Esprit de Corpse

scythe to reap Conrad back in my hospital room. I’m going to make it right. But you have to believe that Conrad attacked me. It wasn’t self-defense like he said in his version of events.”

Dante placed a hand on my cheek, his sad, brown eyes meeting mine. “I do believe you, Kirsty. I believe that you remember the events leading up to your final demise to have occurred as you’d described them.”

“What? You believe that I believe? If that is supposed to make me feel better, it fails epically. I need you to believe me. Not that evil jerk who bashed my brains in.” Or his whiny daughter, I added mentally.

I’d wanted so much to see my best friend again, but now that I had, I had to admit Shannon was getting on my nerves. Not only was she playing up to my boyfriend, but she wouldn’t stop tearing up. At one point she cried so hard she tripped over her own feet.

Honey, you should look before you weep.

I knew I wasn’t being fair to Shannon. And maybe not to Dante, either. I hadn’t told Shannon Dante was off the market, but he should have. Or maybe he was just following my lead. I had introduced him as my colleague.

I tried to look at it from his point of view but I didn’t like what I saw so I tried another tack.

“Look, Dante. I understand that Conrad’s sequence of events is logical, but it’s just not true. You need to take my word for it. That’s what boyfriends do.”

“But I’m not here as your boyfriend, Kirsty. I’m here in my official capacity of Reaper First Class. I must not allow our relationship to color my judgment. I must treat you the same as I’d treat any case I was assigned.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s look at this from Conrad’s point of view. Maybe he didn’t realize how weak I was when I stumbled across the room toward him. He had already been panicked about losing his Deal and his life. Plus he was busy trying to force his daughter to sign the amendment. How had I looked to him, coming at him, arms outstretched? Dead gal walking.”

Dante didn’t look convinced. I rushed on before he could interrupt me with more nonsense about ethics and morals.

“I fell toward him, he could have seen it as a tackle. I couldn’t have hurt him, though. All he had to do was take a giant step backward out of my range and I would have face-planted harmlessly at his feet. Well, harmless to him.”

Oh, look. Here I was making excuses for my rat-bastard, skegging ex-boss. Again. I shook myself like a wet dog coming out of a dirty, murky swamp covered in filth.

“No, Dante. I know what happened. I was there. It doesn’t matter what Conrad believed. Or what Shannon thinks she saw, because the end of the story—the end of my story—is that he brutally bashed my brains in with office supplies.”

Office supplies! What a crappy, ignoble ending.

If I hadn’t already been murdered, I would have died of embarrassment.

I turned my back and stormed away, although given we were still in the transport van, I didn’t storm very far.

Chapter 10 If Words Could Kill, I’d Sentence You to Death

ONCE BACK IN prison, Theresa and her coworker escorted Shannon and Maddy back to their cell. This time they were given orange jumpsuits and some other basics. Maddy settled in for the duration, but Conrad fussed about. Anytime a guard passed his cell, he demanded to be heard, to be released, to be given a cell phone.

Gill Hammerhead arrived shortly thereafter. His assistant, he told Conrad, would join them soon bearing a fresh suit for the hearing, along with other necessities. She’d been held up by Security checking the deodorant and hairbrush for illicit substances and possibly very small firearms.

Theresa appeared and led Conrad and Gill to a private meeting room. We shades-in-waiting trooped along like Conrad was the Pied Piper and we were the town rats instead of the other way ’round.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Theresa offered helpfully.

Both men ignored her. She closed the door after herself, giving them privacy, but she kept an eye on them through a big shatterproof window. I stood beside her for a moment, enjoying how the thick safety glass distorted Hammerhead’s smarmy features.

Then I joined Dante and Shannon inside the room so we could listen in on Conrad and Hammerhead’s plans.

Conrad acted nonchalant, cocky even. He barely paid attention to Gill’s advice and counsel.

“Why is he so overconfident?” Dante asked Shannon.

Like she’d know.

It seemed a fair question, though. I already knew Conrad’s story; I’d heard it often enough. And I knew what the evidence would reveal. That left only the preliminary interviews. Was he counting on one of the witnesses’ testimony to exonerate Shannon?

What would Detective Leo say? The day of my death, the hospital staff had arrived to find me clubbed to death, Conrad dead and Shannon standing over the bodies with the stapler in her hand. That was pretty incriminating to start with.

Now Conrad, posing as Shannon, would say that he’d brained me to protect his daughter and then died. Then Shannon had picked up the murder weapon. That explained her fingerprints on the stapler. Now that I considered it, the only difference between what had actually happened and what Conrad was now saying happened was the intent—that Conrad claimed I’d attacked Shannon while I knew I’d only wanted him to kill me so I could reap him. I’d sacrificed the life I’d worked so hard to get back to save Shannon and here was everybody acting like I was the guilty skegger.

Conrad also conveniently left out the reason Shannon picked up the stapler: to defend herself against her crazed father, who wanted her to sign the contract amendment. In blood. That wouldn’t figure into the Coil court’s hearing at all.

But it sure did in my conflict with Dante.

Frannie’s testimony—the recording that Shannon had wanted me dead—was more than incriminating. It was tantamount to a confession. Why, then, was Conrad so confident?

I snapped my fingers, drawing Dante’s and Shannon’s attention. What? I’m only not speaking to them when there’s nothing to talk about. Now there was.

“I got it,” I told them. “When they get to the part where the judge is going to rule, Conrad’s going to pop out of Shannon’s body and into Judge Wilson. He’ll rule there’s not enough evidence for a trial and dive back into Shannon’s vacant body. It’ll probably look like Shannon fainted under the extreme stress. Then when she reopens her eyes, it’ll be to the good news that the trial isn’t going forward.”

Dante rubbed his chin. Back home in Hell, he needed to shave every day. But on the Coil, his five-o’clock shadow hadn’t darkened at all. I loved the stubbly look—and feel. I sighed, wishing we weren’t on uncertain terms, but he’d started it.

Hadn’t he?

“We must stop him from possessing the judge.”

“What? No, Dante. See, we want the judge to rule in Shannon’s favor. Conrad needs to be free for when Shannon gets her body back.”

Dante shook his head, making sad eyes at me. I could feel my resolve to be mad at him melting. If only he wasn’t disagreeing with me . . . again.

“No. If the judge is kicked from her body, then she won’t be able to return, as you were not. Even when it is vacant again. We would only end up with another displaced soul on our hands. Colin Schotz would be furious.”

I opened my mouth to argue, getting as far as, “But . . .” before halting. Dante had gotten in a heap of trouble for my untimely displacement. This was his last chance to settle the Conrad issue to Hell’s satisfaction. We