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  Esprit de Corpse

  ( The Reluctant Reaper - 3 )

  Gina X. Grant

  In the third hilarious installment of The Reluctant Reaper series, Kirsty d’Arc’s first Reaper mission gets personal when her evil ex-boss escapes from Hell and physically possesses Shannon, Kirsty’s BFF. To reunite rightful body and soul, Kirsty must outwit a demented demon, fend off an insane strangler, and bend the very rules of Hell and Earth.Kirsty may be a full-fledged Reaper with a scythe of her own, but Dante is still miffed that she broke the Reaper rules to take down her evil ex-boss, Conrad. And Dante is not above saying “I told you so” when Conrad develops strange demonic powers and escapes to the Mortal Coil. Although barely speaking, Kirsty and Dante are sent on Kirsty’s first Reaper mission: bring Conrad back alive…er…dead…er…Just bring him back to Hell.

  But before they can re-scythe him, Conrad evicts his own daughter’s soul to take over her body. Yes, he’s not a good person. So it’s up to two good people (who are, ironically, from Hell) to fix this. But can Kirsty and Dante put their differences aside in time to take down Conrad and save his daughter?

  Esprit de Corpse

  The Reluctant Reaper 3

  by

  Gina X. Grant

  Prologue:

  Previously in The Reluctant Reaper Series . . .

  “C’MON, BABY.”

  I don’t know how many times my hellphone played the Reaper Corps theme song as I struggled up from the deepest, darkest depths of REM sleep.

  “Baby, take my ha—”

  I’d been sleeping the sleep of the dead, of course. How else would I sleep? Finally I surfaced into consciousness.

  “’Lo?” I answered, silencing Blue Oyster Cult midlyric.

  “Kirsty? You’d better get down here right away.” Kali’s voice crackled from the tiny speaker, sounding as distressed as I’d ever heard her. I half sat up, rubbing crusty dried gunk from my eyes, the corner of my mouth and . . . never mind. Despite having no psychic abilities at all, I clearly foresaw a shower in my future.

  “Down where?”

  “To Hell’s Cells.”

  I thumped the heel of my hand against my forehead trying to dispel some of the got-some brain fog. I had a memory once, I just forgot where I put it.

  A recent memory floated within reach. I grasped for it, almost had it . . . Ahhh. Now I remembered. Dante’s friend Monroe had told us the holding facility where he worked needed an extra pair of hands. And Kali was nothing if not handy. She had six of ’em, after all.

  Obviously she’d landed the job. Only Reapers need apply.

  “So what’s up?” I asked. Dante rolled over and opened his eyes. I held a finger to his lips to keep him from speaking. He kissed my finger softly and my insides melted. No, not literally.

  “What? I missed that, Kali. Say again, please.”

  “I said, something weird is going on with that soul you brought in. That Conrad guy. You didn’t use another Reaper’s scythe on him, did you? Because if you did, I think we’ve finally figured out what happens when you do.”

  As Kali described the scene in the cells, all the blood drained from my face. My stomach flip-flopped and my heart clenched.

  “Oh, skeg!”

  Chapter 1

  Blame on You!

  I BRIEFED DANTE on Kali’s conversation. Anger radiated off the sharp set of his shoulders. “You should not have touched my scythe!” he lectured, shaking his finger at me.

  I bit my lip, knowing he was right, but really not wanting to hear it. Especially not when accompanied by patronizing hand gestures.

  “So,” I continued, reluctant to have this conversation, “we need to get down there, right?”

  He didn’t respond to that or anything else I said while we got dressed. And that hurt. If I happened to sniffle a little, it was just allergies.

  I’m allergic to rejection.

  We went from naked to ready in under five minutes. Dante left our cold, cold bedroom without waiting for me. Somehow, whenever he was mad at me, I felt all shivery and cold inside.

  I ran after him, just in time to see him present my aunt Carey and her afterlife partner, Leslie, with a key to the apartment along with brief instructions to make themselves at home. He fastened his scythe through his jeans belt loop and draped his Reaper robe over one arm. “Andiamo,” he called over his shoulder.

  I knew now that andiamo meant “Let’s go,” as opposed to ti amo, which meant, “I love you.” The universal translator didn’t always work perfectly and that led to the occasional misunderstanding. I wished now was one of them. But sadly, I understood exactly what he wasn’t saying: that I’d screwed up.

  I said goodbye to my aunt and Leslie (grabbing a couple of Leslie’s awesome cranberry muffins), and gathered my own robe from its hook near the door. “Good luck with your meeting today. I hope you figure out a way to pay down your karmic debt and buy that Oracle Deli franchise.”

  I caught up with Dante outside the apartment. He faced away from me, looking out over the city. His back radiated disapproval like a neon sign flashing, Told you so. Told you so. Told you so. I was torn between begging his forgiveness and kicking his backside. I decided on a wait-and-see strategy instead. Maybe I could get out of this with my dignity—or my relationship—intact.

  Probably not both.

  In a smackdown between Dante and dignity, Dante would win every time. I already had a bit of a history of begging with him, usually in bed.

  I bit my lip as he yanked his scythe from his belt loop and activated it, sending two beams of black light in opposite directions, the top one curving outward into a vicious blade. I took a moment out of my pissy-fit to admire it. Watching a Reaper activate their scythe never gets old.

  Since Lucy had withheld my scythe at my graduation ceremony, I didn’t have one yet. Can you miss something you’ve never had? I patted my thigh where my scythe would one day rest. I hoped that one day would be today. I’d worked so hard for the skeggin’ thing.

  Where once Dante would have clasped my hand in his, now he wrapped his cold fingers around my wrist, keeping the contact to a minimum. Without so much as an I Dream of Jeannie head-bob, we whoosh-bammed to the Cells. This was the first time I’d ever been teleported on a scythe—it hadn’t worked properly when my body had been stuck in a coma on the Mortal Coil. Now that I was experiencing it, I wished it was more instantaneous and less like a roller-coaster ride on acid. In fact, it was exactly the way they showed wormhole travel on Stargate. Must be more of that bleed-through effect. My stomach flip-flopped. Cranberry muffin redux and reflux rose in the back of my throat.

  We materialized at the prison’s massive front door. I’d been here once before on a Reaper Academy field trip. The building was long and low, a single story constructed of dark red brick being slowly strangled by centuries of nightmare-inducing vines. The front door perched in the middle, with wings shooting off to either side. Building-type wings, as opposed to the bat-like kind. On my previous visit, moaning, arguing and complaining had been audible even from outside. Sergeant Schotz had explained that was normal, so the fact that we could hear nothing this morning made me even more anxious.

  Dante dragged open one of the big, double doors. I followed him in and down the long, spooky hallway lined with dungeon-like prison cells on either side. Sullen prisoners, angry prisoners and despairing prisoners all rushed to the bars, glaring, staring and way oversharing reasons why they should be released. I kept my eyes on the ground.

  How must Dante feel knowing that he’d brought in some of these unhappy souls?

  We reached the very last cell, Conrad’s. Monroe and Kali stood outside the bars, watching. Kali wore a horrified look, while Monroe, who’d
worked here for decades, looked grim.

  “What is the situation?” Dante asked, stepping up to Monroe.

  “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.

  “You can relax a little bit, Kirsty,” my Reaper—or possibly ex-boyfriend—said. “I believe you are right about Conrad Iver’s intentions. He will return to the Coil. While Reapers can teleport directly to the Coil, Conrad must take the long route.”

  That made sense. Only select beings can teleport. I remembered Judge Julius whoosh-bamming out of the courtroom after denying my appeal, using his gavel the way we used our scythes. Or would if I had one.

  Conrad would have to find his way up the slippery slope, past the gee-gnomes, and through the void. That could take a few hours.

  May
be we’d get lucky and he’d get stung by a gee-gnome, although it appeared likely his DNA had already been altered. Better the known evil, I thought. Who knew what a second hellish transformation would do to him?

  I was just beginning to relax a bit—if by relax I meant fidgeting, jittering and worrying—when my old classmates Tiffany and Crystal stomped in, snakeskin cowboy boots clunking noisily on the old stone floor. They were about to retake the first half of the Reaper studies program after failing the oral exam. They grinned at me, staring blatantly at my scytheless hip.

  “Oh, Kirsty. Have you been, like, de-sensei-scythed already?” Crystal’s heavily mascara’d eyes grew wide.

  “Have I been what?”

  “It’s like, you know,” Crystal began. “It’s when, like, someone very old and very wise takes away your scythe so you can’t reap anyone.”

  “Or, like, cut yourself,” Tiffany added, shaking her dyed blond bangs into her eyes.

  I couldn’t imagine what my friend Amber had seen in these two. The three women had been joined at the hipster when I’d first met them, but now Amber was dating Ira the fallen angel and it didn’t look like the Death Valley girls would ride again anytime soon.

  “No, I never got my scythe. Weren’t you at the graduation ceremony?”

  They both shook their heads, straw-like hair swirling with the motion. I half expected chaff to separate and float down. Or possibly dandruff. Dyeing was so hard on the hair.

  Also? Dying.

  So, they hadn’t come to support Amber when she’d graduated just because they’d both flunked out. And they’d sworn to be friends for afterlife. No wonder Amber was done with them.

  “Oh, that’s right. We heard Lucy Phurr, like, refused to give it to you. ’Cause you were still alive on the Coil.”

  If Crystal started back in on the coma-toes thing, so help me, I’d grab Dante’s scythe—again—and reap her where she stood. I had no idea what would happen if I did. We’d only studied what happens when you reap a human whose time is up on the Coil. I was beginning to think my Reaper education was still rather sketchy, despite the semester of in-class work and the semester of fieldwork. I guess they expected us to learn on the job, which I would love to do if only my mentor were speaking to me.