Sinjin (21 page)

“That about sums it up. Your angel…” He paused. “His name is Bill, by the way.”

“Bill?”

“He’s been on probation for… failing to do his duties for you and a few others.”

My hands tightened on the arms of my chair as I wondered at what point my non-comprehending brain would simply implode with all this ridiculousness.
“Probation?”

He nodded. “Yes, it seems he’s had a bit of trouble with alcohol recently.”

“My angel is an alcoholic?” I slouched into my chair, the words “angel” and “alcoholic” swimming through the air as I began to doubt my sanity.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Jason parted his thin lips, but that exhausted look resurrected itself on his face. I was quick to interrupt, shock and anger suddenly warring within me until I couldn’t contain them any longer. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Alcoholic angels? I didn’t even know they could drink!”

“They can do everything humans can,” he said in an affronted tone, like he was annoyed with my outburst.

I sat back into my chair, not feeling any better with the situation, but also figuring my outbursts were finished for the immediate future. Well, until I could come to terms with what was really going on. But flipping out wasn’t going to do me any good. I needed to stay in control of myself and in control of my emotions. Wayne Dyer’s words, “it makes no sense to worry about things you have no control over because there's nothing you can do about them,” floated through my head as I tried to prepare myself for whatever I had coming.

Jason
Streethorn, the office manager of death, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. “Since your angel, our employee, failed you, we do have an offer of restitution.”

Apparently, this was where the business side of our conversation began.
“Restitution?”

“Yes, because this oversight is our fault, I’d like to offer you the chance to live again.”

I had to suspend my disbelief of being dead in the first place and just play along with him, figuring at some point I’d wake up and Jason Streethorn, the orange-haired woman and this DMV-like place would be nothing more than the aftermath of a cheese pizza and Coke eaten too close to bedtime. “Okay, that sounds good. What do I…”

He rebuffed me with his raised hand. “However, if you accept this offer, you’ll have to be employed by Afterlife Enterprises.”

I sank back into my chair, suddenly wanting nothing more than to pull my hair out. I had a sinking feeling I probably wouldn’t be able to resume my title of Director. “What does that mean?”

He sighed, as though the explanation would take a while. “Unfortunately, Afterlife Enterprises is a bit on the unorganized side of late. When the computer system switched from 1999 to 2000, we weren’t prepared, and a computer glitch resulted in thousands of souls getting misplaced.”

The fact that death relied on a computer system which wasn’t even as good as Windows XP was too much. “The Y2K bug didn’t affect anyone.”

Jason worked the stress ball between his emaciated fingers, making multiple knuckles crack, the sound imbedding itself in my psyche. “On Earth, it didn’t affect anything, but such was not the case with the Afterlife.” He exhaled like he was trying to expel all the air from his lungs. “Unfortunately, we were affected and it’s a problem we’ve been trying to sort out ever since.” He paused and shook his head like it was a great, big shame. Then he apparently remembered he had the recently dead to contend with and faced me again. “As I said before, due to this glitch, we’ve had souls sent to the Kingdom who should’ve gone to the Underground City.
And vice versa.” He paused. “And some souls are locked on the earthly plane as well. It’s been a big nightmare, to say the least.”

My mouth was still hanging open.
“The Kingdom and the Underground City? Is that like Heaven and Hell?” Why did I have the sudden feeling he was going to start the Dungeons and Dragons lingo?

“Similar.”

I rubbed my tired eyes and let it all sink in. So, not only were there bad dead people in Heaven, aka the Kingdom, but there were good dead people in Hell, aka the Underground City? And to make things even more complicated, there were bad and good dead people stuck on Earth?             

“Is that still happening now? Or did you fix the computer glitch?” I asked, wondering if maybe I’d been sent to the wrong place. I thought this place seemed like Hell from the get-go. And though I was never a church-goer, I definitely wasn’t destined for the South Pole.

“We fixed the glitch, but that doesn’t change the fact that there are still thousands of misplaced souls. And the longer those souls who should be in the Kingdom are left in the Underground City, or on the earthly plain, the bigger the chances of lawsuits against Afterlife Enterprises. We’ve already had a host of them and we can’t afford anymore.”

I didn’t have the wherewithal to contemplate afterlife lawsuits, so I focused on the other details. “So how are you going to get all those people,
er souls, back where they belong?”

“That’s where you would come in, should you accept this job offer.”

“I would bring the spirits back?” I asked, aghast. “I’d be a ghost hunter or something?”

He laughed; it was the first time he seemed warm and, well, alive. Funny what a laugh will do for you.

“Yes, your title would be “Retriever” and we have thousands who, like you, are currently retrieving souls.”             

An image of the Ghostbusters jumped into my mind and I had to shake it free. Whatever this job entailed, I doubted it included slaying
Slimer. “And if I don’t agree?”

Jason shrugged and turned to the computer again. After a few clicks, he faced me with a frown. “Looks like you’ll be on the waiting list for the Kingdom.”

“The waiting list?” I said, shocked. “I think I’ve led a pretty decent life!”

He shook his head and faced the computer again. “I show three accounts of thievery—when you were six, nine and eleven.”

“I was just a kid!”

He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the Word doc. “I also show multiple accounts of cheating when you were in university.”

Affronted, I launched myself from the chair. “I’ve never cheated in my life!”

He frowned, looking anything but amused. “No, but you aided a certain Jordan Summers by giving him the answers in your Biology class and I show that happened over the course of the semester.”

I sat back down and folded my arms against my chest. “I would think helping someone wouldn’t slate me for a waiting list!”

“Cheating takes more than one form.” He glanced at the screen again. “Shall I go on?”

“No.” I frowned. “So how long will I be on the waiting list?”

He leaned back in his chair and resumed working the stress ball. “You’re fairly close to the top of the list since your offenses are only minor. I’d say about one hundred years.”

“One hundred years!” I bit my lip to keep it from quivering. When I felt I could rationally conduct myself again, I faced Jason. “So where would I be for the next one hundred years?”

“In Shade.”

I frowned. “And what is that? Like Limbo?”

“Yes, close to it.”

“What would I do there?”

He shrugged.
“Nothing, really. Shade exists merely as a loading dock for those who are awaiting the Kingdom… or the Underground City.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s it like?”

“There is neither light nor dark, everything exists in gray. There’s nothing good to look forward to, nor anything bad. You just exist.”

“But if those people who are going to Hell,” I started.

“The Underground City,” he corrected me. “Those destined for the Underground are kept separate from those destined for the Kingdom,” he finished, answering my question before I even asked it.

I felt tears stinging my eyes. “Shade sounds like my idea of hell.”

Jason shook his head while a wry chuckle escaped him. “Oh, no. The Underground City is much worse.” He paused. “The good news is that if you do become a Retriever and you relocate ten souls, you can then go directly to the Kingdom and bypass Shade altogether.”

“So I wouldn’t have to go to Shade at all?”

“As long as you relocate ten souls, you bypass Shade,” he repeated, nodding as if to make it obvious that this was the choice I should make.

“What does retrieving these people mean?”

He started rolling the stress ball against his desk. “We’d start you with one assignment, or one soul. With the help of a guide, you’d go after that soul and retrieve it.” He paused. “Are you interested?”

I exhaled. Did I want to die and live the next century in Shade? The short answer was no. Did I want to be a soul retriever? Not really, but I guessed it was better than dying.

“Okay, I guess so.”

“We could start you out and see how you do. You can always decide not to do it.”

“But then I’d die?”

“I’m afraid that’s the alternative.”

“Why can’t you let me go back to my old life?”

He shook his head. “It’s not possible. Your soul has already left your body. Once the soul departs, the body goes bad within three seconds. Unfortunately, you are way past your three seconds. That and the coroners have already pronounced you dead and the newspapers are preparing your obituary. Your mother was notified, as well.”

Mom has been notified…
Something hollow and dreadful stirred in my gut and started climbing up my throat. I gulped it down, hell-bent on not getting hysterical. Tears welled up in my eyes and I furiously batted them away.

“I never got to say goodbye,” I managed as I tried to wrack my brain to remember the last conversation I’d had with my mother, the only person (besides Miranda) with whom I was close. Truly, my mother and Miranda were my best friends. And right about now, both of them had to be traumatized.

Jason nodded, but it wasn’t a nod that said he was sympathizing. It was a hurried nod. “I’m sorry; but you need to make a decision soon. Time is of the essence and Shade will be calling soon to find out if you’re joining them.”

I forced my tears aside and focused on his angular face, trying to ignore my grief so I could come to a decision which would completely change the course of my life… or afterlife. “So, if I take this job and choose to live, I can’t do so in my own body?”

It wasn’t like I was thrilled with my appearance: I was short, overweight and plain. I was the woman who no one ever noticed—the one always behind the scenes. I’d had one major boyfriend in my life and that had lasted all of two months. Yep, anyway I looked at it, I was basically hopeless—a twenty-two year old workaholic virgin with nothing but the redundancy of a stress-inducing job to force me to wake up each morning. But, I was me, and the idea of coming back in another body left me cold. No pun intended.

“You would not be able to come back as yourself,” Jason said. “You’d have to come back in another body.”

I glanced down at myself. As far as I could tell, I still looked the same. “But, I’m in my body now.”

“You’re here in spirit only.”

The phone on his desk rang and he faced me with impatience etched in his eyes and mouth. “That’s probably Shade calling.”

He picked up the phone.
“Jason Streethorn, Afterlife Enterprises, how can I help you?”              After a few nods, he glanced at me. “Yes, she’s here. She’s just deciding what she wants to do. Yes, I understand it’s been over an hour.”

He muffled the end of the phone with his palm and faced me again. “You need to decide now.” He faced the phone again. “Yes, I’ve informed her. You’re going to send someone over within the hour?”

“Wait,” I said. “Tell them I’ll take the job. I want to live.”

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ONE

T
here was no way in hell I was looking in the mirror.

I knew it was bad when I glanced down. My stomach, if that’s what you wanted to call it, was five times its usual size and exploded around me in a mass of jelly-like fat. To make matters worse, it was the color of overcooked peas—that certain jaundiced yellow.

“Wow, Dulce, you look like crap,” Sam said.

I tried to give her my best “don’t piss me off” look, but I wasn’t sure my face complied because I had no clue what my face looked like. If it was anything like my stomach, it had to be canned-pea green and covered with raised bumps. The bumps in question weren’t small like what you’d see on a toad—more like the size of dinner plates. Inside each bump, my skin was a darker green. And the texture … it was like running your finger across the tops of your teeth—jagged with valleys and mountains.

“Can you fix it?” I asked, my voice coming out monster-deep. I shouldn’t have been surprised—I was a good seven feet tall now. And with the substantial body mass, my voice could only be deep.

“Yeah, I think I can.” Sam’s voice didn’t waver which was a good sign.

I turned to avoid the sun’s rays as they broke through the window, the sunlight not feeling too great against my boils.

I glanced at Sam’s perfect sitting room, complete with a sofa, love seat and two armchairs all in
a soothing beige, the de facto color for inoffensive furniture. Better Homes and Gardens sat unattended on Sam’s coffee table—opened at an article about how beautiful drought resistant plants can be.

“You have nine eyes,” Sam said.

At least they focused as one. I couldn’t imagine having them all space cadetting out. Talk about a headache.

Turning my attention from her happy sitting room, I forced my nine eyes on her, hoping the extra seven would be all the more penetrating. “Can you focus please?” I snapped.

Sam held her hands up. “Okay, okay. Sheesh, I guess getting changed into a gigantic booger put you into a crappy mood.”

“Gee, you think?” My legs ached with the weight of my body. I had no idea if I had two legs or more or maybe a stump—my stomach covered them completely. I groaned and leaned against the wall, waiting for Sam to put on her glasses and figure out how to reverse the spell.

Sam was a witch and a pretty damned good one at that. I’d give her twenty minutes—then I’d be back to my old self. “Was it Fabian who boogered you?” she asked.

The mention of the little bastard set my anger ablaze. I had to count to five before the rage simmered out of me like a water balloon with a leak. I peeled myself off the wall and noticed a long spindle of green slime still stuck to the plaster; it reached out as if afraid to part with me.

“Ew!” Sam said, taking a step back from me. “You are so cleaning that wall.”

“Fine.
Just get me back to normal. I’m going to murder Fabian when I see him again.”

Fabian was a warlock, a master of witchcraft. The little cretin hadn’t taken it well when I’d come to his dark arts store to observe his latest truckload delivery. I knew the little rat was importing illegal potions (love potions, revenge potions, lust potions … the list went on) and it was my job to stop it. I’m a Regulator, someone who monitors the creatures of the Netherworld to ensure they’re not breaking any rules. Think law enforcement. And Fabian clearly was breaking some rule. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have turned me into a walking phlegm pile.

Sam turned and faced a sheet of chocolate chip cookie mounds. “Hold on a second, I gotta put these in the oven.”

She sashayed to the kitchen and I couldn’t help but think what an odd picture we made: Sam, looking like the quintessential housewife with her apron, paisley dress and
Stepford withe smile, and me, looking like an alien there to abduct her.

She slid the cookies in, shut the oven door and offered me a cheery grin. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, let me just whip something together.”

Kneeling down, she opened a cupboard door beneath the kitchen island and grabbed two clay bowls, three glass jars and a metal whisk. One jar was filled with a pink powder, the next with a liquid that looked like molasses, and the third with a sugary-type powder.

“Sam, I don’t have time to watch you make more cookies.”

“Stop being so cranky! I’m stirring a potion to figure out how the heck I’m going to help you. I have no idea what spell that little creep put on you.”

I frowned, or thought I did.

Sam opened a jar and took a pinch of the pink powder between her fingers. She dropped it in the bowl and whisked. Then she spooned one tablespoon of the molasses-looking stuff into the bowl and whisked again. Dumping half the white powder in with the rest, she paused and then dumped in the remainder. 

Then she studied me, biting her lip. It was a look I knew too well—one that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

“What?” I demanded.

“I need some part of your body. But it doesn’t look like you have any hair. Hmm, do you have fingernails?”

I went to move my arm and four came up. But even with four arms, I didn’t have a single fingernail—just webbed hands that looked like duck feet. I bet I was a good swimmer.

“Sorry, no fingernails.”

“Well, this might hurt then.”

She turned around and pulled a butcher knife from the knife block before approaching me like a stealthy cat. Even with my enormous body, I was up and out of her way instantly.

“Hold on a second! Keep that thing away from me!”

“I need something from your body to make the potion work right. I won’t take much, just a tiny piece of flesh.”

I felt like adding “and not a drop of blood,” but was too pre-occupied with protecting myself. I glanced at the wall and eyed the snotty globule, still attached to the plaster as if it had a right to be there. “What about that stuff?”

Sam grimaced but stopped advancing. “I’m not touching that.”

“Okay, fine. How about some spit then?”

“Yeah, that might do.”

My entire body breathed a sigh of relief which, given the size of me, was a pretty big breath. She put the knife back, and I made my way over to her slowly—not convinced she wasn’t going to Sweeney Todd on me again.

She held out the bowl. “Spit.”

I wasn’t sure if my body was capable of spitting, but I leaned over and gave it a shot. Something slid up my throat, and I watched a blob of yellow land in her bowl.

It was moving. Gross.

It continued to vacillate as it interacted with the mixture, sprawling this way and that like it was having a seizure.

“Yuck,” Sam said, holding the bowl as far away from her as possible. She returned it to the counter as the timer went off. Facing the oven, she grabbed a mitt that said “Kiss me, I’m Wiccan,” pulled open the oven door and grabbed hold of the cookie sheet, placing them on the counter.

My stomach growled, sounding like an angry wolf, and unable to stop myself, I lumbered toward the cookies. I grabbed the sheet, not feeling the heat of the tin on my webbed hand. Sam watched me, her mouth hanging open as I lifted the sheet of cookies and emptied every last one into my mouth, swallowing them whole.

Sam’s brows furrowed with anger, giving her normally angelic face a little attitude. “I was saving those to bring to work on Monday, thank you very much!”

Sam didn’t wear angry well. She was too pretty—dark brown shoulder length hair, perfect skin, perfect teeth, and big brown eyes.

“Come on, Sam,” I pleaded, my mouth brimming with gooey chocolate. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t even like sweets.”

Something slimy and pink escaped my mouth and ran itself over my lips. It took me a second to realize it was my tongue. Rather than curling back into my mouth, it hesitated on my lip as I focused on a stray chocolate chip lounging against the counter. Instantly, my tongue lurched out and grabbed hold of the chip, recoiling into my mouth like a spent cobra.

Sam quirked a less-than-amused brow and ran her palms down her paisley apron, as though composing herself. I have to count to ten, twenty sometimes. Otherwise, my temper is an ugly son of a bitch.

“Besides, none of the guys at work deserve them anyway.” I knew because I worked with Sam.

She appeared to be in the process of forgiving me, a slight smile playing with the ends of her lips. I turned to the potion sitting in the bowl. The yellow ball of spit was still shivering. I nearly gagged when Sam stabbed it with the whisk and continued stirring.

I peered over her shoulder and watched the potion change colors—going from a pale brown to red then deepening into flame orange. “What’s it doing?”

Sam nodded as if she were watching a movie, knew the ending, and was just dying to tell someone what happens. “Ah, of course, I should’ve known. The little devil put a
Hemmen
on you.”

“A what?”

“It’s a short-term shape-shifting charm. You’ll be back to normal in about five hours or so.”

“Five hours? Look at me! Can’t you get rid of it sooner?”

Sam shook her head. “Would take lots of herbs and potions I don’t have. I’d probably have to get them at Fabian’s.” She laughed. “How ironic is that? Just hang tight. It’ll go away, I promise.”

It figures the little bastard would’ve put a short-term spell on me. Currently, there weren’t any laws against turning someone into a hideous creature if it would wear off after a day. And even if he had turned me into this creature long term, he’d probably only get a slap on the wrists. The Netherworld wasn’t exactly good with doling out punishments.

I was working on making it better.

“You’re sure?” I asked.

She nodded. “One hundred percent. Let’s just watch a couple movies to keep your mind off it.”

She hurried to her entertainment center and scanned through the numerous titles, using her index finger to guide her. “Dirty Dancing? Bridget Jones?”

“The first or second Bridget?”

“I have both,” she said with a triumphant smile.

“I like the first one better.”

With a nod of agreement, Sam pulled the DVD out and gingerly placed it into the player.

I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself. I couldn’t fit on her couch, and with my slime ball still suspended on the wall, sitting was out.

Sam pointed a finger in my general direction. “How did Fabian catch you unaware enough to change you into … that?”

I sighed—which came out as a grunt.

“Well?” she asked while skipping into the kitchen to microwave a packet of popcorn. 

I couldn’t quite meet her eyes and, instead, focused on drawing slimy lines on her counter top with one of my eight index fingers.

This was the part of the story I was least excited about. Fabian never should’ve caught me with my guard down. I’m a fairy. We’re renowned for being extremely quick, and we’ve got more magic in our little finger … well, you get it.

“My back was to him,” I mumbled. “I know, I know … super dumb.”

Sam’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “That doesn’t sound like you at all, Dulce. Why was your back to him?”

If I wasn’t excited about that last part of the story, this part excited me even less. “There was someone in his shop—a guy I’ve never seen before.”

Sam laughed and quirked a knowing brow.
“So let me make sure I’ve got this right.”

She plopped her hands on her hips and paused for a good three seconds. Maybe she was getting me back for the cookies. “You, one of the strongest fairies around, turned your back on a known dark arts practitioner because he had a hot guy in his store?”

“No, it wasn’t that at all. I’d never seen him before, and I couldn’t figure out what he was.”

As a fairy, I have the innate ability to decipher a creature as soon as I see one. I can tell a warlock from a vampire from a gorgon in seconds. I don’t get paid the big bucks for nothing.

Sam’s face took on a definite look of surprise, her eyes wide, her lips twitching. “You couldn’t tell what he was? Wow, that’s a first.”

I nodded my bulbous head.
“Exactly. And if he’s here permanently, he never checked in with me or Headquarters.”

Any new creature who hoped to settle in Splendor, California, needed to contact Headquarters, otherwise known as the A.N.C (Association for Netherworld Creatures). And more pointedly, they had to register with me. This new stranger had done neither. Maybe he’d gotten lost when coming over. It wasn’t rare for a creature to come through the passage from the Netherworld to Earth and somehow get lost along the way. You’ll find the directionally challenged everywhere.

“Maybe you should talk to Bram,” Sam said. “He always seems to know what’s going on.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Bram was a vampire (I know, how cliché …) who ran a nightclub called No Regrets. No Regrets was in the middle of the city and was the biggest hangout for creatures of the Netherworld. If something was going down, Bram was always among the first to know.

“Yeah, not a bad idea,” I said.

First things first, I’d pay a visit to Fabian and let him know how much I didn’t appreciate his little prank. Then, if he couldn’t give me any info on his strange visitor, I’d try Bram. My third choice was Dagan, a demon who ran an S&M club called Payne that wasn’t far from No Regrets. Dagan was always my last resort—I hated going to Payne. I’d seen things there that had scarred me for life.