Styx & Stoned (The Grim Reality Series Book 2) (13 page)

Hulk—that’s what I’d mentally named
him—reared back on the platform and then leapt, grabbing the pole with both
hands.

“What the—” My jaw went slack and I
was, unable to finish my sentence.

Like an agile gymnast, he lifted
his knees and flipped upside down, locking his legs over the top of the bar.
Every muscled across his back rippled. The harness pulled so tight against his
skin I expected the straps to break. With sheer arm and abdominal strength, he
pulled himself into a sitting position on top of the bar. He braced his hands
on either side of his body and lifted his butt six inches off the bar before
dropping onto it again.

The sound of wood creaking groan
from the statues. He lifted and dropped again. Metal scraping against metal
screeched and then stopped. One last time Hulk fell on to the bar. The arms of
the angel and demon slowly descended. When the bar reached waist-level it
locked into place. He jumped onto the pontoon, taking the iron pole with him,
and followed it all the way to the far end. From there he jumped back onto the
dock and strode away. Like clockwork, the doors of the cabin slid open and the
souls filed out in an orderly fashion.

I spun toward Mara. “What kind of a
crazy-ass process is that?”

“Now we know why Charon pays him.”

“Who the hell do they think I am,
Nadia Comaneci? Even if I wanted to open the doors I couldn’t even lift the
bar.” I lowered my voice. “Where are we going to get a hundred and fifty pieces
of gold?”

“From the toll dish at the arch?”
She drummed her fingers against the glass. “Or Tabris. He’ll have to give us
the gold if he wants us to ferry.”

“Yeah, it’s a job expense.” That
made the idea of commandeering the gold from the arch more palatable. “It’s not
stealing.”

“Right. We can’t do the job without
it,” she said, backing me up like a good partner in crime should.

When the last soul had disembarked,
the arms of the statues cranked upward to their lifted position and the gangway
slid back. As if by magic, the ferry drifted out of the slip and slowly spun in
preparation for our return trip. At a hundred yards out, I took control of the
ferry again and propelled us forward.

“Come on.” I headed for the bridge.
“I need a drink.”

“Great idea,” Mara said.

The return trip seemed to take a
fraction of the time and was smooth sailing. Even over the abyss the river
remained silent and still—not a single bump. Probably because we didn’t have
any souls to steal. We poured a couple of beers and sprawled on the deck,
leaning against the bridge wall.

“Cheers.” I held up my cup. “To our
first delivery.”

Mara lifted her beer. “May the next
cruise be as boring as hell.”

We clicked the plastic rims and
drank deeply to our success. Not only had we triumphed in the battle of the
abyss, we hadn’t lost a single soul, including our own, and delivered them
safely to their destination. We were awesome—truly amazing.

I heaved a sigh. “Only several
million souls to go.”

Climbing the stone steps to the
elevator made my legs burn worse than any Zumba class I’d ever taken. I latched
onto the waistband of Mara’s pants, hoping she’d pull me up the stairs. We’d
done two more trips with nothing worse than complaining passengers to deal
with. Whatever can of reaper-demon-whoop-ass we opened on those white bastards
of the abyss must have made an impression.

And thankfully, we hadn’t been set
upon by the hounds of Hell when we pilfered two hundred gold coins from the
toll bowl. Next time I was bringing my wheelie carry-on. My plan was to fill it
up and leave it on the ferry. When we got low, I’d just roll the suitcase to
the arch and replenish our supply. Preparation and organization were the keys
to our success.

“You two look tired.” Hal leaned
against the frame of the elevator, arms crossed, decked out in gauzy light
yellow pants and shirt, looking very fresh and rested. “But alive.”

“That we are,” Mara said, stopping
at the top and pulling me up. “Barely.”

I shuffled past him and into the
elevator. At the corner I turned and slid down the wall, drawing my knees to my
chest to sit in a fetal position. This wasn’t a normal tired. My soul felt
drained and my spirit depleted. Though I didn’t voice my worry, I wondered if a
little bit of my life had been drained from me tonight—just like Katrina’s.
“Home, Hal, before I pass out from exhaustion.”

Mara joined me, squatting in the
opposite corner. “I know I’m a badass demon and all, but dealing with thousands
of chatty dead people nearly sucked the life right out of me.” Her head dropped
onto her knee. “I’m not even joking.”

“Then let’s get you home.” Hal
stepped inside and closed the door. “So we can do this all again tomorrow night.”

We both groaned, but I didn’t have
the energy to lift my head to glare at him. I must have dozed off. It felt like
I’d shut my eyes a few seconds ago and now Mara was pulling me to my feet.

“Come on, Killer.” She guided and
pushed me out of the elevator. “Thanks, Hal.”

“Yeah, thanks, Hal.” I gave him a
limp-armed wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sleep tight, ladies.” Before the
door slid closed he added, “I’m glad you survived.”

The elevator compressed into a thin
pink line and shrank to a tiny dot before vanishing. “Wow,” I said, “I think he
likes us.”

“That’s a good thing.” Mara’s hand
hovered on the handle of my door. “We need him.” She pulled it open. “And we
need to be at breakfast at eight o’clock. Don’t forget.”

I glanced at the clock. “That’s
only eight hours from now. Actually seven hours and forty-five minutes. But
then I need to shower, so really seven hours.”

“Then I suggest you get to bed and
get your beauty sleep.” She started to pull the door closed but stopped. “Hey,
thanks again for saving my life.” Her gaze locked with mine. “Nobody has ever
done that for me before.”

“You would have done the same thing
for me.”

She scrunched up her face as if
contemplating that. “I’d like to think I would have.”

“You would have.” I gave her a
cocky nod. “We’re friends.”

Though she didn’t reply, she did
smile and nod once before closing the door.

I took a quick, very hot shower to
rinse off any traces of river water and cleaned the cuts on my arms, and then
fell into bed. My party girl roommate must have still been shaking her stuff at
Charon’s. For that, I was eternally grateful. As it were, I’d only get seven
hours of sleep after being awake for nearly twenty-four hours. I was guessing a
full day, but who knew since there was no time in the netherworld.

After checking the alarm was set
for seven, I shut off the light, and curled up under the covers. The steady hum
of the air conditioner relaxed me, but I didn’t fall asleep right away. My mind
insisted on sifting through the events on the ferry. The passengers had been
the easiest part, and I bet Tabris knew that when he’d sent Mara and I to check
out the situation earlier this afternoon. We hadn’t really known what to
expect, and even if I had known what dangers waited for us, I don’t think I
could have refused to ferry. Tabris had made sure there was a lot of back-up
authority in the room.

Having only done three runs on
Styx, I already understood Charon’s need to periodically take a break. I
couldn’t even fault him for wanting to retire—if he truly did. Maybe it was
because I was human, but ferrying wasn’t a job I wanted to do for very long.
Maybe being a supernatural being meant the effects of the Underworld were
less…soul sucking.

At some point during my recounting
of the day I drifted off to sleep, and woke to the annoying beep of the alarm
at seven o’clock the next morning. When I rolled over to shut it off an
all-over ache resonated through my body.

“Owww,” I groaned. The shrill alarm
pierced my skull. I swiped for the clock, but missed the snooze button. Muscles
I hadn’t used since my physical testing to be a reaper cried out in protest.
Tiny muscles under my armpits throbbed when I lifted my arm again. Unable to
keep my arm raised, it dropped like a block of concrete onto the clock,
silencing the alarm. “Somebody put me out of my misery.”

Nobody appeared to answer my plea,
which meant I’d have to get up. Using my feet, I kicked off the covers. Well,
not really kicked them off, more like grabbed the blankets with my toes and
worked them down my body. My toes were the only things that didn’t hurt. Once
free from the bonds of my sheet, I rolled to the side of the bed, and let my
legs drop over the side. Pain radiated across my ribs and through my abdominal
muscles. It took all my strength, but I gritted my teeth and pushed to a stand.
Though I’d taken a shower last night, I shuffled into the bathroom for another.
Hot water and ibuprofen were the first order of the day.

I peeled off my T-shirt and set it
on the bathroom counter, not wanting to have to bend to pick it up later. I
cringed at my reflection. Large purple bruises spread across my hipbones from
where I’d hit the wall when trying to pull Mara out of the river, and
scabbed-over gashes slashed across my forearms. Of course, saving her life had
been worth the injury—of course it had.

Some of my grumpy mood lessened
with the pulsing massage of the hot jets. I rubbed the raven pendant hanging at
my neck, hoping for some of its healing magic. The familiar tingle skittered
across my skin, followed by what felt like the gentle brush of wings. The aches
eased a bit more, but certainly didn’t vanish. I’d learned this little trick by
accident after my physical testing. The pendant took injuries to a tolerable
level.

Feeling fifty-percent better than
when I woke, I dressed in comfortable clothes and opted for minimal makeup and
hairstyling. At a quarter to eight my phone dinged with a text from Nate,
saying we were meeting for breakfast in the same restaurant as yesterday. I
spent a few minutes gathering things I thought I’d need for the day: my phone,
my conference badge—pain reliever.

At eight on the dot, I strode into
the restaurant. Nate, Cam, and Mara were already there. She watched me with a
cross between sympathy and exhaustion.

“Morning.” My purse slid from my
grasp to the floor and I slowly lowered to the chair, trying my best to ignore
my protesting abs and thighs. I looked at Mara. “Sleep well?”

“Meh.” She held out a hand rocking
it side to side. “How about you?”

“The same.” I pulled the carafe of
coffee to me and poured. “I must have slept wrong. I’m a little achy today.”

“I slept like a baby,” Nate said.

“Me, too.” Cam’s smile was all
bright and cheery. I wanted to smack him. “Usually I don’t sleep well in
hotels, but for some reason I’m having no problem here.”

“I didn’t think angels needed to
sleep.” I swirled my spoon around my cup, mixing in the creamer. “Don’t you
have unlimited energy?”

“Not when we take a physical form,”
he said.

And what a physical form it was.

“Same for us,” Mara added. “Demons
have all the same weaknesses as a human: hunger, injuries, libido.”

“Wow, I’d never thought about
that.” I took a sip of coffee and set the cup on the table. “You learn
something new every day.”

“Sometimes you learn a lot of new
things.” Mara grinned at me.

“Indeed.”

Conversation flowed easily through
breakfast. We discussed our plans for the day. Nate was hot for a couple of
seminars on guerilla tactics for reaping violent souls. Cam said he had a few
non-Charon cases to follow up on. At some point I figured Mara and I would be
summoned to Tabris to give a report, but until then we decided to do more
shopping. Today the vendors serving GRS opened their booths in the Expo Center.
I couldn’t wait to check out the latest technology for grim reapers.

We flashed our badges at the
security guard stationed at the door, but he stopped us, giving our pictures a
closer look. The man towered over both of us, his massive shoulders rolling
forward like a gorilla’s. Our badges looked tiny in his wide hand, and I
couldn’t help shifting under his dark, scrutinizing gaze. After giving us a
thorough once or twice over, he let us pass into grim reaper heaven.

I’d assumed there were gadgets and
baubles for those of us dealing with the afterlife, but I’d completely
underestimated the elaborate array of products. Everything from clothing to
spirit-tracking devices was available for purchase.

The first booth we stopped at
displayed clothing. I picked up a pair of black mittens. Thick fleece lined the
inside, and the outer shell felt like a cross between neoprene and rubber.

“Aren’t those nice?” asked a woman
dressed in a camo tank top and army green cargo pants. Her frizzy mass of
dishwater brown curls sat piled on top of her head and secured by a green
scarf. “They’ve got a thin layer of ectoplating between the lining and outer
shell.”

“Ectoplating?” I assumed that had
something to do with ghosts.

“It’s the newest thing.” She
slipped the mittens on and held her hands in front of her. “You can wear these
when it’s cold out and not have to worry about taking off your gloves to hold
onto a spirit. You just—” She lunged forward, as if catching a spirit. “Grab
the ghost and the ectoplating magnetizes to the soul. No holding on or gripping
required.” She gave a violent shake. “No matter how hard they fight, they can’t
break free.”

“What if you’ve only got them by
one hand?” Though spirits naturally stuck to me, there were times when I’d had
trouble holding onto them. If they were stronger, the soul could break free.
“For instance, if I was driving a scooter?”

“Because our ectoplating is ten
times stronger than the old brand, you could easily hold two full-size
spirits.” The woman’s eyes rounded with excitement. She really believed in her
product. “Or three smaller ones with one hand.”

“What if the spirit is wet or has
fallen in a vat of oil?”

Mara cocked her head, her brow
pinching together. “Seriously?”

I shrugged. “You never know.
Remember who I reap.”

Her expression relaxed. “You’ve got
a point.”

“Oil, water, snow—” The saleswoman
waved her hand. “None of that lessens the magnetizing effect.”

These mittens were something I
could use. Over the last few months I’d traveled to remote villages to reap
souls. The planes were small and cold. The villages rustic. I needed versatile
clothing “How much?”

“Forty-five dollars.” When I
started to set the pair back on the table, she added, “But the conference price
is thirty dollars, fifty for two pairs.”

I pursed my lips and narrowed my
gaze on the mittens. Of course I was going to buy two pairs. I would have shelled
out forty-five for one. Routinely I paid upwards of twenty-five dollars for the
gloves I buy my kids, which they lose within a week. After a few seconds I
nodded. “I’ll take two pairs.”

“Excellent.” She dropped the
mittens into a plain white bag. “Be sure to tell your friends about them.”

“I will.” I handed her a fifty and
took the bag. “Thanks.”

“Sucker,” Mara mumbled as we walked
away.

“Even if they don’t work, at least
my hands will stay warm.”

The booths stretched endlessly down
the center and spread in a maze of tempting treats. Mara bought a silver
Wingblade and demonstrated it for me. The tips of two serrated blades curled in
opposite directions, forming an S, and could catch an attack from behind or
front. When closed, four finger holes allowed her to wear it on her hand like
brass knuckles. The Wingblade was intimidating, the efficiency with which Mara
wielded it—terrifying.

We tried out the latest spirit
tracker software and GPS systems, checked out mirrors designed to trap demons,
and contemplated a Tibetan protection amulet. But after an hour of browsing,
neither of us had purchased anything else. We worked our way down the last
aisle near the exit and were about to leave when my gaze fell upon the most
beautiful sight. The iconic weapon of a grim reaper and the missing piece of my
soul.