimed all across the city when we finally left Hell’s Cells and headed for home. Our home. Where we lived, together.

My lips were frozen in a blissful smile. Every time I looked at Dante, he blushed. I knew exactly what he was thinking, because I was thinking it, too. I couldn’t wait to get home and demonstrate exactly how I felt.

The trip across town seemed to take forever, but at last we arrived back at our apartment complex. I was tempted to race up the three dangerous flights of stairs but I wanted to appear casual, so I reined in my desires and started to saunter across the dusty courtyard.

Only a step or two in, Dante grabbed my hand, drew me close, and kissed me.

Whoa! It was a real kiss this time—no tricks. No distractions. No interruptions, either. None until the long-dry fountain burst into a shower of crystal-clear water, spraying us. And the cat that always sat there.

Dante brushed my damp, white hair from my shoulders and chased me, laughing, up the stairs. Upon reaching our apartment, he fumbled with his key, opening the door on the third try. We tumbled in, nearly tripping over little Jenni in the foyer.

“Shhh!” Dante whispered.

I giggled some more. “Why? We’ve never cared if the neighbors heard us before.”

“That’s why I was late getting to you, cara. Before I could round up the judge and Colin, I first had to settle your aunt and Leslie in our guest room.”

Oh, of course. I felt ashamed of myself for not thinking about them. I was still the selfish kid who hadn’t appreciated them. And now I had a second chance to tell them I loved them. And I would. First thing tomorrow. It would be inconsiderate to wake them, wouldn’t it? This was going to be a do-over for me. I hadn’t done anything like this as a teen, but now I was sneaking a boy into my bedroom. Trying to be quiet and not get caught only added to the mood.

I grabbed Dante’s hand and dragged him into our sexy Arabian Nights bedroom, where I threw myself on the bed and pulled him down after me. I laughed, I moaned, I might even have screamed a little if we weren’t trying to be quiet. And also? Dante put his hand over my mouth. When he wasn’t busy either kissing me—and man, was kissing great when you didn’t need to breathe—or telling me “Ti amo,” over and over.

“I love you, too,” I answered, so, so glad I’d chosen to stay. There’s no place like Hell. There’s no place like Hell. There’s no place like . . . oh, yeah, right there!

I would have clicked my heels together but I wasn’t wearing any shoes.

SOME THINGS AREworth waiting for. And one of them is pillow talk.

“Dante,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“ Hmmm? ” He nuzzled my shoulder.

“Why don’t you want to go back to the Coil?”

“I thought I explained. Nobody gets me up there.”

I waited. He’d either elaborate or begin the next round. I was okay with either option.

He rolled on his back and scratched his chest. “It is like this. Back in my day, when we visited someone, we stayed for many days. Sometimes weeks. And while there, your host threw lengthy parties. They would invite their friends and neighbors and serve much wine. On one occasion, a group of writers and philosophers were drinking and a challenge was issued. There may have been a bet involved. It was so long ago, I don’t remember. I do remember locking myself in my room with more than one bottle of wine and emerging three days later with my ‘epic’ poem about Hell. It was the ultimate ‘Mary Sue.’ ”