Scythe Does Matter (4 page)

“Nothing special,” she yelled, continuing to stride backward as she spoke. “Just, you know, death, destruction, chaos and those earring backs that always go missing.”

I nodded once, trying to look knowing and blasé. One of my earrings went plop at my feet, its little butterfly back suddenly gone. I’d had my ears repierced last month, but if I was going to hang out with Kali, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.

I was
so
scoring her as my study partner! Being the god of death and destruction would give her a hell of a leg up on the rest of the class. Or an arm up. Whatever.

Kali had reached the edge of the mezzanine and was about to turn down the hallway when I shouted, “What about socks in the dryer? They always go missing, too.”

“Nah. That’s been assigned to Poseidon’s portfolio.” She waved all her right hands. I could hear her laughing as she moved down the hallway and out of sight.

I pushed my way through the cafeteria door, getting the right one this time. I found Dante with two yellow trays in front of him—the kind with little plastic partitions so that one mystery food doesn’t touch any other mystery food. Maybe the cafeteria staff feared a fatal food chain reaction.

“Hey. Where you been?”

“Took a wrong turn. Met a god. You know. No big deal.”

He nodded without really looking at me. He took a bite of his lunch and made a note on a napkin that was already covered with inky scrawls. Black ink this time. But I supposed it made sense to use actual ink in academia—if you tried to take notes in class with a blood-pen, you’d probably pass out before the lecture ended.

I chewed in silence as Dante scribbled away. Since I’m very much the patient type—
not
—as soon as I’d taken a couple of mouthfuls, I tried to read his chicken scratchings upside-down. No luck; it had to be in Latin or Italian or something. I had a couple more bites and then I asked, “muff fu iting?” He looked at me oddly but didn’t answer. I swallowed and asked again. “What’re you writing?”

“Nothing, really. I’m just toying around with the idea of updating something I wrote a long time ago.” The tips of his ears pinked. My Reaper was hiding something.

“And?” I prodded.

“And setting it to music.” He looked down at the paper again. “You’re from now, right?”

“Yeah, from now minus ten months or so, but I try to keep current.” I took another bite.
“Au courant,”
I added, thinking of Lord Seiko Kobe, the time engineer. We’d become friends once I apologized for tricking them. He seemed to understand I’d had no choice. I should call him to let him know our coffee date for next week was still on, although by now he’d have heard about my
reanimation interruptus.
Nothing moved faster than gossip, in this world or any other.

Shoving the food into one cheek with my tongue, I said, “Though it’s hard to know when now is, what with time being so weird.”

“What would you think if I redid my epic poem to music? Maybe the kids stuck studying it today wouldn’t hate me so much.”

He looked nervous. Along with my mouthful, I swallowed the flip answer I’d been ready to give. I considered what I knew of his poetry, which wasn’t much. I’ve never read any of it, but I figured I knew what it was about: death, misery, punishment and suffering. So I asked him, “You mean like a funeral dirge or a country-and-western song?”

“No!” He did that squinty thing with his eyebrows that he does when he’s not happy. “I mean rap. Hip-hop.”

Hip-hop? His fourteenth-century epic redone as rap? I found it difficult to get my head around that. “Are you telling me that in all these centuries it’s never been set to music?”

“Well, yeah, some guy in the sixteen hundreds wrote a symphony inspired by it. I met him once when he came through here. Nice guy. I think he’s an accountant now.” He moved his chair forward to yank his Reaper’s robe out from under one of the legs. Then he sat down again, brushing dust from the hem. “It didn’t catch on at the time, though.”

I grinned. “You know what they say. If it ain’t Baroque, don’t fix it.”

He glared at me. “If you don’t want to hear it, just say so.”

“No, I do. I really do want to hear it.” Well, I did now that he’d roused my curiosity. I never could make much sense out of the classics. Maybe a rap version was just what I needed—just what the modern world needed.

“You’re not thinking of going back, are you?” It was out of my mouth before I thought. And with real fear in my voice. There was a pretty good chance I wouldn’t get my life back if, when the time came, I was off saving Aunt Carey’s life instead of showing up for my last-chance appeal. I really didn’t want to be stuck in Hell without Dante. He was by far the best thing that had happened to me since I got here. Or possibly ever.

“Nah. I’ll find a deserving rapper and let it leak through.”

“Leak through? I’ve heard of divine inspiration, but Hellish inspiration?”

“Just listen, okay?” He looked around. The cafeteria was nearly empty, with only a being or two remaining, chowing down on their mystery food of choice. Using his index fingers as drumsticks, Dante beat a 4/4 rhythm on the table.

Twisting up his lips, he did a fair imitation of those scratching noises DJs make by moving a record back and forth. I grabbed a couple of clean napkins, wiping half-chewed ectoplasm off the table. Keeping the beat, he began to rap:

“So I’m cruisin’ thru de woods one day,

Da year is thirteen-ten.

I’m huntin’ me a leopard,

Or maybe a dragon.

“I’m gettin’ kinda tired,

’n’ wandered off da path,

I fell into a valley

And landed on my ass.

“I felt a little queasy,

From fallin’ an’ from fear.

I saw in great big writin’,

‘’bandon hope when ent’rin’ here.’ ”

He stopped drumming and flipped over the napkin. Would this thing never end? Wait, why could I still hear drumming? I looked around the cafeteria and saw three or four beings keeping time with their . . . appendages. Maybe Dante was on to something.

“I know that I was chosen,

I ain’t gon’ tell no lie.

Lucy Phurr does like me,

Cuz I’m a way cool guy.

“I found myself a mentor,

He wore a homespun gown.

He led me to the center,

And we went down, down, down.”

His voice went lower and lower and lower as he repeated the last word. I realized I too had been keeping the beat. It was really rather catchy. I found myself wanting to know what happened next.

“Hey, that’s pretty good. You’re not such a bad poet, after all.” I grinned to show I was kidding.

His cheeks flushed. He looked down, toying with his watch.
“Grazie.
It’s just that—oh, for the love of . . . We’ve got to get you to class. Colin is going to be furious if you’re late on your first day.”

We grabbed our stuff and raced through the unhallowed halls.

Chapter 4

A Pain in the Class

DANTE LEFT ME
at the classroom doorway with the whispered instruction to grab a seat. I stood there a moment, panting heavily from my run, out of the breath I didn’t actually need. I watched him stride to the front of the room where Professor Schotz was writing something on the chalkboard.

Did my Reaper have to be so far away?

I threw myself into the empty seat next to Kali. Some teacher’s pet at the front of the class turned around and gifted me with a withering look. As if I weren’t nervous enough already.

The classroom reminded me of a dungeon. Although the common areas of the building were formed of concrete blocks painted institutional gray, our classroom appeared to be much older, constructed of rough-hewn stone set in crumbling mortar. Some of the bricks seemed damp and slimy. Fungus and spiderwebs adorned the room. At least there weren’t any chains or actual implements of torture hanging from the walls.

Unless you count the fact that the professor had just finished writing tonight’s readings on the board. Three chapters? In addition to all the catch-up work I had to do? Could I ask the time lords to make time for me? Could they do that?

“Welcome to ‘Reapage 101,’ Ms. d’Arc. Perhaps you could express to our friend Reaper Alighieri that next time he should get you here
before
we begin.”

“I think I can safely say, Professor, that next time I’ll be getting myself here. And I’ll make sure it’s on time. Sorry.” The further I went along with that explanation, the more I felt like a schoolgirl. One of the reasons I always hated the idea of going back to school was how powerless teachers could make me feel. Well, I was an adult now and no one could make me feel like a stupid kid again. I sat up straight and checked out my classmates.

Three young women in cowboy hats in the back row giggled. The one in the middle flicked her blond hair back over her shoulders. She snapped her gum and swung her cowboy-booted feet up on her desk.

A nearly identical girl on her left—same blond hair, same cowboy-esque fashion sense—copied the gesture, her own boots clunking onto the work surface in front of her. “Like, that’s so rad, man.” She brushed her overlong bangs out of her eyes and I realized she was Asian, which made the blond hair look very exotic.

I glanced at Kali, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Ignore the Death Valley girls. They’re not actually stupid, but they like to appear that way.”

Okay, I’d met girls before who went out of their way to play dumb; I could handle that. I wanted to check out the other students, but the professor moved on quickly. Kali held up her handout so I could figure out where we were. I listened to the lecture, taking notes and trying to stay focused. Class was harder than I remembered and I was out of practice.

I did mention I hated school, right?

It didn’t take long for me to realize that Reaper Academy was different from any other school I’d ever attended. But I had an unexpected advantage: losing my parents and being shuffled around meant that I hadn’t internalized much in the way of religion, despite my brief stay with my preacher grandfather. I wasn’t intimately familiar with the Bible—Old or New Testament—or with any other major religion, for that matter. As a child, I’d prayed not to God, but to Santa. After all, he delivered. The other students each had the religion of their time and place drilled into them and they had a lot to unlearn. I did not. Go, atheists! (Not that we’d been right, either.)

Aunt Carey was really big on ethics, though. She’d been a little smug about teaching me to follow a nonsectarian moral code. We’d believed we were morally superior since we were doing what was right
because
it was the right thing to do. Not because we were going to get rewarded or punished in the hereafter. In fact, we hadn’t given the hereafter much thought at all.

The first hour of class went pretty much as expected. The readings were interesting in some parts and dull in others. The giggly girls at the back of the room were annoying. The brown-noser at the front of the room was also annoying. And the sitting still nearly killed me, figuratively speaking. Since I’d been in Hell, I’d spent a lot of time running around, first looking to go home and then, once I’d moved in with Dante, looking for ways to earn my keep. At my old PR job, I was constantly running around the office going to meetings, seeing clients, getting coffee, making copies.

Maybe the class got a break every day midway through the afternoon or maybe Professor Schotz declared one in deference to my fidgeting. It didn’t matter. I was just grateful for the chance to get up and move around.

Kali insisted she didn’t need another cigarette; she was trying to cut down. So we walked outside the classroom and hung around the hallway. It was exactly the sort of thing I’d done in high school. The Death Valley girls hightailed it to the washroom, chattering about makeup and hair-care products as they passed. I let out a long sigh of relief as their giggling and the
clump-clump
of their boot heels echoed away.

I hadn’t worried about my looks much since I’d arrived in Hell. I had plenty of other things on my mind and no extra Karma Kredit points for hair color and makeup. Char had referred me to a great stylist whose punishment for excess vanity on the Coil was cutting hair for free for all eternity. I ran my hand through my soft, healthy layers. Since beings of all sorts and from all ages resided in Hell, all styles were current. I wore a shag cut that to me was retro, but to some had been the hottest thing when they’d taken their last spin around the Coil.

Dante had gifted me with my hiking boots and a few other sensible clothing items that he seemed to like so I wore them all the time. I had only one pair of earrings that were now, thanks to my new friend, short one butterfly back. I didn’t even bother with makeup anymore. My soul-body—that is, the one that had popped out of my Coil body back in the men’s room that fateful day—was free of blemishes and scars. At least until I managed to get new ones. It was like a body reboot and I was enjoying my flaw-free skin for now. But unlike me and my new Zen attitude toward my looks, the Death Valley girls dyed and primped as if they expected the being of their dreams to pop up any second. My heart gave a little flutter when I realized that the being of my dreams was currently collating papers at the front of the room; I heard the
rustle-rustle
via the room’s open doorway. My eyes narrowed. I hoped to Hell none of the Death Valley girls had their hearts set on
my
Reaper. But they’d shown no interest during the first half of the class so I relaxed. Maybe I wouldn’t have to kill them after all.

Could I even do that?

I hadn’t been able to check out the two classmates sitting directly behind me, but apparently they’d noticed my late entrance. They walked up now. No, not walked. They swaggered or at least the one in front did. He was the taller and broader of the two and he wore a college letterman jacket. He stomped up to Kali’s side, smiling, but even though I didn’t know the man, something about his smile seemed phony—predatory, even.

I smiled back at him. After my earlier revelations about not being the underworld’s greatest judge of character, I decided to keep an open mind. It was hard, though; I disliked this guy on sight.

“Hey, Kali,” the jock said. “Doin’ a little charity work?”

Kali’s eyebrows drew together. “Say what?”

“Hangin’ with the
in-betweener,
” he sneered, gesturing in my direction with his chin, as if he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at me.

“What are you talking about?” Kali asked. She stood up straighter. Or maybe she actually got taller. Who knew with gods?

I stepped closer to her side. “Are you referring to me?” I glanced down, reading his name off his jacket since he hadn’t introduced himself. “Rod.”

“Nobody’s talking to you,
Limbo Bimbo,
” Rod hissed in my face. “We know all about you, right, Horace?

The second guy, who had “geeky hanger-on” written all over him (no, not literally) nodded hugely, his entire face following his out-thrust chin up and down.

Assured that his wingman had his six, Rod snarled, “Why don’t you go back up to the Mortal Coil where you belong?
Living thing!
” He spat the last two words. I repeated them to myself silently. When had “living thing” become an insult?

“Yeah. What he said,” Horace added. Then he looked kind of ashamed and took a step backward.

Rod’s verbal attack left me speechless, which is pretty unusual for me. This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered prejudice for being alive among the dead and demonic, although most beings seemed more curious than bigoted. It had never been bad enough to make me feel unwelcome, but I certainly didn’t need a couple of blockheads riding me about it. I held my temper and tried to figure out the best strategy for handling this. I might have been in Hell several months already—probably a lot longer than these newly dead jerks—but here at Pit U, I was the new kid on the block. Maybe they hazed everybody who joined the class mid-semester.

“Hey, guys.” I held up my hands in a gesture meant to say
Look! I’m unarmed,
which contrasted mightily with Kali’s body language since she was never un-armed. “What’s all this—”

“Is this about your dumb jock pal who got sent packing?” Kali cut in.

Rod took a step back. “So what if it is?” He pointed right in my face. “She shouldn’t be here.” I was tempted to bite his finger, except it didn’t look too clean.

When neither Kali nor I responded, Rod pointed at me again. “She’s taking up a spot that should have gone to somebody else who might actually use it. She’s just going to sit through the training, then get her appeal granted and go back to her nice life upstairs, in her old body, forgetting everything she learned down here. I was told when I signed up that they’re looking for continuity, for commitment. She’s just killing time.”

Kali opened her mouth to defend me, but I cut her off. “No, it’s okay, Kali. Rod’s right. I have been just killing time. But I’ve put that slacker attitude behind me now and I’m looking to make the best of the time I have here. I may not be willing to commit for centuries but are you?” I paused. Suddenly the rest of the hallway must have become very interesting to the boys. They looked anywhere but at Kali and me.

I figured as much. These guys were only interested in earning enough points to get themselves a decent reassignment, just like everybody else. Back on the Mortal Coil, it usually comes down to money. Here in Hell, it’s the Karma Kredit points. More assured of my footing, I carried on. I might not actually own the moral high ground, here, but at least I was renting it. “I’m sorry your friend didn’t make the cut. But I don’t think the timing is right to pin it on me. I only decided
today
to start Reaper training. So if your friend was already flunking out . . .” I let the sentence hang. Let them do the math.

Rod opened his mouth and closed it again. Horace looked a little lost and dangerously close to thinking on his own.

Just then the three blondes
clunk-clunked
up the hall from the washroom, their makeup a little heavier, bleached hair artfully tousled. “Whassup?” asked Crystal/Amber/Tiffany. I hadn’t yet learned to tell them apart.

“We’re trying to get straight with
Ms. Staying Alive,
” Rod answered. “I was just explaining to her how we don’t like her kind around here. You’re either dead”—he hitched one thumb over his muscular shoulder—“or you’re gone.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Rod. She’s got dual citizenship,” one of them, I think Crystal, supplied helpfully. “She’s not wandering around up there having a great life.” She pointed at the hallway ceiling, then lowered her voice and whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “She has coma toes.” Behind her the other two blondes nodded. Everyone looked at my feet.

“Coma toes?” Even Rod and Horace looked confused.

The spokes-blonde shook her overlong bangs from her eyes, looking just a little bit exasperated with our apparent ignorance. “You know,
coma toes.
It’s the
medical term
for when your feet are asleep. It’s when you have one foot in the grave, like Kirsty here and are waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Actually, it was my jaw that dropped. Never had I heard anyone mix so many metaphors in one simple and totally inaccurate sentence. It was almost poetry. And not like the stuff Dante writes.

Rod turned to me, shaking a finger in my direction like I was a misbehaving child. “You may think you’re some god’s gift to the underworld, but I’m here to tell you you’re not. It’s not all about you, you know.”

Everyone stared at me, no doubt wondering how I was going to respond. Progressing from taken aback to skeggin’ furious, I opened my mouth to let him have it just as the guy from the front row poked his head out into the hallway and called us back in. Apparently
he
didn’t take breaks.

I snapped my mouth shut, unwilling to make enemies on my first day. “He’s not worth it,” Kali told me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I nodded my agreement, pushed my anger down inside me and allowed her to guide me back to my seat.

The rest of the afternoon progressed in much the same manner as the earlier part. I fumed for the first few minutes, so angry at Rod I could hardly concentrate, but eventually the importance of my mission coupled with the interesting nature of the lecture overcame my fury and I paid attention. It was a good thing I did, because we covered a lot of important ground.

We learned that most souls find their own way to Hell when their bodies die. A large portion of our job would be to chase down those souls that either couldn’t or wouldn’t make their way to Hell on their own. This included people who didn’t want to leave their situation, either because they loved it or hated it too much to put it behind them, as well as people who were too stupid to even realize they were dead. If a soul was in really deep denial, it might put up quite a struggle.