herself is going to be there to present you with your scythes!” He mopped his face, wiping away dirt and sweat and all trace of Sergeant Schotz, leaving behind
“Now, see Dante tomorrow to arrange for your robes. Kali and Ira, you two had better come early for a custom fitting. Extra appendages are, well, extra.”
Death’s Not So Bad When You Consider the Alternative
CHAR DROPPED BY to help me get ready. I’d borrowed one of Claire Voyant’s diaphanous toga-style gowns for the party, since the pale gossamer silk complemented my new white hair. Char braided in a light orange ribbon, in memory of the peach streaks I’d had back on the Coil. Maybe I would get my nose repierced. A ruby stud would look awesome with my Reaper robe. So might a new tattoo.
I preened before my mirror. I couldn’t wait for Dante to see the new me. I hadn’t seen him since we’d left class. Maybe if he liked what he saw, he’d stop being mad at me.
Dante wasn’t speaking to me after the trick I’d pulled. Apparently he didn’t think it was fair for me to use my feminine wiles to get my hands on his scythe, and in front of everybody, too.
To me, the whole saving the world thing balanced out a little deception, but I think he was more upset that I’d put myself at risk. I was sure he’d get over it—eventually. But at seven hundred years old, he’d probably had lots of practice holding a grudge.
He hadn’t actually asked me to get out of his apartment. He just hadn’t come home yet. I tried not to dwell on it. By this time tomorrow, I would have saved my aunt and that was what was important. And if in doing so, Conrad got his, so much the better.
Once Dante found out I’d gone AWOL and scythed Conrad, well, then he’d have something to be mad about. I gulped. Saving my aunt’s life would probably cost me every chance of getting my life back on the Coil, my relationship with Dante and my dream job as a Reaper, but that was the price I had to pay. No choice, really. And so far, everything about my simple yet elegant plan had fallen into place.
Nothing could go wrong now.
In honor of the time reset, the gala was to be held in the great hall at the Reincarnation Station. At first it seemed like a strange place for a party; that’s where I’d filled out the paperwork when I first arrived, so I didn’t think of it as a function space. It wasn’t until I walked inside that I remembered all the hourglasses, clocks and miscellaneous timepieces ringing the room. Yup, still there: New York, Paris, Greenwich, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Addis Ababa and more. The sands, hands and digits still ran in all directions and at all speeds.
I sighed, thinking about the first time I’d seen this room. Dante had been beside me then. He should have been with me now, but if I hadn’t already ruined my chances with him, I was about to. I was sure it was worth it but that didn’t help me feel less lonely as I stood in the middle of the cavernous room, alone with my champagne, watching hundreds of people and other beings mill about as I searched the crowd for Dante’s face.
Finally, over the rim of my glass, I saw him.
He was standing in one of the doorways, leaning against the frame. Instead of his usual Reaper’s robe or casual wear, he’d dressed for the party in a well-cut tuxedo that showed off every plane of his magnificent body. I swallowed hard, feeling my face heat up when he looked in my direction. I raised my hand to wave, but quickly dropped it to my side again when he made eye contact.
I’d thought maybe he would smile. I’d hoped he might be able to overlook this afternoon’s little act and forgive me. In my daydreams, he crossed the room with a purposeful stride, took me in his arms and never let go.
In reality, his face remained cold and expressionless. He held my gaze for a minute and then turned on his heel and walked away.
Fine. I didn’t need him.
I turned away, too, eyes blurring, and bumped smack into a tall Nordic-looking woman with hair almost as light as my own. A familiar figure fidgeted nervously at her side. “Ah, Kirsty. We’ve been looking for you. I’m Sigyn. Loki’s
She elbowed Loki. He unhunched himself and met my gaze.
All moisture left my mouth while a trickle of sweat ran down my spine.
“I’m sorry,” he began, forked tongue flicking over his lips. “I should never have tried to get you stoned without your permission. I meant well. I thought if you could just relax a little, you’d feel better. You looked like you’d been through the wringer. Your hair stood out around your head like one of those little troll dolls. And there were sticks in it.”
“Look, Kirsty.” Sigyn drew my attention before I could even decide how I felt about Loki’s explanation. “We hope you’ll find it in your heart—assuming your species has one—to forgive my husband.” A smile flashed across her face for a second before her expression returned to seriousness again.
“I’ll . . . I’ll think about it,” I said. Loki’s story jibed with what Claire had told me at the time—that he hadn’t planned on doing me harm, but still, getting someone high without their permission was pretty unconscionable, even for Hell.
“All right, Kirsty. We’ve taken up enough of your evening. This is, after all, your party.”
I nodded but didn’t smile. It wasn’t a fist-the-air moment, but I did feel better to some degree.
I placed my empty glass on a nearby end table. “I’m going to go be with my friends now.” I glanced across the room and saw Kali and Amber looking bored.
I walked away from Mr. and Mrs. Loki and didn’t look back.
I had just joined my friends when all over the room people began counting down from ten. Determined not to mope over that damned Reaper, I joined in, screaming, “Nine, eight, seven!” along with everyone else. The hourglasses and clocks began to hum, dance and spin. It felt like New Year’s Eve at a fancy party, right out of
“Six, five, four!” I shouted, trying not to think about Dante. The countdown grew deafening. The clocks shrieked, whistled and blasted like fireworks. A rainbow blazed out of the digital display that showed the time in San Francisco.
I covered my ears against the cacophony of catcalls and clockwork. I squinted against the flashing lights, seeking the timepiece labeled Toronto. What time was it there? I needed to know. A tiny part of my brain noticed I hadn’t referred to Toronto as “home.”
“Three, two,
The noise crescendoed just as a blinding, brilliant light flashed. It was comprised of all colors and at the same time none.
Then there was sudden silence.
Dead silence.
Clocks righted themselves and began ticking like normal clocks should. Digital readouts showed reasonable hours. The hourglasses froze, having simultaneously returned to their upright positions. The sands shifted and began to flow downward.
I blinked away black spots from my eyes. Then I spun around, seeking the Toronto clock as I had the first time I’d been in this room. Now where . . . ? Found it! High up in a corner, amid ancient sundials and clocks from the age of Louis XIV and Seth Thomas, beside a collection of whirring watches, sat the hockey timer.
“Oh, skeg. It’s nearly tomorrow!” My twenty-sixth birthday. Time was finally running smoothly, and I was running out of it.
My Unfair Lady
