Esprit de Corpse

“See for yourself.” The red-haired Reaper gestured inside.

Conrad stood in the middle of the cell, looking basically like the fifty-something corporate executive I’d reaped yesterday.

Except . . . he sweated and strained, obviously in distress. His hands clenched at his sides, his unnecessary breathing ragged.

His eyes bulged and his muscles rippled. In fact, his whole body expanded and contracted and then expanded again, one limb at a time. First his right arm swelled up to monster size, the skin stretched tight, growing lobster red. Then his left leg inflated like a fleshy, florid balloon, his right arm shrinking back down to normal again. Oddly, his bespoke three-piece suit swelled right along with his limbs. Kind of like how Bruce Banner’s pants always managed to cover his junk no matter how huge the Hulk grew.

When Conrad’s leg deflated, his head blew up like a giant red balloon, complete with gray horns.

It looked like he might explode, so I took a step back. I checked my outfit. At least it was washable.

We watched, mesmerized, as this horror show of monster limbs cycled through and started over. Monster arm, then leg, then head, then back. The order became more random and sped up until I grew dizzy and had to grab Dante’s arm.

At least he didn’t pull away. Maybe he needed some reassurance in the face of this grotesque scene. I knew I certainly did and clutched his arm harder.

The unholy changes came faster and faster until Conrad was just a blur of body parts. He started to turn, slowly at first, then spinning like the Tasmanian Devil. Or the two Death Valley girls when they flunked the oral exam at the Reaper Academy.

And just like Tiffany and Crystal, Conrad began to travel, spinning, spinning in larger and larger circles until his route became bigger than the cell and he spun right out through the back wall—without damaging it!

I already felt sick; now I felt as if my world was ending. I’d caused this. I was the problem. Just like with the time machine, only that time had been an accident. This time, Dante was right—I should have known better.

“Stop him!” Dante cried. He and Monroe charged back up the way we’d come, no doubt planning to circle the building and catch him.

I stuck with the god of death and destruction (and earring backs and hangovers). She looked at me and I nodded, choking back more cranberry bile. Then she raised her arms and sent a huge, blindingly bright fireball toward the cell. It took out both the bars and the back wall, leaving ragged, smoking holes for us to pass through.

The burned-out bricks and bars crackled and stank of sulfur. Bits of brick and other debris swirled through the air. I coughed, stopped breathing and swiped at the airborne particles.

Crouched to get through the bars, I heard a sizzle by my right ear. Oh, no! A lock of my awesome white hair had touched the raw and red-hot end of a bar. I ducked and wrinkled my nose. Burning hair stinks way worse than fire and brimstone.

I raced after Kali, tearing out of the back of the cell just as the boys rounded the corner, but Conrad was nowhere in sight.

“Where’d he go?” Monroe asked.

“How should we proceed?” Dante said.

“Are we in trouble?” Kali moaned.

“I know exactly where he’s gone,” I said, biting my lip. All heads swung in my direction. “He’s heading back to the Coil. You know how hard he worked to stay there. It was only yesterday we were able to oust him from his life there.”

“You mean last week,” Monroe said.

“Last week? Wasn’t it only last night?” I said, checking my death watch, shaking it and holding it to my ear.

“The clocks of Hell needed one more kick-start to align with Coil time. The Ecks men issued a press release about it. Don’t you two watch the news?”

“We were a bit busy last night, week, er, recently,” I mumbled, wondering if, with the way things were going, we might never get busy again.

“So what happened to him? And are we in trouble?” Kali chewed on one of her thirty nails.

“I’m not sure,” Dante admitted. “But I believe he turned into a demon. It was hard to tell with all the dust and debris flying about.”

“I think I saw horns,” I said.

“And wings,” Monroe added.

“You should not have touched my scythe. It is proibito.” Dante rounded on me again, as he had earlier this morning, adding a word the Hellish app failed to translate.

I was ready to shout a few choice words that wouldn’t require translation at all, but would paint the air with stinky blue smoke. I held my tongue though. No, not literally. I didn’t want to be that couple who fought in front of their friends.

I kicked at a loose brick. “What do we do now?”

“I need to go after him,” Dante said.

I. Not we. Now I had reached my personal red zone. I wasn’t being the mature one another second. “Oh, yes,” I sarcasmed. “Because that worked out sooo well the first two times.”

“And exactly whose fault is that?” Dante’s tone was so scorching that the air turned blue despite the lack of actual swear words.

My eyes opened wide with shock and anger. “I’m going to see Sergeant Schotz.” I spun on my hiking boot heel and strode away.

Now we were that couple that fought in front of our friends. If we still were a couple.

Chapter 2 A Scythe for Sore Eyes

DANTE CHASED AFTER me, grabbing my arm and startling me. But this was Dante. No matter how macho and angry Dante was, he would never raise a hand to me. Or to anyone. He would raise his scythe to a soul in need of reaping, but never a hand.

He was only latching onto my elbow so he could teleport us to Pit U where the Reaper Academy had its headquarters.

Once again we entered the swirly portal. The partially digested cranberry muffins revisited the back of my throat, getting less and less tasty each time. I wished we’d walked.

Make that run.

We materialized in the main courtyard, then dashed to Colin Schotz’s office only to be told he wasn’t in.

“Then where is he?” Dante demanded of Schotz’s administrative persistent. “The new semester has not begun, so his other half, Professor Schotz, is not teaching yet. It is imperative we speak to Sergeant Schotz!”

“He’s not here. He’s due back in about five minutes.”

“You’re not just covering for him, are you? Because we’re not lying about it being urgent.”

“And I’m not lying about him being out.” When the AP saw me trying to sneak a peek through the sergeant’s half-open door, he sniffed and said haughtily, “Feel free to check his office.”

“Can you call his hellphone and see how long before he gets back?”

The assistant looked more ready to call Security. “Or text him. Please?” I made my best you’re much more important and powerful than us face at him. He seemed slightly mollified and agreed to send a text.

“Wait over there, please. I’ll let you know when he responds.”

Dante and I sat at opposite ends of a hard, cold bench. Why was everything cold this morning? Hell should be burning up. And come to think of it, things were heating up a bit. Not because Dante was starting to thaw out, but because I, not a soul known for her patience, was getting hot under the collar.