The Fate

By: Stephanie Erickson

The Fate is in your hands, dear reader.

1.

The thread of life is a delicate thing. It is so easily broken. The Spinner must choose carefully when he plucks his materials from the dust, literally creating life from nothing. — Liv, Section 4, Paragraph 1: On Spinners

I stare into the darkness, searching for just the right bit of light. My orders come from higher up, so I already know who this man needs to be—calm, assertive, stern exterior with a soft interior. He’ll make a good military man. All I have to do is get him started. The girls will help shape his life, and then we’ll turn him loose on the world.

Finally, I see what I need. When I reach into the black cauldron, the silver mass clings to my hand as if I’ve just dipped it in cotton candy. I take it from the stone hearth over to the wheel, hook it onto the machine with the skill that comes from centuries of practice, and sit down to spin the man’s life. When I’m finished, I pull the thread off the machine, a delicate silver line of light, and hand it to Horatia.

She smiles, carefully taking the thread from me and over to her desk. Desk is a loose term. It’s more of a workbench really. Four wooden posts and a thick slab of wood make it look like an oversized cutting board. Our workspace is probably the most primitive in heaven, but it suits us. We’re simple souls.

Horatia’s straight, black hair tumbles down around her shoulders as she tips her head to the right, watching the light play against the thread, trying to decide how long it will take the man to fulfill his fate. I watch her, wondering how she always knows just where to cut.

“Don’t sneeze,” I call out, shattering our silent workspace. Galenia dissolves into laughter, but Horatia gives me a hot look that would melt steel.

Sheepishly, I smile and shrug, and Galenia composes herself in an admirable way.

Horatia goes back to the task at hand, and before long, her smile reappears as she brings her shears up and makes a clean slice in the thread, giving the man a nice, long life. I like the long ones. She hands the perfectly cut thread to the last of us, Galenia. She has the hardest job of all three of us.

Galenia’s spot really does look like a desk. Whereas my other sister likes to stand as she works, Galenia prefers to sit, so her work surface is a bit shorter… A single candle sits in an ancient-looking brass candleholder with a looped handle just to her right, so she can easily reach it. To her left, she has a myriad of tools for fraying, cutting, burning, and otherwise damaging the ends of the carefully woven threads.

Galenia’s brown hair falls in waves, and she tucks some of it behind her ears as she studies the man from her old, brown leather chair. She already knows what type of man he will be, what his life has in store for him, and how long he will live. Her job is to determine how he will die. She is a remarkably sweet woman, despite the fact that she constantly comes up with creative new ways for humans to die—from diseases to accidents. Needless to say, she’s good at her job. But this man doesn’t need a lot of fanfare. He will get to die old, surrounded by his family, in his bed. She holds the end of his thread over a candle, searing it so it won’t fray, and that is that.

Another life complete.

I breathe a sigh of relief. We create so many different people that the normal ones are always a bit of a respite.

Webber’s job is next, and he waits just outside our door to complete it. Galenia hands the delicate thread to him, and the three of us watch as he carries it to the tapestry. He effortlessly weaves the new life into the fabric, until we can’t tell where one stops and another begins.

He stands back, admiring his work, and we Fates do the same. The colors seem random up close, but as we step back, the larger picture becomes more and more apparent. The chaos turns to something beautiful. A never-ending garden landscape spread before us, growing more expansive with each life added.

“Life on Earth really is a beautiful thing,” I say, putting my arms around my two sisters.

“The order comes down for a black thread. And not just any black thread, this one is meant to be the next Hitler. So black is his soul that the people on Earth will not even be able to see past his darkness. You are the Timekeeper. How long do you let him live?” Horatia asks from her seat between Galenia and me on the stark white couch in the common area.

There are lots of ways for heavenly workers to unwind here, but we prefer games. Someone plays a soft melody on the piano in the corner, while a few Keepers read on the other side of the room. Still others are mingling around, talking softly about the day’s work.

Immediately, I know how I would answer. I’d snip that man’s life so short that he’d never survive past infancy. His parents’ pain would be a small sacrifice for protecting the rest of the world. It isn’t my turn, though. We often play this game after hours—even the Fates need a break, after all—but Reapers usually never have the downtime to join us. Still, here Michaela sits, reclining rather calmly in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table, and we all hold our breath as we await her response.

She is a vision of a woman, and a typical angel. Long, blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a sparkling smile to match. She has the ability to set a soul at ease with a simple glance. As a Reaper, she has a different understanding of humanity than we Fates do, which makes her an unpredictable addition to our game. Our decisions are made in the comfort of our workroom, but Michaela understands the consequences of those decisions in a very real way. She’s walked the Earth; she knows what it’s like to take a child from a parent’s arms. She also knows what it’s like to usher a soul through the gates of hell.

I hold my breath as I wait for her answer. She narrows her eyes, chewing her bottom lip as she considers. “That sounds like a rock and a hard-place scenario if I’ve ever heard one.” Even her voice is angelic, as if the heavens are singing when she speaks.

Webber snorts. “What’s the big deal? Black threads are the most fun.” He examines his fingernails as he sits with one leg crossed over the other in his own armchair to Michaela’s left.

I bristle as Webber reminds me of one of the many reasons I just don’t care for him.

Before I can respond, Michaela turns her head and looks at Webber curiously, without a shred of judgment in her eyes. “Why?”

“Because they add contrast to the tapestry. All light colors would make it dull. The dark brings balance.”

“So you don’t think the world could ever be perfect? At peace?” she asks.

“The world is perfect,” Webber answers simply.

Michaela smiles at his answer. I know light can only exist if there’s darkness; otherwise, it would be impossible for us to discern either one of them. Still, I don’t like Webber’s know-it-all response. And I think there’s more darkness in the world than there needs to be for humans to see the light. I’d like to think they’re smarter than that.

Webber grins slyly at me, as if gloating about his victory. Wishing my deep blue eyes could turn him to ice, I stare at him and rub my constant five o’clock shadow of a beard.

“Fine then, Webber,” I say. “You think you’ve won the round. You ask the next question.”

But Galenia, ever the peacemaker, speaks up, her soft voice cutting through the building tension. “You know that’s not how the game works, Penn. It’s Michaela’s turn.”

However, Michaela stares off into the distance with a blank expression on her face, and we all sigh at once, knowing the excitement of the game is over. She’s getting another assignment.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go. Duty calls.”

“Some day, you’ll have to finish a round with us, Michaela,” I say.

“I look forward to it,” she says, smiling at me over her shoulder as she walks away, her black-and-white gown flowing behind her.

“I love it when she plays with us,” Horatia says with a sigh.

“It certainly brings another perspective into the game,” Galenia adds.

“It’s not much of a game with just the Fates. I’ll go see if I can find someone else to play with us,” Webber says as he stands up.

“Nah, that’s all right. If it’s all the same to you, I’m done for now,” I say, uninterested in spending any more time with Webber.

“Past your bedtime?” Webber asks.

“I’ve had my allotment of time with you, if that’s what you mean,” I say. I know it’s rude, but I can’t help it. He just rubs me the wrong way. Always has.

“Penn,” Galenia scolds, and I can’t help but shrink away from her, feeling like I just got my ears boxed.

“No, that’s all right. He’s just cranky because he knows I’d be better at his job than he is.” A hush falls over the group. Webber is always jockeying for my job, just waiting for me to make a mistake. It feels like a constant battle.

Originally created by God to maintain Earth’s birthrate, the first three Fates, and the many that followed, were all women. I’m the first male Fate. Ever. I didn’t even start out as a Weaver like some Fates do to get their feet in the door. I was groomed all along to be a Spinner, as if God had hoped to purposely shake things up a bit by adding me to the mix. But others didn’t see it that way. I was an outsider, a threat. Because of that perception, I’ve needed to prove myself over and over again.

Though no one outright says it, men are thought to be ill-equipped for our line of work, which requires compassion and motherly instincts—qualities more commonly attributed to women. But, much to Webber’s chagrin, I’m awesome at my job. Many centuries have passed on Earth during my tenure. Webber’s been waiting for almost as long to take it from me, but there are only three Fates at any one time, so he will just have to keep waiting.

I stand, stretch, and scratch my head, rumpling my already-messy mop of blond curls. “I guess we’ll never find out, will we?”

“Never say never,” Webber says to my back as I walk away. I try to let it just roll off, like water off a duck, but I fail… again. Just who does Webber think he is?

Here I am, one of the best Spinners in the history of the Fates, with no plans of leaving my post, but Webber keeps going at me. He can’t get it through his thick head that I’m around to stay. Fates don’t have a forced retirement age. We stay as long as we are useful, and not a moment more.

Horatia catches up to me just as I’m rounding the corner to my quarters. “Hey, don’t let him bother you. He’s just a Weaver.”

“I don’t hate him because he’s a Weaver, Horatia. I hate him because he’s always trying to edge me out of my job.” I sigh. “He’s actually a pretty good Weaver. He’d probably be a good Spinner, though don’t tell him I said so.”

“How did you start out again?” Horatia asks as we continue on down the dark hall. The walls are painted black, and the sky shines through the ceiling, displaying the glowing, shimmering galaxies that make up the heavens. The floor is dimly lit to prevent us from tripping, but we don’t really need that feature. We’ve made the journey enough times to do it with our eyes closed.

“I got lucky. The sister whose place I took was ready to go. Fia, that was her name.” The memory of her tickles the back of my mind. “I started spending time here before I was old enough to officially start working. I just couldn’t keep myself away. My fingers itched to spin. Fia said I had a rare gift, so she never kicked me out. I think the other two hoped she would. I heard one of them say the creation process wasn’t a spectator sport. Fia would just hush the naysayers with a wave of her arm. She’s the one who taught me how to spin.” I chuckle. “This one time, she told me sometimes you need a son of a bitch to spice things up a little. At the time, it shocked me, but now I know exactly what she means.”

“So is Webber adding some spice to your life?” Horatia asks as we arrive at my quarters.

“I suppose so.” I mean for it to come out lighthearted, but I say it through my teeth, making it sound like I begrudge the comment. Maybe I do.

“Whatever happened to Fia?”

“You know, I’m not sure. Once I took her post, she stopped by once or twice to see how I was doing. But I didn’t see her again after that. She never talked about what she was planning to do.” I shift my weight as Horatia leans against my doorway. I don’t like not knowing what happened to my mentor. I’ve just been so busy and committed to the job that it never occurred to me to wonder. She helped me get my start. Because of her, I didn’t have to fumble through my first few weeks on the job. I already knew what I was doing. How could I not know what happened to her? Why hadn’t I tried harder to stay in touch?

“What happened to the one you replaced?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I never even met her actually. You would’ve known her better than I did.” Horatia’s black hair bounces as she shrugs her shoulders.

I think back. Fia’s sisters hadn’t accepted me before I became a Fate. So once I was one of them, they isolated me further. I think it was mostly because I was male, but they never would’ve admitted that. So I kept to myself until Galenia came on board.

“In those early days, I stayed focused on my work, so I didn’t talk much to the other two. They left not long after Fia did, anyway. I mean, Galenia took up her post only a few decades after I started mine. You weren’t far behind.”

I can’t help but wonder what happened to them—what will happen to me once Webber finally succeeds in taking my place.

Horatia must notice the expression on my face, because she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re enjoying their retirement by now.”

I nod, hoping she’s right. Maybe I’ll go see a Keeper tomorrow, find out what happened to them. Keepers hold the answers to all the questions in the universe, although they don’t often share those answers. It might still be worth asking. Perhaps knowing that someone knows will be enough, even if I don’t get exact details.

“Good night, Penn. I’ll see you in the morning,” Horatia says, adjourning to her own quarters.

“Night, Ratia.” I walk to the end of my room and stare out at the heavens around me. A riot of stars, darkness, and light play against the canvas in front of me. After our conversation, I can’t help but wonder—what is the fate of the Fates?

2.

In the morning, I try to put my dark thoughts behind me. I stride to our workstation without allowing myself to be distracted by Webber, who leans against the wall of the weaving room, chewing a piece of straw.

I have purpose. I come, I spin life, and together, we populate the Earth. There isn’t anything beyond that. There doesn’t need to be.

“Ladies,” I say as I walk into our room.

They smile and nod at me from their stations, ready to work. I walk over to the far wall, next to the cauldron, and take the first order of the day. Each new order appears after a completed one has been placed on the spike. Each spiked order disappears while we’re making the new one. I’ve tried to catch the exact moment they disintegrate, but I’ve never been successful. I’m always too busy spinning.

This life will be an artist to balance the overly logical world. Creative, loving, and free spirited—that’s what the world needs. Their fate is up to you.

—G

“Why does He sign the orders ‘G’? Is He trying to be cool?” I ask as I approach the cauldron with the slip of paper. “Like, hey, G-money, what’s going on?”

Galenia giggles. “I don’t know. Maybe He doesn’t have time to write the last two letters?”

“Hasn’t He always done that?” Horatia asks.

“As long as I can remember,” I answer.

“So why question it now?”

I peer into the dark cauldron. “I seem to be full of questions lately.”

It takes some time to find the right materials. I lose track of how long I stand there, staring into the pot, waiting for what I need. Some days, it comes easily, and we can do hundreds of thousands of lives, keeping up with the growing demand of the expanding population of Earth. As I stare into the darkness, I realize today is not going to be one of those days.

The girls know better than to push me. I have earned my reputation as one of the best Spinners in history for a reason. I know what I’m doing, and so they wait patiently—Horatia sharpening her blades, and Galenia staring off into the distance, clearly daydreaming. She does this so frequently that someone who didn’t know better would think she’s spacey. I often wonder what she daydreams about. Even though she’s the one who decides how the lives we create will end, I know she’s too sweet to be dreaming of death.

I smile to myself as I watch her vacant expression. When I look back into the cauldron, the life is there. I reach in and pull out everything I need to create her, a pink mass of glittering wonder. As I turn her over in my hands, she shines iridescently against the low light of our room. Even Horatia gasps at the sight of her.

I carefully attach her to the wheel and begin my work. An actor, that’s what she will be. And a singer, with the most beautiful voice the world has ever heard. This strand I’m creating speaks to my heart in a way I’ve never experienced. She will work on Broadway. She will make it big. Her life will be perfect in every way possible.

To my disbelief, I start to see her in my mind’s eye. Normally, I never get a detailed picture of the people I create—I only know the basics of who they are and what they are meant to do. Their appearance is irrelevant. But this one shows herself to me. Her green, almond-shaped eyes look at me as if they truly see me. Her brown hair with natural blonde highlights will make her stand out among any crowd, as will her full, pouty lips—ones that I could kiss forever.

I shake myself as I spin her thread. I can’t kiss a human. Fates and humans don’t interact. Ever. Fates live in the heavens, and humans live on Earth. That is that. Without watching the humans we create, we wouldn’t know how to equip them for their lives, but we never interact. It shakes me to feel this desire for a human, particularly since I’ve never felt this way about anyone ever. Attraction is a foreign concept for most heavenly souls. It’s a very human emotion, and it’s just not something that tends to happen to us. Feeling it now throws me off in a big way.

I fight the urge to sit back and analyze what it means. If I don’t finish, her life will be incomplete, and I can’t let that happen. Not to her. Taking a deep breath, I double down to complete her thread, knowing I’ve given her the best life I’ve ever bestowed upon any human. She will not know the dark side of fame. She won’t struggle with addiction, won’t be cheated on, or get a divorce. Her children won’t die before her. Her life will truly be charmed.

As I hand her thread to Horatia, I know she won’t cut it short. It’s too lovely a thread. And, indeed, she does the life justice, leaving it one of the longest threads I’ve ever seen.

Once she’s done, she hands it to Galenia, who gives it an almost wistful look. “My job seems pointless, doesn’t it? Her life is so beautiful. It doesn’t matter how it ends, because she will have lived.”

My throat closes as tears well in my eyes. I’m caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught of emotion. I cough to try and clear my head, then stand up a little straighter to watch Galenia work. The woman will die softly, passing into the night in her sleep. A perfect ending to a perfect life.

A collective sigh escapes us when Galenia is done, leaving the tip of the thread perfectly rounded, not scorched or frayed at all like some.

“Magnificent.” We’re all starting so intently at the string that I don’t even register which one of us said it.

Carefully, Galenia carries it to Webber, and the three of us watch him weave the new life into the tapestry. He’s a skillful Weaver, but no matter what he does, she stands out against all the other threads, shining more brightly than the rest. But Webber doesn’t seem to mind.

“Some people just don’t fit in,” he says as he stands back. “And look what a sparkling beauty she is. Well done, guys.”

I shake Webber’s hand at the genuine compliment. He may be gunning for my position, but he’s not above appreciating a job well done. I can respect that.

“Now, when I start spinning, these little sparklers won’t be such a rarity, I think,” Webber says, shattering the moment.

My hand halts mid-shake. “But I thought you preferred the black souls.” My voice is dark and low as I struggle to hold back the malice I feel toward Webber.

“I can appreciate all the threads on some level.” The smug grin stays plastered on his face, making me bristle even more.

Horatia sighs. “Come on, Penn. There’s more work to be done.” She pulls at my shoulder, and I reluctantly break my stare-off with Webber to follow her back to our workroom.

“Why do you antagonize him like that?” Galenia, who’s stayed behind, whispers to Webber. It’s obvious she’s trying to keep their conversation private, but I can hear every word.

“I’m only telling him the truth,” Webber answers.

Galenia loudly sighs. “The very fact you believe that tells me, and everyone else, who is actually right for the job.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I look over my shoulder to gauge his reaction. Webber is standing up a little straighter as she walks away, and I can tell he has totally missed her meaning.

As we return to our stations, I can tell I’m not the only one having trouble moving past the pink thread. “I don’t think I will ever top that,” I say as I stare into the cauldron, watching the darkness swirl in a pot I never stir.

“No, probably not. But is that really what this is about? One life being better than another?” Galenia asks. I only realize she’s behind me when she puts a soothing hand on my shoulder.

Horatia smiles broadly at me, indicating she agrees with our sister.

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” I say as I stare at the order lying on a table next to my spinning wheel. I have to spike it. But once I do, she’s gone. It’s a surprisingly difficult task for me, and I’m not sure I fully understand why.

With the other two watching me, I try not to look too stilted as I walk over to the spike on the wall by the hearth. I read her order one last time, savoring the words, remembering who she is. After, I stab it through, pushing it all the way down to the bottom of the spike.

The next order appears in its place on my table, and as I grab it, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve peaked. I’ve reached the top of the mountain, and it will all be downhill from here.

Downhill means easier, right? I think, trying to comfort myself as I read the next order.

Logical and even tempered, but also kind and compassionate.

—G

“This one’s a short order. And it’s another kind one. We’re due for a doozy of a black thread soon. But until then, let’s have some fun,” I say as I set the order aside and peer into the darkness. I try to think of when we prepared our last truly black thread. We’ve had plenty of greys lately—souls capable of choosing either good or evil. The last truly black one was a while ago. In fact, enough time has passed that the man must be well into old age by now, if he’s even still alive. He’s probably incarcerated for his crimes, murdered by someone else, or in hiding. I don’t remember how long his thread was. I try not to dwell on the black ones.

As I set the order down next to the wheel, I decide who this man will be. He will be for her. He will match her every step, her every need, and her every whim. He will balance her. Smiling, I put my hand into the cauldron and pull a blue lump of life out of the pot. It’s not as special as the last one, but it will do.

The woman’s eyes haunt me as I spin her true love’s thread. That’s probably for the best. Because she is so vividly in my mind as I create her match, their souls will connect on a deeper level.

When we’re done with him, Webber skillfully finds his place, complementing our sparkler nicely.

As the day wears on, she continues to haunt me, and I find myself struggling to focus. We close out the day with an all-time low of threads produced.

We all know why, but no one says a word about it. In fact, we each go our separate ways when we’re done, instead of adjourning to the common area for a game or some general relaxation like we normally do. Walking in silence to our quarters, we separate. We don’t even say goodnight to each other.

As I shut my door behind me, I wonder how we will move on from her, how I will move on. The girls don’t seem as affected by her as I am. They’re obviously moved, but they did their jobs with little hesitation for the rest of our shift. But me… I find myself wondering what the point is now that someone so perfect has been created.

My room is pretty simplistic. I have everything I need, plus one or two things I don’t. Immortals have no need for sleep, so I don’t have a bed like the humans on Earth do. Instead, I have a very comfortable couch, which sits opposite a grand bookshelf filled with both heavenly and earthy writings, and my bathroom is next to that. The room is decorated in a stark white, causing the darkness of the night sky to stand out even more.

I settle down on the couch and stare up at the heavens. A meteor streaks across the ceiling, hurrying off to who knows where. As I watch it disappear into the darkness, I wonder if I just need some closure.

Getting up, I leave my room and pad across the hall, heading back toward our workroom. Only a few souls are still milling around, mostly Healers making their way to the common area, I assume.

Instead of going straight into the workroom, I head to the Weaver’s room. My eyes automatically find her in the tapestry.

As I stand there, I watch her placed in her mother’s arms for the very first time. Her parents know she is special. Kismet, they name her. It suits her. I watch the first few days of her life before returning to my room.

Time passes differently in the heavens than it does on Earth. It takes a year on Earth for a week to pass in the heavens. I find myself drawn to the weaving room each night to watch her grow. I know I’m not supposed to fixate on a single human this way. We’re supposed to watch a variety of people, get a feel for their environment and the challenges they face. But I can’t keep my eyes off her.

Galenia catches me in there a few times, but she says nothing judgmental. She even asks me how our little sparkler is doing, and I can tell she’s genuinely curious.

The more I watch Kismet, the more my production suffers. I just can’t seem to achieve the same volume of threads I once could. What’s worse, I’m having trouble seeing the point. My heart is with Kismet.

I watch her for nearly six months, twenty-four years on Earth. She excels at almost everything, though that’s not to say it’s all easy for her. Where most would give up, she continues to struggle, refusing to entertain a single shred of doubt that she will achieve what she wants.

I remain glued to her life, watching as she moves to New York despite her parents’ wishes. But their worries are unfounded. She blossoms, booking acting jobs while attending school on a nearly full scholarship. Somehow, through it all, she remains humble. Although she works hard, she will never experience real hardships or financial struggle. I did that on purpose, because I didn’t want such a perfect creature to experience those things. I wanted her to shine, and shine she will.

Webber finds me standing there one morning, fixated on Kismet’s thread.

“You’re in here pretty early, Penn,” he says.

“What time is it?” I ask, struggling to get my bearings. I let myself get carried away the night before.

“Time to start work, man. Get it together.” He looks from me to the tapestry, then back again, and a wicked smile spreads across his face. “You were here for her again, weren’t you?”

My eyes find her on their own accord. I stare at her, although I don’t see her life anymore; all I see is her sparkling thread.

Webber laughs. “Oh, this is too perfect. I don’t need to do anything. Just sit back and watch you destroy yourself over some human,” he says.

My breath comes in short bursts as I recognize the truth of his words. Backing away from the tapestry, I head out into the hallway. Turning, I run into our workspace, crashing right into Horatia.

She falls back, knocking her shears off the table as she goes down. Her hands automatically go out to catch her fall, and she lands right on the shears. The super-sharp blades pierce her hand. Although we’re all immortal, that doesn’t mean we don’t bleed when we run scissors through our hands. I rush over to kneel by her side just as Galenia walks into the room. Though she must be shocked by the sight of us—nothing like this has ever happened before in our workroom—her immediate reaction is to gather some cloth and bring it over. Time seems to move in slow motion as we wrap our sister’s hand and take her to the Healers.

We wait outside in the stark white hallway while they work on Horatia. “I guess we won’t spend the day making up for our losses yesterday, huh?” I ask, trying to make a joke, but the concern in my voice kills all hints of humor.

“No, I don’t suppose we will.” She stares thoughtfully down the long corridor of healing rooms. The heavens aren’t particularly hazardous, so a lot of the rooms are actually used for human souls that are anchored somewhere between the heavens and Earth. People on Earth would say they’re in comas. When they’re in the healing rooms, they can rest while the Healers on both sides do their work. Some humans wake up from their comas, some don’t—whether because they don’t want to go back, they’re too far gone, or they don’t understand how to get back.

But it’s rare for a heavenly body to need a Healer’s services.

“What happened, Penn?” Galenia finally asks.

“I bumped into her, and she fell on the shears.”

Galenia eyes me, and I know she knows there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t press me. Instead, she nods and says, “When you’re ready, I’ll hear the rest of it.”

I suck in a breath, and we sit in silence until a Healer comes out and breaks the tension. She’s wiping her hands on a white cloth. It drapes down her front, not fully covering the bloodstain on her shirt. I cringe, knowing I was at fault for my sister’s injury. I have no idea what will happen to me if I can’t get it together, but I have a feeling I don’t want to find out.

“She’ll be fine. Should be totally patched up and ready to work tomorrow. All signs of the injury will be gone by then.” Between the heavens’ phenomenal Healers and an immortal’s divine ability to recover, our sister should be back to normal in a day. On Earth, they’d call it a miracle. In the heavens, we call it necessary. Our work is never over.

Galenia smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Can we see her?”

“Of course.” The Healer smiles comfortingly, as is their way, and ushers us in to see our sister.

Horatia is sitting up on a plush white bed, and her hand is out to the side, wrapped in silvery linens. All traces of blood have been wiped away.

Galenia lets out a sigh, as if she’s been holding her breath since she last saw our fallen sister, and rushes forward to grab Horatia’s good hand and hold it close.

“Jeez, Gale, I’m immortal. It’s not like I was in any real danger,” Horatia says.

“No, I know, but I think we were both worried about your ability to keep working.”

Horatia turns a critical eye on me. “What happened?”

My eyes dart back and forth between the two women—my most-trusted companions, my sisters. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

Horatia and Galenia exchange a long look. “I think that’s the truth of it,” Galenia says, “but whether he’s too blind or scared to see it is up for debate.”

Horatia rolls her eyes. “Penn, we all know how much that girl has gotten to you. She got to all of us back when you created her. But you have to move on. They’re human. They lead their own lives. You know that.”

I can’t help but stare at her injured hand.

“Penn, maybe you should take a vacation,” Galenia suggests. “Explore some of the galaxies, shadow a Reaper, do something else to take your mind off her.”

“I’m sure Webber would be more than happy to fill in,” I say, frowning at the prospect. “All he needs is an opportunity, and I won’t be the one to give it to him.”

“At what cost?” Galenia asks.

“Everything,” I answer as I leave the girls alone in the healing room.

3.

I lock myself inside my room, but I can’t focus. I try reading a book, but it’s as if her face is blocking the page. All I see is her. Her eyes, her face, her lips, her beautiful hair… I shake my head in an effort to clear it.

I need to walk. The halls are buzzing with the day’s activity, but I can’t register what’s going on around me. Instead, I watch my feet as they move me along. I’m not surprised when I find myself in front of the Keepers’ work floor.

I stand there for a moment, considering what to do. Kismet has so consumed me, I nearly forgot about my predecessors’ fate. The Keepers might be able to give me some peace. Perhaps it will give me some closure about where my life is going. But will it be enough to help me get back on track? Resolved, I put my hand on the door. I have to try.

The room opens to shelf upon shelf upon shelf of books. Millions of volumes of information—the whole history of the heavens and the Earth is held within those walls. A half-empty shelf to my left is quickly being filled with new volumes flowing in from Earth—creative works, scientific ones, and chronicles of history. There are apprentices bustling around everywhere, shelving volumes and taking them down. There’s some system of order, but I have no idea what it is. I make my way further into the room, staring up at the staggering height of the shelves as I pass them. I squint, trying to see the top, but it’s too distant, even for eyes as sharp as mine.

Finally, I find myself in front of one of the Keepers. With a long, grey beard, wrinkled skin, gnarled hands, and a hunched back, he’s an old man in appearance, which isn’t unusual for Keepers. They feel like the aged hold more wisdom, and it does take centuries upon centuries to achieve Keeper status. Not all apprentices advance to that point. The elderly appearance, though completely voluntary, is a badge of honor of sorts.

He sits in an oversized leather chair situated between the towering cases. I’m not surprised to see there’s a book in his hands.

“Well, to what do I owe this pleasure, dear Fate?” the Keeper asks in a voice that quavers under the weight of years gone by. He sets the enormous volume on a small table next to his chair, which I’m not entirely convinced can handle the weight of the book.

“I was hoping you could tell me what happened to the Fates who came before me.” I shift my weight, suddenly nervous about what the Keeper may or may not say.

The Keeper narrows his gray eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of Fia the other day, the Spinner I replaced. She was a good friend, and the more centuries that pass, the more I wonder what happened to her.”

“And what will happen to you,” the old man fills in.

I nod. It’s undeniable.

The Keeper sits back, causing his chair to creak in complaint. “My dear boy, you wish for something you don’t even grant to the humans you create.”

I search the man’s face, trying to understand his words.

“You do not allow them to know their fate,” he continues. “What makes you think you can handle yours?”

“Does a Fate even have a fate?”

The old man chuckles, his laughter flooding his whole face with joy, and I can’t help but smile. “We all play a role in God’s plan for this life, even the Fates.”

“But what will become of me when I’m finished playing my role?”

“There’s your mistake. You are never done. Think of Fia. You still remember her and use the techniques she taught you, do you not?”

I nod again.

“Then is she not serving her larger role, even though she no longer works among us?”

“Yes, I suppose she is. But, Keeper, we are immortal. Where did she go? And what is she doing now?”

The Keeper smiles as he tents his hands in front of his face. “She has moved on. Some might say to a better place.”

When I hear his words, I immediately jump to conclusions. “But the very definition of immortal means to live forever. She died? How? When?” I become frantic; he seems to be confirming my worst fears.

“Death is something humans experience. Their bodies age, and eventually stop functioning, but their souls live on, as you well know. I suppose the concept is similar for us. Her soul has moved on from this place. Fia is at peace now. Knowing that, you should be too.”

I take an unconscious step away from the Keeper. Part of me knows I will never experience peace again, not after seeing that girl. Not after discovering that Fia is no more.

Nonetheless, he has helped me. I hold a hand out to him. “Thank you, Keeper. I know your time is very valuable.”

“Perhaps not as valuable as yours, Fate.” The foreboding tone of his voice makes me pause. His eyes seem to slice into me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, still lightly grasping the old man’s hand.

“I mean that your time may be shorter than mine. Be diligent, or you will soon meet your fate, and you may not like it.”

The old man disappears right before my eyes, leaving me with my outstretched hand hanging in midair.

A chill runs down my back, but I do my best to soothe myself of the uneasy feeling. I already know things are spiraling out of control; I don’t need an old man to tell me that. Diligence. How in the heavens am I supposed to be diligent, when I’m so consumed by Kismet?

The Keeper seems to think there will be some pretty dire consequences if I don’t get myself under control. But how? And what if I don’t want to control these feelings that are building up inside me? They’re exhilarating and consuming. What would I give up to stay on this path with her?

As I wander back to my quarters, I have a feeling I will soon find out.

Before I make it back, I run into Michaela.

“Hello there, Penn. How nice to see you on this side of the heavens.” I welcome her warm smile, which helps restore what remains of my shredded nerves.

She must notice the grim look on my face because her expression fades to concern. “Care to walk with me a bit?”

I fall into step beside her, giving her my answer without any words. For a few moments, we don’t speak at all. My mind whirls like the contents of my cauldron as I try to decide how to begin… or if I even want to share my troubles with her. It feels a little like opening Pandora’s Box. Once I admit everything out loud, there will be no going back.

Trying to think of something to lighten the mood, I decide to start a game with her. Given her love for the human world, I pick a song lyric. All she has to do is finish it. “Wise men say,” I venture.

“Only fools rush in.” Michaela ponders for a moment as we walk. We have made our way to the observatory, where many of the immortals like to sit and watch the heavens. It’s a beautiful place filled with stars, planets, and life.

Michaela turns her back to it all to face me. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”

I don’t respond right away. How can I deny it? Of course I have. How could I not? How could every single being—human or heavenly—who either saw her or met her not fall in love with her?

“How did you know?”

“Your sparkler is a real beauty. I’ve even stopped by the Weaving Room to see her.” I can hear the smile in her voice as I watch the heavens. “How’s Horatia?”

“Oh good. You heard about that too,” I say, embarrassed.

“I did.”

“She’ll be ready to work again tomorrow.”

She nods as we go, and then asks, “Why did you fate her for someone else?”

My mouth hangs open, and I know she isn’t talking about Horatia. “Did I have a choice?”

Her smile is soft and a little sad. “There is always a choice. To live your life or waste it. Heaven or hell. To move forward or stand still.”

Shaking my head, I try to understand what she’s saying. I assume moving forward means forgetting Kismet, but if I do that, I’ll be doing what I’ve always done, for as long as I can remember. I will be standing still.

“What—” I start to ask, but she puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles at me.

“I have to go. But before I do, consider this—the humans are beautiful and frightening. They are full of emotions that most of us don’t understand or ever experience. Who wouldn’t be curious about that? Perhaps the first step to moving forward is forgiving yourself.”

Am I really so transparent? With that, she squeezes my shoulder and leaves me alone in the observatory. No doubt she’s received an assignment.

I am a Fate, a heavenly being. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about a human. But I have absolutely no desire to change, which makes me feel even worse. My focus has deviated from my purpose in a big way, making me feel lost—something I’ve never felt in the entirety of my long existence.

As I stare out at the heavens, not really seeing anything, I wonder if I can do what Michaela suggests. I wonder if I can forgive myself.

The following day, I am the last to arrive at our workroom. Thankfully, I’m so late that Webber is already in the weaving room, and I don’t have to deal with him—not yet, anyway. I clear my throat as I walk in through the arch-shaped stone doorway. “Horatia, I’m truly sorry for my carelessness yesterday. It won’t happen again.”

“Penn, it’s all right. I’m fine,” she says as she assesses me. “It’s you we’re worried about.”

“I’m just as fine as you are. Now, let’s get to work,” I say, trying to end the discussion.

I don’t miss the look Horatia and Galenia share, but I let it go. It’s Michaela’s words that won’t leave me in peace. Am I moving forward or standing still? I want to move forward, but I just don’t know how. Sighing, I grab the next order and set to work.

But I’m agitated. I’ve never felt this kind of pressure before. When I first started, I had nothing to lose, so I had no point of reference when it came to stress. Anyway, stress is typically a human emotion. But as I stare down into the blackness of the cauldron, it feels as if I’m split in two. I know I have to keep working, that I have to move past her, but I don’t see how I can. I don’t want to. Moving past her means giving her up, right?

One thing is certain—I can’t go on this way. My production over the last six months has been terrible. I went from being the best Fate in history to the worst overnight. It has to stop. Whether I choose to move forward or stand still, I need to choose something. It’s hurting everyone. Horatia and Galenia have become anxious as rumors about our poor production have spread throughout the heavens—helped, no doubt, by Webber. On Earth, a new generation of career-minded women is being blamed for the current low birth rate, but I know that won’t last forever. Things will start crumbling if I don’t pick up the pace.

I will move forward, I think, although I’m not yet sure if that means letting go of Kismet and focusing on work, or focusing on Kismet and letting go of work.

Trying to silence the questions in my mind, I hastily reach into the pot and pull out a muddled, brown mass. Someone’s breath hitches as the light hits the raw material, but I don’t know which of the girls made the sound. I don’t look up to find out. I’ll show them I can still do the job—without giving up Kismet.

I slap the mass onto the wheel and start working, but it isn’t right. No matter what I do, I can’t spin much of anything from the muddled mess. The more I struggle with it, the more frustrated I get. As the day ticks away, the new pressure I feel weighs heavier and heavier on me.

Finally, after struggling for hours with the mass, I have a thread. But I can’t see the life inside it at all. Trying to ignore the obvious, I pull it off the wheel and hand it to Horatia.

She takes it from me gingerly, but then she immediately recoils. “Penn, this thread…” She trails off, and I look nervously from her to the thread, knowing that somehow I managed to tie my own fate to that thread.

She picks up her shears and cuts it terribly short. It’s not even an inch long. No wonder I can’t see the human inside the thread. There isn’t much to see. I created a stillborn by mistake. My breathing comes in short gasps as Horatia hands the thread to Galenia. I reach for it instinctually, but Galenia gets to it first.

“Penn, it’s over. It’s done. There’s nothing for him now,” she says, referring to the baby. A him. A life cut short because of me. Galenia carries the thread toward the door.

I step in front of her before she can leave our room. “Please. Not Webber,” I say in an undertone. “This is just the opportunity he’s looking for.”

With tears in her eyes, she moves around me and says, “Then you shouldn’t have given it to him.”

Horatia stays back with me as Galenia walks alone toward Webber.

“It’s about time,” I hear Webber say. “What is this? A stillborn? There weren’t any orders for one today.”

Galenia’s silence is all the confirmation he needs. “It’s a mistake. The great Penn has made a mistake! Finally.” He pushes past Galenia and runs down the hall, not even bothering to gloat in front of me. He’s going straight to our boss with my mistake. And I know that’s where it will end.

4.

We gather in the workroom, not sure what to do. Huddling close together, we don’t speak, our arms encircling one another’s shoulders, our heads bowed together in the center of our circle. The girls’ hair dangles down into the middle, occasionally tickling my knees, but I ignore it. This is my family. I can’t imagine being parted from them. This is what I should’ve thought about instead of Kismet. But as soon as the thought is in my head, I regret it. Why should I have to choose one or the other? It’s not fair.

Michaela bursts into the room, interrupting our huddle. The outright fear in her eyes makes my heart race. “Guys, I think we have a problem,” she says.

But before I get to hear what she has to say, the archangels come for me. “Penn, come with us,” they say when they arrive at the door. They are blond and blue eyed like Michaela, but much, much bigger, and swathed in white robes.

Michaela looks back and forth between the angels and me, confusion on her face. “What’s going on?”

But I can’t explain. They’re waiting. I nod to the angels, knowing there’s no use fighting them. Anyone who tries will lose, and lose quickly.

The girls follow closely behind, well, as closely as you can follow a couple of archangels. Their massive, stark-white wings are so enormous that they force those around them to give them a fair amount of space on either side and behind. They are foreboding by design. I wonder if it’s a lonely existence, but before I have much time to think about it, we arrive at our destination.

Michaela stands a few paces behind my sisters, her face drained of all its remaining color. What she said nags at my mind. She didn’t know about my mistake. So why’s she so worried? What could have happened? But the archangels are breathing down my neck, so I don’t get a spare moment to ask.

Webber is leaning against the wall next to the door, smiling widely. We lock eyes, and a gamut of emotions washes over me—anger, defeat, and denial are the most prominent. But I can tell Webber feels only glee. It makes my frown furrow even deeper. I can only hope Webber won’t be as bad in my position as I fear he will be. But the scenarios start playing in my head on their own accord. I picture Webber making the tapestry’s threads darker and darker, ruining the fragile balance of Earth. And I worry that my sisters will be miserably unhappy with someone as arrogant as Webber at their helm.

I glance back at them once more before I’m ushered into the office of God. The looks on their faces mirror the way I feel—dark, concerned, and depressed.

Inside, everything is white. There appears to be no definition between air and floor; it’s just a sea of white all around me. My shoes make a sound as I walk, so I know I’m connecting with some kind of ground.

Soon, though, shapes start to take form in front of me. First, a chair materializes, then a great podium facing it, buffeted by several smaller podiums on either side. God sits in a chair before the tallest podium, and some of His disciples have assumed similar positions at the smaller ones around him. I’ve never met God before. I’ve never had a call to. I immediately regret meeting Him under these circumstances.

“Fate, please, have a seat,” He booms.

I obey automatically, and the angels stand on either side of me. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? It’s not like you have to stop me from running away or something,” I whisper to them. But they don’t respond. They stare stoically ahead. And why wouldn’t they? Their heads aren’t on the chopping block.

I venture a good, long look at our creator. He isn’t an old man with long, flowing gray hair. And He isn’t a young, bearded Middle Eastern man either. He’s relatively young looking, perhaps middle-aged by Earth’s standards. He has short, dark hair, and wears steel-rimmed glasses and a button-up blue checked shirt with no tie. He must like the current fashion trends on Earth, because I can’t imagine he needs the glasses. He’s God.

He looks down at something on His podium, and I can only assume it’s the thread I created. My mistake.

“You’ve made a mistake,” God proclaims.

I don’t respond. I have no rebuttal for that. It’s the truth, plain and simple.

The creator takes off his glasses and rests them on the podium in front of Him. “Have you truly nothing to say for yourself?” He asks, looking straight at me.

The more I think about it, the less I can answer him. I have no excuses. I can neither explain nor defend my behavior. I myself don’t understand it. I feel human emotions, so many of them, and yet I’m not a human. How can I put that into words? I can’t. So, I sit and await his judgment.

God frowns at me, making me long for an excuse that would help me escape His disapproval. “Penn, you are the best Fate our world has ever seen, but you have just made one of the worst mistakes a Fate can possibly make. Due to your inept creation, a life has needlessly been cut short. You have offered no excuse or explanation for your error.” God pauses, waiting for me to disagree, but I can’t.

The only thing I can do is apologize. “I’m sorry. I truly don’t understand what’s come over me.”

The creator sighs. “Be that as it may, I cannot allow the unnecessary loss of life to go unpunished. It is with the deepest regret that I sentence you, Fate, to banishment. You are to live out the remainder of your existence on Earth, never to see or interact with the heavens again. You will however, remain immortal. You will not be allowed to escape your banishment by dying. You will wander the Earth forever.”

My mouth hangs open as I try to process my harsh sentence. Banished? How many others have been banished? Of course, there are those the humans refer to as fallen angels. But that was eons ago, during the formation of the Earth. Are there even any left?

I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you still practiced banishment.”

“In this case, I think it’s a suitable solution. You have a long history as a Fate, and you’re the best we’ve had so far. Such an achievement does not go ignored. However, you seem suddenly unfit for the work. I don’t mind telling you that you will be missed.” There’s a strange emotion in His eyes when they meet mine—something like hope. “Take heart. You may find yourself very useful on Earth. I’m not through with you yet, Penn.”

My breath catches in my throat. Does he really have a larger plan for me? Or will I be making my own fate from here on out?

Either way, I know instinctively that this will be the last time I ever hear the voice of God.

5.

The archangels lift me firmly, but not roughly, from my seat and usher me out.

A line of my friends, coworkers, and acquaintances has assembled on either side of the hallway. Word of my expulsion has apparently traveled fast. I spot Webber first, and he starts to clap as I walk past him. No one else joins his attempted chorus, so his clapping echoes solemnly, almost chasing me as I go.

I see Horatia and Galenia next. Both have tears in their eyes. I try to go to them, wanting to at least tell them goodbye, but the archangels hold up their hands in a clear signal. My sisters and I share a long look, knowing it will be the last time we’ll see each other.

I wonder what will become of them, and how they’ll function with Webber in my place. Horatia doesn’t much care for the guy, but Galenia always tries to find some good in those around her. And who will replace Webber as the Weaver? Down and down the dominos fall as my one mistake ripples through the heavens and Earth.

Michaela catches my eye last. Unsaid words hang on her lips. She knows better than to come to me, but the desperation on her face makes me think she’ll try. She doesn’t though, and I lose sight of her before I have the chance to hear her out, which makes my departure unsettling to say the least.

Once we leave God’s office, I am not allowed to return to my quarters or our workroom. I don’t need any of my heavenly belongings where I’m going. We don’t even walk back through the areas I know best. I don’t get to see the common area or the observatory. Once the crowd thins and fades away, we’re left in the mists, and I know we’re nearing the edge of the heavens.

Soon, the mist becomes so dense that I can’t see in front of me anymore. Waving a hand in front of my face to try to clear the air, I stop walking.

“Keep moving,” one of the archangels behind me says. They are working together as a single unit, so I have no idea who made the command.

I hesitate, fear starting to slow my steps, but I feel the angels push me forward.

“Fate, do not fear this moment. We are with you now.” Their voices are deep and terrifying, but I can tell that in their own creepy way, they’re trying to soothe me.

Knowing I have no choice, I continue to put one foot in front of the other and march blindly toward my future.

After what feels like an eternity of walking, I arrive at the end of the mist. I find myself standing at the edge of a cliff, somehow looking down at both the heavens and at Earth. I’m not ready—not remotely.

“Godspeed to you, Fate,” the angels say together as the ground beneath me disintegrates… and I fall.

The fall is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The rush steals my breath away, but as my body begins to adjust, I start to absorb what I’m seeing below me.

At first, there’s only darkness, but then, I see a brilliant light. Soon, the earth is revealed to me in all its beauty. I see the clouds—including a hurricane over the Gulf of Mexico—the continents, and the oceans. I see my new home in all its glory, and the sight brings tears to my eyes. It’s impossible to deny all I am losing, but I will be gaining so much too.

I lose all concept of time as I fall, and my mind starts to wander.

What will happen if I land in the ocean? Would it be better than landing on the ground? Will the impact kill me? The Keeper implied I could die, but God also said I would wander the Earth forever. I tend to believe God over the Keeper. So, I will survive, but what kind of existence will I have? As Earth looms larger and larger beneath me, I realize I’m about to find out.

I come crashing down in the swamps of Florida. As I watch the peninsula grow larger and larger as I approach, I land right in the middle of the Everglades with a thunderous crash. The water and muck spray out around me on all sides, creating a crater that quickly fills in with water and slime. I’ve been left with nothing. No money. No transportation. No food. Nothing but the shimmering gold robes of a Fate, which will look ridiculous on Earth. To make matters worse, I’ve landed in knee-deep water, and the robes are already soaked through to my skin. I take a step forward, more to keep myself from getting stuck than anything else. I have no real direction just yet.

A gator swims past me, but I don’t feel any fear. If anything, I’m fascinated to see one in the flesh. The novelty wears off quickly, though, and my dire situation starts to sink in, much as I continue to sink into the muck. I don’t try to walk any further. In fact, I sit back and let the water soak me up to my armpits.

The isolation and desperation I feel sitting there in the swamp threatens to overwhelm me. Michaela’s face and her problem flash in my mind, giving me a brief sense of urgency, but the muck of self-pity quickly smothers it.

“What’s the point?” I say out loud. There’s nothing I can do to help her. I am beyond offering or receiving help. I could sit here until the end of time and watch the whole world die around me. I’ve been banished. I feel humiliated. I am a Fate, but I’ve been reduced to sitting in a swamp with nothing to live for. All because of Kismet. Kismet.

A thought occurs to me. I’m on Earth. With her. I could find her.

I have no idea how much time passed while I was falling. Time passes so much more quickly on Earth than it does in the heavens. When I stopped watching her, she was in her twenties, just about to meet her true love. The thought makes me stand up straight, creating a splash of water that startles some of the wildlife around me.

Will I interfere with her fate? Can I? What do I expect her to say if we meet? She won’t love me. Not in a million years. I know this because I’m the one who created her perfect love. So what would I even hope to accomplish by meeting her?

I let my head fall back to watch the clouds float above me, a true marvel to behold.

Closure, I think. I can have closure.

Several problems are staring me in the face at the moment, the most immediate one being that I’m stranded in the middle of a swamp. I look in all directions, searching for some kind of indication of civilization, some possible savior. All I hear are the sounds of the swamp—cicadas, frogs, and an occasional splash in the water. Nothing helpful. It’s so blasted sunny out that I can’t even navigate by the stars. The sun is to my left, but is it rising or falling? Before I can get too frustrated, I hear a mechanical sound. The loud rumble almost sounds like an engine of some kind.

My mind races at the possibilities. What if I’m seen? I have the appearance of being human, most heavenly beings do. Besides their massive wings, even the angels look human. But my clothes will be a dead giveaway that something’s up. Judging from my recent bout of bad luck, I’m liable to end up in a mental ward with some of my more unsavory creations.

But if they keep going, it’ll take so much longer for me to get out of this mess. The sound gets closer, and I know my time to debate my options is running short.

Six of one, half a dozen of another. I squirm out of my robes, having decided that I’d rather be found naked than dressed in a heavenly robe. I’m struggling to get my gold sandals off my feet before the airboat rounds the corner. Once I do, I sink the garments into the water and stand on them.

As the airboat approaches, I realize there’s no way they’ll hear me over all that noise. If I duck into the water, they’ll go right on by. Then I’ll have the freedom to make my own way out. But the temptation to reach out to the first human I’ve ever met in the flesh is too great. I crouch there nervously, my head just above the surface, ready to duck down if I change my mind.

But once I see them, my heart starts racing. This is it. The desire to make contact is too strong to deny. I start waving my hands, keeping most of my naked body concealed underwater. The airboat driver slows the boat dramatically, and I know I’ve been seen. The boat slowly ambles toward me.

“What the blazes are you doing out here?” the driver asks after cutting the engine and lowering his headset. He’s a large man, with a piece of grass between his teeth and a thick southern accent. His passengers, two adults and three kids who appear to be a family, seem scared, but the father—a clean-cut man in cargo shorts and a white polo shirt—immediately gets up from his seat and lays down on the boat, reaching out for me.

I hesitate. “I’ve lost most of my clothing in my…” I pause. Instinctually, I feel I shouldn’t tell them anything. But I’m not accustomed to lying either. It’s immoral, and so not something we do in the heavens. There is no need. “In my travels.”

The airboat driver just sits back and smiles, as if I’m not the first naked man he’s come across in the swamp. I eye the children, seated in the back row near their mother, but the man’s hand doesn’t waver. “We’re not leaving you here. No matter how naked you are,” he says, staring at me earnestly with big, brown eyes.

“There’s a blanket in the tool box, if one a y’all wants to get it,” the driver says.

The woman goes to the toolbox while the man grabs my arm, and the force of the connection steals all the breath from my lungs. I made this man. Spun him from nothing. I see his entire life play out, and I know his purpose. He’s kind, compassionate, and emotional, quick to both anger and forgiveness. I made him and his wife, a beauty with short, dark hair, huge, ghostly gray eyes, and olive skin, for each other. They’re two parts of a whole, and together, they made a beautiful family. It is wonderfully jarring to see my work in the flesh.

I must’ve visibly startled at the man’s touch, because he reaches around with his other hand. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The man looks into my eyes with such compassion; I can’t help but take his hand with my other arm. We work together to get me out of the muck. It takes some doing, and we rock that little airboat around quite a bit, but after a few minutes of struggling, I manage to clamber onto the boat. Within moments, I’m properly covered.

Without hesitating to ask me any questions, the driver fires up the boat, and we’re off. Though I get plenty of curious glances from the family, they can’t speak to me on the way back to the dock because of the noise. There wasn’t an extra headset on board, but I don’t mind the racket. It gives me time to come up with a story. An explanation. Something.

As we race back toward the dock, I feel like my brain is still stuck back in the muck. I’m not thinking fast enough. I can’t concentrate on coming up with a story when the wind is in my face, and the astounding noise of the airboat is filling my ears. It’s an absolute assault on my senses, which are accustomed to the ordered world of the heavens. I can’t decide if I should block it out or let it wash over me.

But before I can arrive at some middle ground, we arrive at our destination. As we pull up, a few workers meet us at the dock to help tie up. I can tell from their uniforms that they’re all a part of the same tour group. “I see you picked someone up, Marshal,” one of them says to the airboat driver.

“This here is a gen-u-ine swamp man,” Marshal says with a smile. I don’t see what’s so funny about it.

Neither does the man who helped me onto the boat. “What’s so funny?” he demands.

“I find a lot of things out here in the swamp. It’s not as rare as you might think to find a man out there, though it is rare to find one alive. Not even a nibble taken outta ya by a gator, a snake, or any other of God’s creatures?” He shakes his head and whistles. “You got some luck.”

“If getting stranded in the middle of the swamp is luck, I’m not sure I want it,” I say.

The man who pulled me from the muck chuckles. “My name is Cody. And this is my wife, Aida, and our three children, Columbus, Eve, and Kareena.” He puts his arm around the lovely woman, who cradles their three children between her arms. They’re all staring at me with their mother’s eyes.

“I’m very sorry to have cut your tour short.”

“This is way cooler than any gator we might’ve seen in the swamp,” Columbus says with a sparkle in his eyes. He seems to be between the two girls in age, maybe about eight. The older girl next to him—whom I assume is Eve—elbows him, and he yelps and rubs his arm.

I smile at them, grateful these nice people were the ones who found me.

“What happened to you? Is there anything we can do to help?” Cody asks.

“Thank you, Cody,” I say, side-stepping the question. The others are all leaning in a bit, as if waiting for my answer. They’re in for a disappointment. “You’ve already shown me such kindness. I truly appreciate it. I think I’ll be all right from here.”

When we clasped hands earlier, I saw how hard Cody worked for this family vacation. How many extra hours he put in before they left home, and how much he dreads going back to work because his boss is a real jerk about letting people have time off. He has a tendency to make an employee’s life miserable for weeks after they come back as punishment. But Cody has missed so much time with his family that he finally put his foot down. He knows in his heart he’s finally made the right type of sacrifice.

And I agree. The move will lead Cody to look for other employment. It will be hard for a while, but the new job, the one he never would’ve looked for otherwise, will be so much better for him and their family. I smile in excitement for them. If I take any more of their time, I worry I might impact that delicate future.

“Oh, come on now. We can at least give you a ride into town. Maybe take you to a hospital or police station so you can report what happened?” Aida suggests.

I hesitate, and Cody pushes. “At least come back with us. I have some extra clothes you can have at the hotel. You’ll need something to wear until you can get yourself back home.”

The tourism workers look on, watching this act of kindness unfold in silence.

“We have to go back to the hotel anyway. Just come with us. It’s not out of our way at all,” Cody tries, one last time.

I look back at Marshal. “I’d take the offer, man,” he drawls. “Lord knows you ain’t getting nothing from the likes of me.” He chuckles. I know the man isn’t the most upstanding citizen, a true grey thread if there’s ever been one, but at least he’s honest. That’s something I can respect.

“All right then. Thank you, Marshal, for stopping.”

The man nods, and with that, I’m on my way to civilization.

When we get to the car, Cody offers some dirty clothes to me for the ride—a pair of pants and a shirt. I can tell he’s embarrassed, and Aida is clearly mortified, but I appreciate the gesture.

“Hey, it’s still cleaner than me. I just spent a few hours in the swamp.” The kids laugh as they climb into the huge SUV, and I slip on the pants and shirt before piling in after them.

The hotel is a long way from the swamps, which doesn’t surprise me much. After a few miles of strained silence, I laugh to myself. From the covert looks they keep turning to give me, I can tell the children are just about bursting with questions. Even though Cody and Aida have more tact, it’s clear they’re almost as curious. I decide to ease their minds a bit. After all they are doing for me, they deserve it.

“I never explained what happened to me, did I?” The three heads of the children whip around to the back, where I sit alone in the last row. Two of the kids still sit in booster seats, so it really takes some work for them. Aida looks curiously over her shoulder too, and Cody tips his head slightly to the right to listen while keeping his eyes on the road.

I clear my throat, searching for the right words to use. This will be difficult because I still don’t want to lie. “Let’s just say I fell.”

“I told you he was an angel.” The youngest, who looks to be around six, whispers loudly to her sister. Eve eyes me with wide-eyed suspicion, obviously starting to believe her little sister.

I smile at her. “I’m not an angel; I can tell you that for sure.” Kareena frowns with disappointment. Eve keeps staring at me, as if she knows instinctually there’s more to me than I’m willing to reveal, but she keeps quiet.

Columbus has much more fantastical ideas about my origins. “Are you like James Bond? Did you fall out of a flying jet while trying to disarm some enemy nuclear device?” He’s talking a mile a minute. “Or maybe you jumped out of an airplane, and you landed in a secret location in the swamp in order to communicate with aliens?”

A good, long laugh claims me. “You have a wonderful imagination. Never lose that.” Columbus looks at me in expectation, waiting for an answer, and I chuckle again. “No, I’m not a spy or anything fun like that. I just seem to have stumbled on hard times. Stumbled quite badly, it would seem.”

Aida and Cody share a look, and I hurry to make light of my situation, so they won’t feel obligated to do more than they already have. “But things are looking up. I have direction.” Aida and Cody glance at each other again, having a silent conversation, and I feel there’s nothing more I can say to comfort them, so I look out the window and watch the landscape change from swamp, to dense woods, to scattered homes, to urban sprawl, and then to city.

I try not to focus on how overwhelming it is to be in the car, watching the scenery fly by firsthand. It’s an exhilarating rush that can’t be appreciated by watching cars from above. I need to be present with this family, but my senses tug at me, demanding attention.

“And what exactly is that direction?” Cody eventually asks.

I debate telling them my true destination. Could it be a coincidence that this family of New Yorkers found me in the middle of a Florida swamp? They all eye me, waiting for my response, and I decide now’s not the time to test my ability to lie. “New York.” I try to picture Kismet in the city as we continue our drive on the busy Florida highways. It makes me smile to think of how happy she is.

“Daddy, that’s where we live!” Columbus shouts.

“We are going home tomorrow,” Eve offers.

Aida looks back at the children, and then looks at me, her gaze full of uncertainty. I can tell she wants to help me, but she doesn’t want to risk her children to do it. And who can blame her? She has absolutely no reason to trust a stranger with her most precious gifts.

“Don’t worry. I know my way around. I’m not in any kind of hurry anyway. I’ll get there when the timing’s right.” Nothing more is said about it. At least, not right then.

Their hotel is in the heart of Orlando, and the children regale me with tales of their trip so far, all the theme parks they’d visited, how much Kareena loved meeting Mickey Mouse for the first time, and how Columbus puked on The Incredible Hulk roller coaster. I love hearing it. This family I’ve created loves their lives, and I couldn’t be happier for them.

Eventually, we stop for dinner. The conversation is light and easy. I find human food delightful. It’s so different from what we have in the heavens. Eating there is more of a social occasion than a necessity. We don’t need to eat, but we do it anyway to be near each other. It’s a social act entirely, though, and our diet doesn’t much vary from the somewhat tasteless wafers that are our staple.

At the kids’ insistence, I order something called a cheeseburger, fries, and a brown, bubbly drink. Its fizziness tickles my nose, and the burger is greasy and delicious. It’s a completely wonderful experience, and I hope the obvious enjoyment I’m taking in the food doesn’t make me appear too odd to them.

No one asks me any more about who I am, or where I’m from, but I can tell by the way Cody and Aida look at me that they have more questions. Questions they don’t want to ask in front of the children, for fear of the answers they might get.

When we arrive at the hotel, it’s after dark. Their suite is large, and it features a separate room with beds for the children. Once they’re all bathed, brushed, and ready, they’re ushered off to bed. Eve protests, but Cody and Aida insist she needs a good night’s sleep before the long days of travel ahead.

Once we’re alone, Cody and Aida sit on the couch, and I sit in one of the lounge chairs across from them, each of us with a glass of wine.

“So, do you want to tell us what happened to you?” Cody ventures.

“It’s not a matter of wanting to tell you. It’s a matter of not being sure of the rules. And if those rules are broken, I don’t want you and your family to get caught in it.” That’s the truth of it. I stare down at my wine, swirling it in the glass. I like that they offered a glass to me; it’s a sign of welcome and companionship for these people.

I feel Aida’s eyes on me. I know she’s not judging me. Her expression tells me she’s merely curious.

“What is your plan then? If I asked you to leave right now, where would you go?” she asks.

“Well, I…” I hesitate, knowing if I tell her the truth—that I will just go walk around, maybe sleep in an alley until morning when I can find a way to make some money to grab a bus to New York, she will scoff, and it will only make her feel more guilty for wanting such an odd stranger away from her children.

“Listen, maybe it’s best if you don’t know more about me. That way there’s no guilt when we part ways, even if it’s right this moment. You don’t know me, and I don’t—” I find myself unable to finish the sentence. I do know them, probably better than they know themselves. “At any rate, maybe less is more in this case. Don’t worry about me. You’ve already been more than generous. In fact, I think I’ll just finish my wine and go, if that’s all right.”

I look at Cody. “You’ve built a fine life.” I know a little pride is coming through in my voice, but I can’t help myself. “Keep on keeping on, my friend.” I set my half-full glass on the coffee table between us and reach out my hand to Cody as he stands.

But the man only looks at it and frowns. “Sit down. Your wine isn’t even gone.” He and his wife share a look. “Are you a criminal?” he asks point blank.

I smile at the thought. “No.” At least not in the sense he thinks.

“Is that only because you haven’t been caught?” Cody persists.

That makes me laugh. “No.”

“Have you ever killed anyone or hurt small children?” Aida asks.

This statement doesn’t make me laugh or smile. I’m sad that she feels she has to ask it. But she does. How can Webber be right? How can the world need more dark threads to “make things interesting”? It needs more threads like Kismet’s if you ask me. Beautiful families like this one shouldn’t have to worry that their future might be entangled in a mass of black thread. “No,” I finally answer, but as the word leaves my mouth, I think of the stillborn. No, I didn’t kill him, but his ill fate was my fault. My frown grows even deeper at the thought.

“Fine then. You can come back to New York with us. We’re leaving first thing in the morning, and I trust you won’t delay us any more than the children?” Aida asks with a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

I chuckle. “I’ll do my best. It’s not like I have a lot to pack up.”

It’s their turn to laugh. Cody nods toward the bathroom. “You know, if you want to get cleaned up, by all means, take advantage. I’ll set out some clean clothes for you.” He smiles as he emphasizes that the clothes he has to offer are clean this time around.

“Truly, I don’t know how to thank you both.”

They laugh again. “Don’t thank us until we get to New York. You’re about to embark on three days trapped in a car with three kids. Perhaps we should be apologizing to you.”

Laughter fills their room, and as I make my way to the shower, I know I landed right where I was supposed to be. But who wrote my fate? Did God have a hand in it? Is this kind family His last nod to a job well done while I was in the heavens? Or did one of my sisters take control once I fell? But how? It’s hard to admit it, even to myself, but I’m happier than I ever was spinning threads, save for Kismet’s. Sure, the work was rewarding, but meeting the people I’ve helped create, seeing the lives they’ve made for themselves… well, it’s a magic I never could have imagined.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror as steam from the shower fills the room. My face is covered in dirt, and some of the swamp still resides in my curly, blond hair.

Shaking my head as I pick the dried leaves from my locks, I think, Some banishment this is turning out to be.

The water on my pale skin feels wondrous as it runs all over my body. Showers aren’t something we have in the heavens. We just never needed them. There isn’t any dirt or filth in heaven, nor do we sweat.

I marvel at the way my skin changes as the hot water beats down on it, transforming it to red. All the bottles in the shower are a total mystery, but I use them anyway, building up soap bubbles from head to toe.

By the time I’m done experimenting, everyone has gone to bed. Someone—Cody, I assume—made up the couch for me to sleep on. It isn’t much, just a blanket and a pillow, probably off their bed, but the sight is almost enough to bring me to tears. It’s as if by letting in one human emotion, I opened the floodgates to them all.

I’ve never been in a bed before. But while I’m not tired—I don’t know how to be—my body aches in a way it never has before. The makeshift bed calls to me. Normally, my days follow an eminently predictable routine, and today has been anything but. Sinking down onto the couch, I pull the covers over me and find myself thinking not of my sisters, or the kind Michaela, or the Keeper, or Webber, but of Kismet. Her face fills my mind as my body relaxes, and I pass the night daydreaming of her.

6.

In the morning, the kids are thrilled to see me still in their suite. They all had starry-eyed hopes of being entertained by my tales of adventure while we make the long drive from Florida to New York. But I know I can’t tell them anything about my life back home. Then I remember all the human legends, fairy tales, and mythologies I’ve learned over the years from watching the humans in the tapestry. How much of myself can I give to them by using these stories as a guise?

I wait until the children start getting restless before I pull out the big guns. “You know, I can’t tell you much about who I am, but I can tell you some of the legends about my family. Would you like that?” I say as we cross over the Georgia line.

The kids all turn around in unison and stare at me wide-eyed. I chuckle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I debate for a moment and then look right at Columbus. “I have two sisters too. Did you know that?” The three kids shake their heads so hard that the girls’ hair slaps the sides of their faces.

“I do. One of them is quiet and thoughtful. The other is a bit more brazen. Do you know what that means?” The description makes Aida chuckle.

“Like Aunt Amedia,” she fills in. The three kids nod seriously.

I continue my story. “My sisters and I used to make up stories about people who lived in other places, almost like they lived on another planet. Do you guys do that?”

“Sometimes, I make up stories about my dolls,” Eve offers.

“You create a whole life for them, don’t you?” She nods, and I smile at her earnest expression.

“That’s what we used to do. We did it so much, that some people said we were like the three Fates. Do you know that story?”

They shake their heads no, and I spy Aida watching me closely, trying to put the pieces together. That’s okay, though—even if I were to tell her the truth flat out, she would never believe my story.

“The three Fates are said to create the lives of people on Earth. One is a Spinner, making the threads of life carefully from the dust of the universe.” A quiet gasp spreads throughout the car. “The second is the Timekeeper. She decides how long that person will get to live. She cuts the Spinner’s thread at just the right place, taking care to leave the person’s life long or short, as she sees fit. The third decides how that life will end.”

“How they die?” Eve says, barely above a whisper.

“Yes. How they die. Together, they are said to bring life to this world. A tapestry is woven from the threads of life, and it creates beauty and order from the chaos life can bring.”

Aida smiles. “It’s a wonderful thought.” She turns around and looks wistfully out the car’s windshield as she reaches for Cody’s hand. I smile as he gives it a squeeze before releasing it. Kismet will have that kind of love, even if it isn’t with me. And that makes me happy. At least I tell myself it does.

My smile must have faded with that thought because Eve asks, “What’s wrong? Did the Fates die?”

I bring myself out of my daydream. “What? No. Fates are said to be immortal. So I’m sure they’re still working away.”

The kids think about that for a moment, and then I pose a question. “If you could create anyone in this world, who would it be? What would they be like?”

That subject keeps them busy until we stop for dinner. They debate about creating good people and bad ones, painters and sports stars, boys and girls. It reminds me of the game I used to play with the others.

By the time we stop for the night, everyone besides me is exhausted. Aida and Cody thank me for keeping the kids distracted and happy. The hotel room they’ve found is not nearly as nice as the room in Orlando, but it’s only one night, and it’s a heck of a lot better than a swamp.

The kids crowd in one bed, Aida and Cody share the other, and I get set up on the floor. As I listen to the sound of the five other people in the small room sleeping, I can’t help but marvel at how well everything is coming together for me here on Earth. I’m going to find Kismet. Is this my purpose after all? I can’t help but wonder. But I can’t let myself forget that she’s fated for another man. A man I created for her.

I roll over, thinking of my sisters, my home, and the story I told the three kids. I miss Horatia and Galenia. We haven’t been apart this long for centuries, and even though I am still fascinated by this new world, my fingers ache to create, to spin. But I have nothing. Absently, I pull at a thread in the blanket they gave me. I pull and pull until I have quite a length of it. Staring at it, I wonder what I can do with it. I don’t have a needle, a loom, or even a crochet hook, but I work at it anyway, tying it here, looping it there. By morning, I have a small piece that looks something like a doily.

The youngest is the first to wake up. She pads over to me quietly and watches me tie the last loop. I worked a huge hole in my blanket, but I’m quite proud of what I made.

“That’s pretty,” Kareena says, admiring it.

I hold it out to her, and she takes it, handing me her doll in exchange. I hold it still for her while she puts the doily on the doll’s head and ties it under her chin. It fits perfectly as a tiny hat.

“There,” she says quietly, quite satisfied with herself.

“Oh, she looks beautiful.” I didn’t hear Aida come up behind us, but her words are genuine. “Where did you get that hat, honey?”

Kareena hugs her mother’s leg and points at me.

“I don’t understand,” Aida said, her brow furrowed. “I didn’t think you had anything.”

“I didn’t.” I hold up my ruined blanket. “I got a little carried away last night.” I feel bad about ruining it, and hope they won’t have to pay for it, but now that I’ve created something with my hands, I feel better and more relaxed.

“Can Mommy borrow your doll, honey?” Kareena nods solemnly. Aida takes the toy and carries it over to Cody.

“Look at what Penn made in the night.” She holds the doll out to Cody as he sits up in bed and switches on the light. Groaning, Eve throws the covers over her head, but Columbus is as curious as I spun him to be. He gets up to see what has interested his parents so much. His hair sticks out in every direction, and his father’s shirt hangs off one of his shoulders, ending just above his knees.

The boy examines the doll and looks between the two adults as if waiting for something. “What are we looking at?” he asks.

“Penn made Cassandra that hat,” Aida says.

“Oh. So?” he asks, clearly perplexed about the hubbub.

“So, it’s lovely, don’t you think? He made it without any help at all. Imagine what he could do with the right tools in his hands.” Aida looks at me with awe in her eyes. I look away. Suddenly, I regret making the doily thing. I’ve drawn too much attention to myself. I should’ve just made my own way to New York. Turning my back on the family, I try to fix the hole in the blanket. It’s coming along well when Cody lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Penn, you have a skill. That is very useful. If you’ve fallen on hard times, this could help you find your way out.”

I hold up the blanket. “I don’t know about that, but at least I’ve used it to fix what I destroyed.”

Cody examines it. “You can’t even tell where the hole was. How did you manage that?”

Aida comes over to see for herself. “It was at least the size of a baseball! How did you manage that?”

I shrug. “Carefully.”

Abruptly, Aida orders a room-service breakfast and gives the kids a to-do list. Once they’re good and busy, she and Cody go into the bathroom to “get ready.”

But I know they’re talking about me. I suspect they want to help me more, but I wish they wouldn’t. Their fate is already planned out, and it doesn’t involve me, not at all. To be fair, no one’s does. The uncertainty of my impact on their life leaves me uneasy. They’re too good. I don’t want to be responsible for something bad happening to them because I stepped in at the wrong time.

I glance at the kids, who have huddled together on the bed to watch a cartoon now that their parents aren’t watching them. Once we get to New York, I have to separate myself from them. No matter how hard it is. No matter how good it feels to be with them.

But without any forms of identification, I have no way to find a job or a place to live. I have no idea how I’m going to make do on my own.

The next two days pass by too quickly for me, though I’m sure they’re much slower than the children would like. The Struhl family lives in a suburb just outside the city. Kismet was living in Manhattan when I last saw her. I will need to do some research to find out if she’s still there, but it shouldn’t be too much of a hike once I know how to find her.

For the rest of the drive, there’s no discussion about what I will do when they get home. No pressure, no brainstorming—nothing.

It’s late when we pull into the driveway of the two-story brick family home. The parents and kids all drag themselves into the house, automatically finding their respective places to sleep. Wordlessly, Cody produces blankets and pillows for the couch in the living room downstairs, which folds out into a rather comfortable bed. The rest of the family is already upstairs.

Before he leaves me alone, he says one thing. “This isn’t permanent, you know.” But his tone isn’t unwelcoming or hostile. It’s as if he’s saying it to comfort me, to reassure my by letting me know they’re still thinking of me, still trying to come up with a solution.

I can only nod at the man, wondering how he became such a compassionate person. Did I create that quality in him, or did Cody do that on his own after I gave him a small push in the right direction?

Being accepted into this family has impacted me in a way I never imagined possible. The longer I live on Earth, the more my banishment feels like a privilege, not a punishment.

That night, I use the family’s computer—a fascinating device to use firsthand—to search for Kismet’s address. She’s in a few small off-Broadway plays, so she’s not hard to find. There’s even an online interview with her that mentions the diner where she works. The Internet is a wonderful and terrible thing.

After I fold the sheets and leave them in a neat pile on the end of the couch, topped with the pillow, I sit down to write a note thanking the Struhl family for their kindness.

But Aida comes down the stairs and into the kitchen before I’m done. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” I say, hoping she doesn’t pick up on the mild irritation in my voice.

“What are you writing?” She glances over my shoulder to read the note, but I try to squirrel it away. Laughing, she snatches it from me. “Are you kidding me? I have three kids, and the oldest is a girl. She’s always trying to hide notes from boys. You’ve got to be quicker than that to get one over on me.” Her face falls as she reads the incomplete note.

“You’re leaving, just like that?” The hurt in her voice stings, making me wince.

“I figured it was the only way you would let me go.”

She frowns and casts the note down in front of me like it’s trash. “You’re probably right. But I caught you.” She goes to the coffeemaker—which scared the living daylights out of me when it started automatically about ten minutes after I sat down. “Where were you going to go?”

“There’s a diner in Manhattan I’d like to visit.”

“A diner?” My answer clearly confuses her.

“A diner, yes.”

“Were you planning to get a meal there?”

“Maybe, but that’s not really the point.”

“What is the point?” She holds her cup with both hands and brings it to her lips, hesitating for just a moment, allowing the steam to curl around her nose.

“Kismet.” It’s the first time I’ve said her name out loud. It fills the air and lightens the room. I can’t help but smile at Aida as I say it.

“Destiny,” Aida says, smiling back at me. I knew the meaning of the name Kismet’s parents had picked out for her, but I’m surprised Aida has picked up on it.

“Don’t look so shocked. I like to read a bit of Persian literature now and again. The name isn’t as uncommon in those books. And a girl gets curious.” She shrugs as she sips her coffee. “So, you’re in love.” I know she’s smiling without even looking at her. I can hear it in her voice. “For how long?”

“Her whole life.”

Aida sighs. “How romantic.” She pauses. “And also a little creepy. You loved her when she was an infant? You’re not that old. How old is she now?”

“It’s not what you think.” I scramble to come up with a plausible tale that isn’t a lie, but I come up short.

A smile tugs at the corners of her eyes as she watches me struggle. She’s enjoying this, I realize.

Clearing my throat, I try to go on. “She and I are not meant to be together. I just want to see her. Maybe get some closure and move on. That’s all.”

Only then does Aida’s face fall. “What do you mean? You’re not going after her? Then what’s the point?” She set her coffee on the table and slouches over it, as if her disappointment weights too heavily on her for her to lift it to her mouth again. She’s a hopeless romantic, just the way I made her.

“I’ve been making mistakes. I need to move on from her. Closure will help with that.” I say it firmly, even though a tiny part of me hopes it isn’t closure I’ll find, but love.

No. I shake my head, not allowing myself to think that way, even for a moment. Her fated mate will have no purpose without her. If I allow myself to act on my selfish thoughts, I will be destroying his life as surely as I destroyed that of my short, brown thread.

But I can’t help it. Her face flashes in my mind again, and her eyes sear me right down to my being. “I need to see her.” That, I know, is the absolute truth.

“Where is this diner?”

“Manhattan.”

“My brother owns a bridal shop down there. I wanted to take you today anyway. I think you would make a fine tailor, and he always has openings for good workers.” She nods as if it’s settled, but there are some serious problems with this plan.

“I don’t have any paperwork. No driver’s license, social security card, nothing. I can’t work yet. Not legally.”

She scoffs. “Well, you’re certainly not going to freeload off us for the rest of your life.” A small smile lets me know she’s needling me. “My brother pays a lot of his staff under the table. He even has a few small apartments above the shop for anyone who needs somewhere to stay. I’m sure you can work something out with him. He’ll be thrilled to have someone so talented on board, and you can get your paperwork sorted when you have time.”

“I’ve never done bridal work before.” It isn’t an excuse, more like a statement… maybe even a question. Can I do it? I’m going to be on Earth for quite a long time, so I might as well pick up a trade. If I don’t like it, nothing says I have to stay. I can earn some honest money, and besides, it will keep my hands busy.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. “Okay. If your brother likes me and needs the help, I’d love to try it.”

Aida beams. “Good. We’ve already agreed that Cody will handle the kids today. It’s his last day off, and he wanted to spend it with them anyway. Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and then I’ll drive you to that diner.”

7.

My anxiety compounds based on our proximity to the diner. When I created Kismet, it was almost like a miracle. I never dreamed I’d actually get to meet her in real life. My emotions swing wildly from elation to extreme, gut-wrenching fear.

Aida reaches over and sets her hand on mine. “It’ll be okay. No matter what she says.”

But what am I hoping she’ll say? ‘Oh Penn, I love you so much, take me away with you?’ No, that’s ridiculous. I might know her, but we’ve never met. Even if she agrees to sit down and take a short break to talk to me, it’s complicated. The more time we spend together, the less time she’ll have to meet her true love.

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I say as we pull into the parking lot of the diner where Kismet works. “She might not even be working today.”

“I can feel it. This is fate. She’s working today,” Aida says confidently. “I mean, just look at this parking spot I got. It’s right across from the diner. You can’t get any more serendipitous than that!”

Her enthusiasm is almost contagious. But I know it’s the exact opposite of fate. Before I can stop her, she’s out of the car and waiting impatiently for me by the door.

Original counters, booths, and tables adorn the sixties-style restaurant, and the floor is decorated with oversized black and white tiles. A bell rings as we walk through the door.

“Have a seat anywhere you like, honey,” says a blonde waitress with curly hair.

“I’m not going to sit with you,” Aida whispers into my ear. “I just wanted to make sure you actually came inside. Get a table, order some pie, and talk to her. You’re not leaving here until you do. I’ll be waiting in the car.” Aida jams a twenty into my hand, turns, and walks out. A heavy sigh escapes me, but I’m here. I’m committed.

Gulping hard, I take a seat at the nearest booth, close enough to the door that I can make an easy escape if need be. Then she comes in, and it’s as if my world stops turning. Nothing moves but her. Everything else fades away, leaving only her. She has her hair wound into a messy bun on the back of her head, pencils sticking out of it, and loose tendrils tumble around her face. She wears a white, button-up blouse, paired with a black pencil skirt covered in a plain black, utilitarian apron. The only shock of color comes in the form of the bright red pumps she confidently wears as she strides to my table.

My mouth goes dry as she approaches. “Hi. I’m Kismet, and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you something to wet your whistle? Coffee or maybe some tea?” She clears away a few of the standing menus and puts napkins on the table, all without looking at me. Finally, she meets my eyes.

She stops for a moment, as if something about me makes her pause, but her warm smile gives me the confidence to speak.

“Would you like to join me for a piece of pie?” My voice comes out quiet and squeaky, and I clear my throat in an effort to bring it back to full capacity.

“I would love to, but I have a few hours left on my shift.” It rolls off her tongue smoothly, and I know she’s been propositioned many times by the men in the diner. And even a few women. She has a magnetic attraction about her, and her rather melodic voice only seals the deal.

Just then, the hostess walks by and nudges Kismet with her hip. She whispers something into her ear, and I think I see the faintest hint of blush flash across her lovely cheeks. She slaps at the hostess as she walks away.

“Sandi, cover Kismet’s tables for a bit, will you?” the hostess yells.

I search for Sandi and find her behind the counter with two plates of steaming food in her hands. She glances between Kismet and me and smiles. “Sure thing.” She adds a wink in Kismet’s direction, at which point Kismet waves her tablet of white paper in surrender. “All right, fine.”

She turns back to me. “Apparently, I’m free for a few minutes.” She calls out to Sandi. “Bring us a piece of chocolate pie, will you?”

“One piece?” Sandi eyes her mischievously, but Kismet ignores the leading comment and glance as she settles into the booth across from me.

I have trouble focusing with her so close, and she chuckles at my obvious struggle. “So, why don’t you tell me something about yourself? You know my name. What’s yours?”

“Penn.” My voice is still aloof, hiding like the coward it is.

“Penn. That’s an interesting name.” She chuckles, and the sound feeds my soul, lifting my spirits in an instant. “I suppose it’s no more unusual than Kismet. I’ve never seen you in here before, Penn. What’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, not sure I want to cut to the chase this quickly.

“Seems like you came in here with a purpose.” She hooks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and peers at me from behind long, dark lashes. She isn’t trying to be coy, which makes her even more desirable.

Feelings I’ve never imagined experiencing firsthand wash over me as I watch her watching me. The blatant desire, which was dulled when I was watching her from on high, is more acute than I can bear. How do humans even function when they’re constantly bombarded by feelings like this? After clearing my throat yet again, I say, “I just wanted to meet you.”

“Have we met before?” Her instincts are telling her there’s more to this meeting than I’m letting on, but she can’t put her finger on it. I won’t let her.

“No. We haven’t.”

She eyes me, starting to grow suspicious. “Okay, well, you better throw me a bone here real quickly, because you’re turning into a bit of a creeper.”

I hesitate. Maybe it’s best if it ends this way. She can go her way, and I can live out my banishment in peace, knowing she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

“Okay, you’re gorgeous, so I’m going to give you one more chance.”

I cough on the water I’m sipping. She thinks I’m gorgeous.

“Seriously, what planet are you from with that curly, blond hair and perfect skin? And those eyes? It’s almost not fair. But you need to kick it up a notch,” She wrinkles her nose at me, but her eyes are twinkling a bit.

Sandi brings us our pie at exactly that moment, and she gives Kismet a stern look. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s being creepy. Tell her, Penn. You know how you’re acting. Even if it’s just because you’re nervous.”

I look at Sandi helplessly, but she only shrugs and sets two spoons down on either side of the plate. “Good luck,” she says, but I’m not sure if the comment is meant for Kismet or for me.

“So, what do you do?” Kismet asks as she takes a bite of the pie. She gestures toward the lonely spoon on the other side of the plate. “Come on, help me out here. It’d be rude to watch me pig out on this. Be a gentlemen and eat your share.” She takes another bite of the pie, adding through a mouthful of chocolate, “Oh, and answer my question.”

“I’m on my way to interview at Feldman’s Bridal downtown,” I say quietly as I take my spoon and toy with the pie. I don’t think I can eat. My heart is pounding, and I fear I’m visibly sweating in front of her. Why did I put myself through this torture? And yet, sitting here with her, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Her eyes take on a starry expression. “Feldman’s. I’d love to shop in there someday. Just haven’t met the right guy yet. And don’t go thinking you fit that bill for a second.”

My eyes automatically go straight to hers. “I don’t.”

My answer startles her, and her expression turns serious. “You don’t? Then why ask me to sit down?”

“Because I wanted to meet you.”

“But why? Did you see me in a play or something?”

That’s it, my out. Nodding, I look down at the pie and shovel a bite into my mouth. Despite the fact that the pie is smooth and moist, and chocolate is delicious, my dry mouth makes it difficult to swallow. I grab my glass of water from the table and take a long drink from it, trying to wash the pie down.

Kismet leans back in the booth, watching me with a smirk on her face. “So, you’re an admirer. Which play did you go see?”

“Madame Curie: The Musical.” I watched it in the weaving room. Although it wasn’t the most high-budget play, she was brilliant in the role.

I don’t look back up at her, fearing… well, I don’t know. That I’ll give myself away? That she’ll see me for who I am? That she’ll turn me away, and I’ll never see her again? That she’ll actually fall in love with me, and her life will be worse for it? Maybe all the above.

“Oh gosh. Not my best work. I’m not sure the sad tale of Marie Curie lends itself easily to a musical. You’ll have to come see me in the one I’m working on now. It’s going to be great.” Then, as if she realizes her blunder, she backpedals. “I mean, I don’t want to be too forward. Wow, that was arrogant. I’m just excited about this new play.” Her green eyes sparkle, lighting up the tiny, golden flecks inside. “The writer is totally brilliant. It’s his first musical that’s actually being performed, and I’m so excited to be a part of it. It’s based on one of my favorite books from when I was a kid, The NeverEnding Story. But it’s told from the Childlike Empress’s perspective, and she’s not helpless like she was in the book. She’s a total badass.” She pauses for a minute. “I think it’s going to be special.”

I know she’s right. After all, this was planned. The play will be a huge success. People will say that it launched her career. She will go on to do her dream roles in Phantom of the Opera, Les Mis, and Wicked, to name a few. She will be offered roles in huge movies, but her home is on stage, and that’s where she will thrive.

As I listen to her talk so passionately about her future, I know the time has come for me to leave, to walk away forever. The path I’ve put her on is making her happy, and I’ll only get in the way. But I can’t do it. With her sitting there in front of me, a vision of heaven, I know I will never be able to walk away from her unless she asks me to leave. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

She beams at me, and it’s all the validation I need. In that moment, I don’t care if it’s wrong or right. She’s happy, so how could it be so wrong?

“So, what do you hope to do for Feldman’s?” she asks as we get down to the last few bites of pie.

“I’m a fairly good tailor. I think that’s what he has in mind for me.”

“He?”

“The owner. My friend is his sister. That’s how I landed the interview.”

“Well, good luck then. You like to…” She pauses. “Sew?” A smirk plays across her face as she waits to see how I will respond to this challenge to my masculinity.

“Hey, it’s not such a bad skill to have. And I’ve never cried after pricking my finger. That makes me pretty macho, I think.” I have no idea where that came from, but she laughs out loud at my response.

As we finish up the pie, we chat more easily. A small voice in my head warns me about what I’m doing. Stop it, it says. You’ll only make it harder to walk away when she meets her true love. But I don’t want to listen. Not now that she’s right in front of me, within my reach. But I don’t touch her. I can’t. I know that once I do, I’ll never be able to let go.

“Well, Penn, this was a pleasant surprise. I’ll hold you to your promise to see my play. It opens in two weeks.” She relays all the details, and I promise to come on opening night.

She stands and gathers the plate and spoons. “This one’s on the house, Penn. Thank you for stopping in today.” I nod and she walks away, smiling. I don’t miss the look the hostess and Sandi share as she walks past them, mischievous, self-satisfied smiles on both of their faces.

I walk back to the car in a bit of a daze. It went well. We like each other. She invited me to a play in a couple of weeks. I will see her again.

When I slide into the passenger seat of the car, Aida doesn’t press me for details, at least not right away. She steals little glances at me instead, her smile growing ever wider as she watches me gaze dumbfounded out the window. Before I have time to even register everything that’s happened, she’s parked near the bridal shop.

The shop is small but modern. Aida says hello to the receptionist—who gives me a once-over that makes me more than a little uncomfortable—and keeps walking. I glance once over my shoulder at the receptionist, who’s biting her bottom lip as I walk away. Hastily, I turn back around and follow close behind Aida, taking in the minimalist aesthetic of the shop as she leads the way through it. Only a few dresses hang here and there, with plants, mirrors, pedestals, and cherry wood columns arranged artfully around the space. I want to stop to admire the fabrics, but Aida keeps walking toward the back, so I reluctantly follow.

“Cedric,” she calls out as she pushes through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY without hesitation.

“Back here,” he calls back.

I’m overwhelmed. All different kinds of white fabric surround me. Whereas there were only a few dresses displayed in the front of the store, the back is packed to the gills with stock. To my horror, Aida disappears into the sea of fabric, leaving me slack-jawed, my back pressed against the EMPLOYEES ONLY door.

“There you are,” I hear Aida say, and I try desperately to find her voice through the maze of chiffon, lace, and taffeta.

“Cedric, this is Penn, the one I was telling you about.” She must have turned to look back at me, because she clucks her tongue. “Penn, where have you gone to? Come meet Cedric.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost,” I shout back to her. She laughs and sticks an arm into the air, waving it about for me to see.

“Over this way.”

I weave my way through the racks of dresses, trying to take the most direct route to her.

“Sorry,” I say when I find them at last. “I’m afraid that’s not a very good first impression.” I hold out my hand for Cedric to shake. In that instant, I see his life—growing up with Aida, struggling to get his business up and running, making a close circle of friends here in the city, everything. He doesn’t have a family of his own, though that’s not to say he doesn’t value family. Some people just don’t get a true love. They are stronger on their own. He relishes his role as Uncle Cedric to Aida’s kids, but he values returning to his quiet apartment when the day is done. I smile at the life he’s made for himself. It’s another life I created that hasn’t been wasted.

“My first impression was already made when Aida told me about your skills,” Cedric says. “My sister isn’t known to exaggerate about things like that. She tells me you need a place to live. What do you think about an apprenticeship here in the shop in exchange for living upstairs? Of course, I will provide you with a small paycheck so you can buy food and stuff, but rent and utilities will be on me, okay? If you want to work here extra hours, your paycheck will increase. If not, that’s fine too. No judgment here. Once you’ve proven yourself, we can discuss a regular salary.”

“What about an interview?” I say, trying to process his words.

“Aida’s word is enough for me, for now. I’m sure you’ll prove your worth once you can start working. And if you’re not a good fit, we’ll figure something else out. Don’t worry. We’re not the kind of family that turns our back on someone in need.”

That, I already understand. I smile, grateful I literally landed in this family’s lap. “I’m not sure what I would have done without you,” I say to Aida. She puts her arm around me and squeezes.

“Just get to work, okay? I should go rescue Cody from the kids. Keep in touch. And come for dinner on Sunday. That’s not a request. Cedric can bring you.” She looks sternly at her brother, who nods and holds up his hands in surrender.

“We’ll be there,” he says. She hugs her brother goodbye, and I watch her leave, not sure how I feel about seeing her go. She became important to me in the short time we’ve known each other. I don’t relish the idea of being apart from her, but I’m not even supposed to be part of her life. I’m a Fate, and for all I know, my actions here will have a ripple effect. One that will now affect Cedric.

Once Aida’s gone, her brother turns to face me. He doesn’t look much like her. Where Aida’s hair is dark brown, his is black, parted down the center, falling just below his ears; where her face is long and slender, his is more round; and they are totally different heights. But they share the same gray, almond-shaped eyes.

His navy suit is tailored to fit him almost perfectly, but I spot a few places where it could be better. I’m not sure how I know this, having not spent much time around either humans or their clothing, but it just looks off to me.

Cedric sees me looking at his suit and pulls on one sleeve. “Do you like this suit? I had it made for me by a new guy down the street. I like to support local businesses, but I’m not convinced. It’s nice, but a little overpriced if you ask me.”

I hold out my hand. “Do you mind?”

It takes a moment for Cedric to understand what I want, but he eventually takes off his jacket and hands it to me. But once I have it, I’m not sure how to make the changes it needs. I scan the room for a needle, thread, scissors, and other basics.

“What are you looking for?” Cedric asks.

“Needle and thread.”

“I don’t…” He hesitates, but then changes his mind. “You know what, let’s see what you can do. Right this way.”

He leads me over to my new workstation, complete with a sewing machine, an array of needles, thread spools, pins, fabric swatches, tape measurers, scissors, seam rippers, and other odds and ends I will need. Glancing at again the length of Cedric’s arm, I get to work.

“Aren’t you going to measure?” he asks, but I don’t answer.

“This might take me a few minutes, if you have something else you’d like to do,” I suggest, but he stands still, apparently entranced by the movements of my hands.

It takes me more than a few minutes; in fact, it takes a few hours. After a while, Cedric pulls up a chair and sits beside me, completely mesmerized. I fumble a little, not fully understanding the unfamiliar fabric, but once I get used to the tools and the materials, I see the solution and work toward it.

“I think that should do it,” I finally say, holding up the coat for Cedric.

Giving me a skeptical look, Cedric puts one arm into the jacket, and then the other. I smooth the shoulders and back, knowing that the fit is now perfect.

We walk to the closest full-length mirror, and Cedric takes in the effect of my work. “Sorry that took me so long,” I say. “Sewing isn’t really my forte. Spinning is.”

“Spinning?” Cedric asks without looking at me. He is too busy admiring himself in the mirror.

“I think you would call it fabric making? Weaving? Creating.” I can’t hide the smile on my face as I think of how much I enjoyed making that silly little hat for Kareena’s doll.

“Spinning, huh?” He turns a bit and looks over his shoulder at his back in the mirror. “I don’t know. You’re pretty good at tailoring, if you ask me. In fact, I’m not sure how much I can teach you. I didn’t even realize this wasn’t a good fit.” He says it under his breath, almost to himself, and I smile, pleased to have made this man happy.

He clears his throat and glances down at his watch. “All right, well, it’s nearly closing time. Tell you what. Take what you need and spin something for me tonight. Play around. Your apartment is upstairs, fully furnished and ready for you. Here’s the key.” He hands me a small key ring with an “I Heart NY” keychain on it. “If you need anything at all, I’m sure one of your neighbors will be happy to help. I didn’t intend to spend my entire afternoon with you, so now I need to play some catch up.” He steals a glance at his reflection one more time, taking in the craftsmanship of the coat.

“Highly overpriced, that man,” he says as he turns and leaves.

Looking around the shop, I revel in the fact that he’s given me the freedom to spin anything I want. Not a specific person, not a specific garment. Anything. But, being that I’m in a bridal shop, I figure a dress might be most useful for Cedric.

I’m not sure I can prepare an entire dress in one night, especially considering I’ve never made anything larger than a doily slash hat. But I hope having the right materials on hand will ensure my success. Happy to have a purpose for the night ahead instead of lying around pretending to sleep, I settle in to my workstation, letting the movement of my hands take me away.

I don’t notice the others coming and going. Occasionally, someone stops to watch me for a bit, but they never speak. Somehow, they know not to interrupt me. I’m in a zone of creation, and I don’t pour less of myself into my work just because I’m making a dress, not a person.

I never make it up to my apartment that night. Instead, I spend the twilight hours bent over my work, crafting the lace, adding beads, and sewing it together to make the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. I picture Kismet wearing it as she walks down the aisle toward… her true love. Not me, but her true love. I shake my head as I make some adjustments. The lace bodice has capped sleeves, and there are scalloped edges along the bottom of the gown. The patterns in the lace create the appearance of galaxies similar to those I spent my life admiring from my bedroom window in the heavens. Swirls of fabric and beads create a beautiful universe contained in a single dress. I arrange the piece on a dress form and walk around it, pausing now and again to add some finishing touches.

A few people start to arrive for the day, and they stop and gasp as soon as they see the dress. “Were you here all night?” someone asks, but so many people have gathered around my masterpiece that I can’t tell who spoke.

“What’s the hold up here?” Cedric shouts from the back of the group. “I’m trying to get through.”

When he sees the dress hanging on one of their older mannequins, his breath catches. “Where did this come from?”

I can’t read his tone. Is he upset? I’m crouched around behind the form, fixing the hem on the back of the dress, when Cedric approaches, and I debate staying there to assess his reaction. But I stand slowly instead, deciding to be brave.

Cedric stares at me in disbelief, then his eyes naturally return to the dress. “How is this possible? You said you weren’t good at sewing. Where did this fabric even come from?”

Someone in the back clears his throat. “We don’t carry this fabric.”

I start looking for the source of the voice, but my search is cut short by Cedric. “So, did you get it somewhere else on short notice, Penn? How could you have created something like this in a little over twelve hours?”

I feel somewhat sheepish, like I’ve done something wrong. The longer I’m on Earth, the more I’m discovering that I don’t face the same limitations humans do. Making the dress in a single night wasn’t much of a stretch for me. In fact, I feel energized by it.

“I made the fabric, sir. I told you I was better at spinning than sewing.”

“But this…” He trails off as he circles the dress. “It’s a work of art.” He folds his arms over his chest for a moment, and then says, “What do you plan to do with this dress, Penn?”

“You asked me to spin something for you, so I did.” I think of Kismet wearing it, but then I make myself say, “I made it with your materials. You do with it as you see fit.”

Cedric smiles. “The possibilities…” He trails off again, and I can see his mind working as his eyes dart back and forth over the dress. “Penn, I’m going to set up a team meeting this afternoon to see how much of our resources we can devote to you. And if this is indicative of the kind of work you do, I’ll increase your salary substantially. You’re no apprentice, my friend. You’re a master. This is going to be big. Thank you.”

I can’t believe my ears. “No, thank you. This opportunity means a lot to me. I don’t want to let you down. Ever.” I think again of my mistake with the short, brown thread. But it won’t be possible for me to mess up like that here. There just isn’t as much riding on bridal fashion.

Cedric claps me on the back and shakes my hand. “This is going to be a beautiful friendship, I think.”

He smiles as he walks away, and for a moment, I’m feeling pretty good about my future on Earth. Then I spot someone lingering behind.

The bottom falls out of my stomach as he approaches. I recognize him immediately. He has dark, straight hair cropped short on the sides and combed over, thick, black eyebrows accentuating dark eyes, and a lean but strong build. Even though I didn’t get a clear picture of him on that fateful day, I know in the depths of my broken soul that this is Kismet’s true love.

8.

He approaches casually, his dark eyes full of curiosity and excitement. He’s plenty attractive in a boy-next-door kind of way, but I know he isn’t a player. He’s loyal—a quality that makes him even more appealing to women.

At first, I bristle. I don’t want to know him. I want to stay as far away from him as possible. But I inserted myself into their lives. Since I went out of my way to meet Kismet, it makes sense that I have put myself in his path too.

As I battle internally with myself, he gazes at the dress, temporarily forgotten by me.

“It really is lovely. Well done…” He trails off as he holds his hand out for me to shake, hoping I will fill in my name.

I stick out my hand, trying to hide my disappointment and irritation. “Penn.” In an instant, I see his whole life up until that point. I take a deep breath, trying to bring myself back to what he’s saying, but I’m distracted. He’s had tragedy in his life, and it hurts me. Recent tragedy. His parents died in a car accident less than a decade ago. He was in college.

“Andrew,” he says. I try to push down the pain I feel for his loss and focus on the present moment. He doesn’t seem to be hurting too much anymore, at least not actively, so I shouldn’t either. “I work in accounting,” he adds. “It’s going to be my job to see how much money we can get to you for things like materials and marketing. I’ve seen that look on Cedric’s face before. He’s going to want to push you, just to see how far you can go.”

I really want to dislike Andrew, but dang it, he’s friendly. Of course he’s friendly. I made him that way. I didn’t want some jerk fawning after Kismet. No, her true love has to be just as charming and full of light as she is.

“I don’t really know what to say to that,” I say. And that’s the truth. It’s all a lot to take in. Becoming a golden boy again after falling so far—literally—is a bit much for me to absorb at the moment.

Andrew smiles, and the expression lights up his face, making me want to see it again. A small part of me hates him for it. Kismet will love him immediately. I know it.

A dark thought creeps into my mind as I stand there with Andrew. If Kismet never meets Andrew, she’ll never fall in love with him. She can still be mine.

The disgust that boils up in my stomach leaves a horrible taste in the back of my mouth. I’ve never had such an actively destructive thought before in my life. Not only would I be interfering directly with Kismet’s fate, but I would be stealing Andrew’s real purpose. I spun him to complement her in every way. Preventing them from meeting is against everything I represent. And yet, the thought still lurks in my mind.

“Well, nice work, Penn. Very nice work. I look forward to seeing you this afternoon,” Andrew says as he sticks out his hand for me to shake again.

I watch him go, and for the first time since my banishment, I wonder if my punishment wasn’t harsh enough.

The afternoon is a whirlwind of meetings, numbers, suppliers, and catalogues, all tailored to me. I’m not interested in any of it. All I want to do is create. Well, that and be with Kismet. By the end of the day, I’m cranky, and Cedric can tell.

In our last meeting, he announces, “I’m going to take all of you to dinner tonight, to say thank you and to celebrate this exciting prospect. How does that sound?” Cedric puts his arm around me as he says it, and everyone cheers. A few of my new coworkers get out their phones to send texts to their loved ones, but most just seem excited.

As, well, fate would have it, Andrew sits himself next to me at dinner. Most of our coworkers are women—who’ve taken to looking at me like I’m a piece of meat—and I assume he’s looking for some camaraderie. I wish he would just stay away. It’s easier to hate him that way. But I’m a Fate, a heavenly being. Despite my disagreements with Webber, I’m not built for hate. And Andrew isn’t a soul who’s easily hated.

At dinner, we chat, laugh, and basically hit it off. I can’t help but be happy to have made a real friend.

Andrew invites me to all sorts of things in the days that follow—bars, Frisbee tournaments, the movies, and over to his house to watch various sporting events on TV.

Before I know it, nearly two weeks have passed. I’ve had dinner with Aida and her family twice. Cedric is helping me get my paperwork pushed through the system, although I’m not sure all of it is on the up and up. Then again, without a birth certificate or any other form of identification, I don’t know how we would accomplish it legally. At least this way, I’ll have what I need to make a life here on Earth. I’ll be here for quite some time, after all.

Things at work are going great. I made five more dresses for the shop, and each sold almost immediately. Cedric claims the shop’s the most profitable it’s ever been.

The only dress we don’t sell is Kismet’s, though that’s not for a lack of customers. After stewing over it for a day or two, I asked Cedric to keep it for display, as an example of what I can do. The truth is, I’m determined never to duplicate it. I can’t bear to think about anyone other than Kismet wearing it, although I don’t share that detail with Cedric. Thankfully, he agrees without question, and I frequently pause to look at the masterpiece and think of Kismet.

Her play is two days away, and I’m still warring with myself about keeping Andrew away from her. So what if I don’t invite him to this play? There will be others. Or so I tell myself. I don’t know for sure when they’re supposed to meet, but it’s probably not at this play. Andrew isn’t even into plays.

Deep down, in a place I want to ignore, I know the first step off track is always the hardest. After that, it gets easier and easier to sacrifice the right course of action for what feels good in the moment. Anyway, if I don’t invite him to the play, what kind of friend would I be, after everything he has done to make me feel welcome in this new city? When they hit it off as they’re intended to do, shouldn’t I be happy for them?

Andrew stops by my workstation as I’m considering my options. “Hey, I’m just heading out to get some lunch. Do you want something?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” I say, still not sure what to do. I know what I should do, but can I cast aside my own desires to do what’s right? I’ve never wanted anything this much before.

Andrew chats about a TV show we both like as we walk, but I’m not really listening. Television is fascinating to me. It’s almost like watching a thread in the weaving room, so it has a nice familiarity to it, plus the plotlines are amazing. No one’s life is that dramatic all the time.

Finally, Andrew stops talking. “Something up, Penn? You seem a bit distracted.”

I watch our reflections in the shop windows as we continue walk. We can’t be more opposite. Although we’re almost identical in height, I’m the light to Andrew’s dark. Light isn’t what Kismet needs. I made Andrew to fulfill her needs in every way. I’m just not built for that, and wishing it were otherwise won’t make it so.

“Andrew, there’s a play I’m going to on Friday night. I think you should go with me.” I keep my eyes on my feet as we walk, not wanting to look at him.

“I’m not super into plays, Penn. But thanks?” Andrew says. His tone tells me that he realizes something else is going on here. As he tries to puzzle it out, something seems to occur to him.

“Are you asking me out?”

I stop walking and consider my options. Despite my inner turmoil, I can’t pass up the opportunity to tease my new friend. It’s too good. “So what if I am?” I say seriously, looking straight into Andrew’s eyes with as much sincerity as I can muster.

“Oh jeez, man, I’m sorry, but you’ve gotten the wrong impression,” Andrew sputters. “I’m not, I mean, I have no problem with it, if you are, but I just…” He trails off, jamming his hands into his pockets and looking at his feet. “Listen, I was just trying to be friendly. All the people in the shop are mostly women, so when Cedric hired another guy, I was excited to have a new friend. That’s all. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.” The more he says, the faster he talks, until soon, there aren’t any words left.

“Well, this is awkward,” I say, not quite ready to let him off the hook.

Andrew shrugs and looks a way, then gives me a half smile, attempting to reassure me that we’re still okay. He starts to reach up to touch me on the shoulder, but thinks better of it and lets his arm fall back to his side.

I watch it all unfold, barely able to contain myself. Finally, I can’t take it any more—my friend’s attempt to comfort me in spite of his own discomfort pushes me over the edge. I burst out laughing, thoroughly startling Andrew.

“What?” Andrew asks. At first, he’s genuinely confused, but I know he’s caught on when he smacks me on the arm. “You played me?” I can tell he isn’t really mad. I can hear the laugh in his voice, just barely held back.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face,” I say through my tears. It feels good. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed this hard. Maybe I’ve never laughed this hard at all.

The crowd on the busy downtown sidewalk maneuvers around us, some people smiling at our joy, others annoyed by the commotion.

Eventually, we compose ourselves and continue on to our destination, but before we get to the deli, I realize something—Andrew didn’t accept my invitation. My friend deserves to be happy.

“Hey, so how about the play? You in? I mean, now that you know I’m not propositioning you,” I persist as we turn off the sidewalk and into the deli.

Andrew gives me a sideways look. “Why? What’s so great about it?” he asks, still skeptical.

“The lead.”

A lightbulb comes on for Andrew. “This is about a girl! Wait, a girl for you or a girl for me?”

I take a breath. Here is my defining moment. A girl for you. Once it’s out, I can’t take it back. I hold it on the edge of my tongue for as long as possible. Placing my order at the deli counter, I go about collecting napkins, a straw, condiments, and my drink.

Once we both have our bags in hand, and we’re on our way out, Andrew poses the question again. “A girl for you, or a girl for me?”

I look at him sadly. “A girl for you. A girl for you.” I say it twice, as if to convince myself of the truth of that statement. I wasn’t expecting to have to let her go already, and the finality of it hits me hard. To make it worse, Andrew starts asking questions about her.

“What’s she like? You know I don’t date much. And I wouldn’t have expected you, of all people, to fix me up with someone. That’s something my sister would do.”

“I know. But this one is different.”

“Different than what? You haven’t met any of my exes. You have no frame of reference,” Andrew points out.

I sigh, wondering why I should have to defend her to him. I shouldn’t have to explain how wonderful she is, especially not to her true love. “Tell you what. Let’s just go to the play. If you don’t think she’s for you, we won’t stop and say hi to her at the end. We’ll just go home, and I’ll make up some excuse about why I didn’t see her after the show. No big deal.”

“So you’re friends with this girl? I’ve never heard you talk about her before.”

“You’re awfully suspicious. No wonder I don’t do nice things for you more often,” I say with a sidelong grin.

“I don’t like being fixed up,” Andrew insists.

“That was in no way unclear. But this doesn’t even count as a date. She doesn’t know I’m bringing you, so no harm, no foul if you don’t fall in love with her when you see her up on stage.”

Andrew laughs out loud at that. “Penn. You’ve been spending too much time in the shop. People don’t fall in love at first sight, at least not real love.”

“Want to make a bet?” I say, suddenly feeling lucky.

We’ve reached the bridal shop, and Andrew smiles with undeserved confidence as he holds the door open for me. “Absolutely.”

Once we settle in the back room and take our lunches out, I set the terms of our gamble. “Fine. Loser buys lunch for a month.”

“A month?” Andrew says, a bit incredulous at the stakes.

“What’s the big deal? You won’t lose, will you? People don’t fall in love at first sight. Remember?”

“Fine. A month. And I get to pick where we go.”

I stick out my hand, and Andrew takes it. But before we shake, I clarify one detail. “And the winner picks the place to eat.”

“Sounds good,” Andrew says as we shake hands.

I can’t help but feel like I’ll win the bet, but lose the prize.

9.

I arrive at the off-Broadway playhouse twenty minutes early, and start pacing outside as I wait for Andrew. Despite the cooler evening temperatures, I’m already sweating in my brand-new suit coat and jeans.

I’ve made enough extra money from my creations for the shop to buy myself an entire wardrobe. In my early days at the shop, I had to borrow all my things from Cedric, so it’s nice to have my own clothes. Even Andrew gave me some basic pieces to help round out my wardrobe. The thought comes as a bit of a relief. Andrew is worthy of Kismet, in every way. I’ve done the right thing by asking him here.

Still, when I finally spot Andrew approaching, I feel a mix of relief and dread. I wasn’t sure he would come. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t, and the cosmos would allow me to have Kismet all for myself.

Relief wins out. As I watch Andrew walk up, dressed almost exactly as I am, I smile in spite of myself. They will be perfect together, truly beautiful. They will exude happiness in every possible way, and people will look at them and smile. Who am I to deprive the world of that joy?

We take our seats a few rows back from the front, right in the center. We have an excellent view of the stage, and despite the sense of loss I feel, I’m also excited. I’ve never witnessed the moment when two people I’ve created for each other finally meet. I know it will be special, but I have no concept of just how much.

As the lights go down, Andrew leans over. “She’s the lead? Kismet?” He pronounces her name slowly, clearly unsure of how to say it. “What kind of name is that?” he whispers.

I roll my eyes. “It means destiny, you idiot. Watch the play.”

The curtain rises, revealing Kismet standing on center stage. She’s dressed in a flowing, white gown, with the telltale pearl dangling from the center of her forehead. She’s older than the Childlike Empress from the original story, but other than that, the role suits her. The writer has changed the character slightly, so that her name comes more from her interests than her appearance.

“Nothing is… well, nothing. It’s dangerous in its nothingness. Empty and all consuming,” she says, holding the audience captive from her very first line.

I reluctantly tear my eyes away from her and look to Andrew, whose mouth is hanging open in disbelief as he watches her. He isn’t blinking. I can tell that Kismet is speaking right to his heart. It truly is a special magic to see him react to her, his soul mate.

After the show, Andrew and I don’t speak. I can tell the man isn’t capable of words. I debate whether it’s the right time for them to meet, but I decide it might be fun to watch Andrew stumble a bit.

So, we hang around out front for a while. Several minutes pass, and I start to wonder if she went out a back entrance. Andrew’s not as impatient as I am; he’s staring dreamily into the night sky.

Then Kismet appears through the door, and our breath catches at the same time. Dressed casually, she still looks every bit as magical and unearthly as she did as the Childlike Empress.

She doesn’t notice us at first; she simply slings her purse over her shoulder and looks both ways, ready to face her journey home. But I interrupt that train of thought.

“Hi,” I call out to her. She searches for the source of the voice, and then gives me a big smile when she recognizes me.

“You came,” she says as she walks over to me. Andrew stands up and smiles handsomely at her, but she doesn’t see him at first. She comes right to me and hugs me, making Andrew a bit unsure.

I relish the hug, probably lingering a bit longer than I should, but I know it will be our one and only interaction that dances with possibility this way. As soon as she sees Andrew, I will be nothing more than a friend. Anyway, Andrew will share a lifetime with her, so I can’t feel too guilty about stealing an extra moment or two from my friend.

Kismet lets go and pulls back, beaming. “What did you think?”

“I thought it was amazing. Brilliant. You were perfect,” Andrew says, not able to contain himself any more.

I watch as Kismet’s expression goes from confused to completely enchanted. Their two souls have found each other, and it is absolute magic. The power of it takes my breath away. I can hardly believe I almost tried to keep them away from each other.

I clear my throat. “Kismet, this is Andrew. I brought him along because I thought he might enjoy your play. Seems I was right.”

“Andrew, it’s very nice to meet you,” she says as she holds out her hand, never once taking here eyes off him. “Have you boys eaten? I’m famished after that performance.”

We shake our heads no, and off we go, Kismet looping her arm through Andrew’s as they walk, natural as could be, me trailing a few paces behind them. I listen as they chat easily, telling each other about their lives, careers, how they know me, dumb things about their childhoods, everything. I barely get a word in, but I’m content to sit back and watch this beautiful connection I’ve created. As much as I love Kismet, I’m thrilled to watch her with her true love. It tells me that these two really were my best creations.

Andrew buys me lunch every day after the play. Most days, he asks what I want, and he always treats without a word. He doesn’t even object the day I suggest the new hippie vegan place down the block. The food is disgusting, but it’s totally worth it to see him try to gag it down without grimacing. This daily unspoken confirmation of his feelings never fails to bring a smile to my face.

The next months are a whirlwind. Word about the miracle designer at Feldman’s spreads quickly, and orders are coming in fast for custom dresses. I set up a system where I meet with a client, get to know her a little, and then create something to suit her specific personality. Some girls like more of a boho chic look; others like a lot of poof and frills; still others like a clean, sophisticated look. Each of the dresses I make is absolutely perfect for the bride for whom it’s intended, tailored to her in every way.

I never let anyone else work on the dresses. A while back, Cedric offered to have the alterations department do the small work, the hemming and taking in, but I refused. The devil truly is in the details. Cedric hasn’t brought it up again.

On the other side of my life, Andrew and Kismet are inseparable outside of work. They spend every available moment together, and when they’re apart, they can’t stop talking about each other. They often include me in their outings, but I know they also spend plenty of time alone together.

A couple of months later, I’m working on a special order for a bride when the receptionist buzzes me on the speakerphone on my table. “Penn, there’s someone to see you,” she says. Lowering her voice, she adds, “And you never answered my lunch invitation.”

I sigh, growing tired of the constant come-ons from the women in the shop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had an appointment. I’ll be right up.” I hate when I lose track of time and forget things, but sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the work, I lose sight of everything around me.

Before the receptionist can respond, I shrug on my suit coat and head to the sales floor, smoothing my pants as I go.

Just as I’m shaking the wrinkles out of the coat and round the corner to the front of the shop, I look up and see Kismet standing at the desk, talking animatedly with the girl behind it. I’ve been expecting to see her—after all, I helped Andrew shop for the ring—but it still catches me off-guard.

Kismet is starting to earn some local fame from her performance in the play, and it’s clear the girl behind the desk recognizes her. Her face is on a large poster just around the corner from the shop. Clearly, the receptionist is a little starstruck, but Kismet either genuinely doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

When I walk up, they’re deep into the details of the latest episode of some show I’ve never heard of.

“Wait! Don’t tell me! I have it on my DVR,” Kismet says as she closes her eyes and waves her hand at the girl.

“Kismet, what a pleasant surprise,” I say.

We share a warm hug that gives me strength for what I know is coming. I play dumb, so she can have the satisfaction of showing off her ring.

After our embrace, she brings her hand around and sticks it under my nose. It’s a beautiful black diamond set in rose gold with tiny black diamonds swirling around the band. It fits perfectly on her hand, just like I knew it would.

“Oh Kismet, it’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Congratulations,” I say as I look into her eyes, seeing the excitement dancing in them. In fact, she’s having trouble holding still. She bounces on her heels until I finally let go of her hand, and then she leaps into my arms, squealing as she goes.

I know people are looking at us, but I don’t care. Her joy is contagious, and I see the smiles on their faces as I spin her around.

“Well, let’s see about a dress, shall we?” I take her hand and lead her to the back room. Normally, I meet with clients in a meeting room. Over a two-hour or so meeting, I’ll sketch out what they want, or what I think they want, then make changes and take notes. Usually, the client goes to get measured, and I go to my workstation to get started. But Kismet is special. Her dress is already done. The only problem is that Andrew has seen it.

As we walk, I ask her a few questions about the engagement. “Did you tell your parents?”

“Yes. We called them last night. But I wanted to wait to tell you. I mean, I know you already knew, but still.” She shrugs. “I wanted to tell you in person. You made this happen. This smile on my face.” She points to her face, making me smile with her.

“Do you want me to call Andrew down?”

“No!” she says adamantly. “He has strict instructions to stay in his office.”

I nod, surrendering to the wishes of the bride, and can’t help but laugh. “I want to show you something,” I say as we walk past my workstation, moving deeper into the back, where I keep a lot of my materials. When Cedric requested something new and fresh for the front window, I moved her dress out of the way. Cedric, of course, asked if he could sell the dress, but I refused. I told him the dress was my muse, and I could only bear to part with it for the right bride.

And here she is.

I move a few piles of threads and fabric out of the way, and then pull the mannequin out for her.

“That’s…” She trails off, holding her hand on her chest as she gazes at the dress.

“Please, take a look at the whole thing,” I suggest, gesturing for her to take a lap around the entire dress.

She automatically does as she’s told without making a verbal response, her mouth hanging open. She toys with her necklace to keep her hand busy as she walks around the dress. “This is perfect. Did you make it?” she asks.

“I did, my first day here. There’s just one problem…” I hesitate, not sure how she will take the news.

“Did someone else buy it? Why would you show it to me if it already belongs to someone else?” The panic in her voice makes it raise at least two octaves by the end of her question, and I hold my hands out in surrender, trying to calm her down.

“No. This dress is yours if you want it.”

“So what’s the problem?” she demands.

“Andrew has seen it.”

Her breath hitches, but a crooked smile steals across her face. “What did he think?”

“He loved it. Thought it was great work,” I answer honestly. “It was months ago, so I don’t remember his exact words, but he did like it.”

“He’ll like it even better on me,” she says, walking closer to the dress and gingerly touching the beadwork on one shoulder. “I want to try it on now. Can I?”

“Of course. Meet me out front. Have one of the girls get you a room, okay? Let them know if you want champagne or anything. I’ll be right up after I get the dress off the mannequin,” I say.

She claps her hands and skips happily out of the back room. As I carefully remove the dress, I can’t help but feel this moment is a little bittersweet. Like I have an eternity on this Earth, and my journey is already coming full circle.

Of course, the dress fits her perfectly. “It’s like it was made for me,” she says, the disbelief plain in her voice.

“It was,” I say. “I made it the day we met.”

Kismet looks at me with such love and sorrow, and her beautiful green eyes fill with tears as she reaches for my hand. Standing there on the pedestal, wearing the lace dress I made for her, she’s a vision to behold. The tears spill over and run down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” I ask, suddenly concerned.

“Because you are so good to me. I know you love me, Penn, and I love you too, but Andrew…”

I smile in spite of myself and wipe a tear from her cheek. “I know. I know in a way that even you don’t. You were quite literally made for each other.”

She nods emphatically. “I love you even more for understanding. I can tell you’re not just saying that to placate me. You know. And you still love us both.”

“Of course I do.” I squeeze her hand. “Now dry your tears so we can Skype your mom, okay?”

She wants to pay for the dress, of course, but I made it for her, and it’s mine to do with as I please. I offer to give Cedric money for the materials, but he refuses me. He seems almost as sad as I am to see the dress go, albeit for different reasons. He calls it a work of art—the catalyst that started the shop’s climb to bridal boutique fame.

Everyone has trouble being productive after Kismet walks out with the dress that day. The shop feels somehow emptier without it. But like everything else when it comes to Kismet, I know I have to set it free.

The following months pass by like a strong spring wind. I feel completely engulfed by their wedding plans. Andrew names me his best man, and Kismet leans heavily on me for help with figuring out most of the details. Her parents both live in Florida, and her girlfriends are proving less than helpful. But I’m happy to be included.

They often invite me over to their new apartment for dinner. It’s a small studio, but it’s not the indoor space they’re paying for. The balcony has views of the city I could watch forever.

One night, while Kismet is washing dishes, Andrew and I sit out on the balcony watching the world go by on the street below.

“Penn, can I ask you something?” Andrew asks, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“I’m quite confident you can. Particularly based on the stunning skill with which that last question was executed.”

He ignores me and goes on. “Where are you from? Why don’t you ever talk about what your life was like before moving here?”

“I do. I told you about my sisters,” I say carefully.

“What happened to them?”

“They’re still at home, where they belong.”

“Where is home?”

I don’t answer him. We’ve danced around these questions before. Andrew hasn’t persisted until now, and I prefer it that way.

“Or maybe the better question is, why aren’t you comfortable telling us?” Andrew studies me, but I look out over the street, admiring the beauty I see before me.

“I would love to share that part of myself with you,” I say after a moment. “But there are a lot of reasons why I can’t. Anyway, you’d probably think I was crazy if you knew the truth.” I chuckle, trying to shake Andrew out of his inquisitive mood, but his sidelong glance tells me it isn’t working tonight. I swirl the wine in my glass and sigh.

“Would it change what you think of me? Truly? Besides, what are you thinking? That I have some big, dark past as a drug addict, murderer, or child molester? That I used to be a priest? A hippie? A battered soldier? Does it really matter what my life was like before I met Aida and her family?”

Andrew thinks for a moment. “I mean, some of those things are pretty intense. Got to say, I wouldn’t want you being around my kids if you were a few of those things.”

I nod seriously. “Rightfully so.” My expression gives Andrew pause, and I laugh. “Wow. Good to know I can shake your opinion of me so easily.”

Andrew smacks me, and we’re quiet for a few moments.

“No. I guess it doesn’t matter,” he finally says.

I glance over my shoulder. Kismet has her back to us as she washes dishes in the sink. I can just barely hear her singing a tune from the latest musical she’s headlining. Her next job will be on Broadway. As I sit next to her match, I know that both of their dreams are coming true, and the thought fills me with a feeling of satisfaction.

“You’re a good man, Andrew.” I hold my glass out to my friend, and we drink a toast to them, their lives, and their future.

But as I do, something nags at the back of my mind. Something I haven’t thought of in a long time. I don’t know if it’s Andrew’s questions, or if I’m just mentally comparing the friends I’ve made here with the ones I had in the heavens, but Michaela’s pained expression flashes through my mind again as I swallow the wine. I wonder if she’s resolved her problem, whatever it was. Something in the pit of my stomach tells me no, but I ignore it. After all, she’s out of my reach.

10.

Two weeks before the wedding, the world turns to ash around me. Everything I thought to be true about heaven and Earth is turned upside down in an instant.

Andrew didn’t come to work that morning, but I didn’t even realize it until lunch came and went. Despite the fact that our month-long agreement elapsed quite some time ago, Andrew has continued to buy me lunch every day. When I said something about it a few months ago, he just shrugged and mumbled something about how he owes his happiness to me.

I start asking around about Andrew once I realize he isn’t there, but no one has seen him. In fact, Cedric hasn’t even heard from him, which is very unusual.

The truth becomes clear the moment Kismet walks into the store. Death can be the only explanation for the complete and utter anguish etched deep into her face.

I have never known grief. I have no concept of it. Nor do I know how to handle it. So after Kismet confirms the ugly truth—he’s gone forever—I hold on to her right there in the storefront, both of us sobbing, until Cedric comes out and ushers us into the back. He also calls Kismet’s parents and arranges for them to come to New York on the next available flight. But I’m not paying attention to all that. Kismet is the only being in my world right now. That, and a huge, empty hole my friend once occupied.

I don’t understand. How could this have happened? I saw Andrew’s thread, and it was long enough to match Kismet’s.

“This isn’t right,” I keep saying to anyone who will listen. They all think I’m just grieving the loss of my best friend.

“No, it isn’t right. He was too young,” they say. “So much potential, wasted.” Or “It’s such a shame.” They don’t understand. Not like I do. Something has gone terribly wrong, and I have to find out what.

Eventually, when the sobbing subsides, I learn that Andrew died in his sleep. The doctors find no preliminary signs of foul play, and it certainly wasn’t an overdose. For the time being, he appears to have somehow died of natural causes… at twenty-eight. Kismet discovered him when she went home for lunch. Before leaving for her early shift at the diner, she kissed him, and he smiled and mumbled I love you. He was alive. He was fine. A few hours later, he was gone.

“I don’t understand,” she keeps saying over and over. It becomes her mantra, almost like it’s what reminds her to breathe in and out. If she speaks the words, expelling air, she’s forced to take more back in. It keeps her alive.

Turns out, Cedric isn’t able to get her parents out until the next day, so Kismet stays at my apartment that night. She can’t bring herself to return to their empty home, or sleep in the bed where he breathed his last. I don’t relish the idea of being alone, either. So I let her have my bed, and I settle down to sleep on the couch in the living room.

What happened to Andrew? I remember the creation of his thread so vividly, including the relief I felt when Horatia cut it so long and Galenia decided he would die peacefully in his bed with his family around him. That didn’t mean he’d slip away mid-morning in his late twenties.

What if the same thing happens to Kismet? I sit up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding right out of my chest. I can’t let that happen. Moving as silently as possible, I get up and pad to my room to check on her. She’s buried under a mound of covers. Her mop of hair sticks out of the top, splayed over both of my pillows. I can’t see her face, but I hope she’s sleeping.

Bringing my pillow and a blanket into the room, I make a nest by her bedside. Her hand dangles from the bed, and I reach for it as I settle in beside her. I will never let anything bad happen to her. That just isn’t her fate.

The following day, Cedric picks up Kismet’s family from the airport and takes them to their apartment. Andrew doesn’t have much family left, and his few remaining relatives live locally. He was an only child, so the car accident that stole his parents left him with few surviving family members.

Kismet’s parents have only met Andrew once. They flew to New York after learning about the engagement in an attempt to talk Kismet out of what they viewed as a hasty marriage. But as soon as they met Andrew and saw the two of them together, they knew it was right. They didn’t say another word against it.

A soft knock at my door at around midday lets me know they’ve arrived.

“Kismet, your parents are here,” I say, but she doesn’t stir. She hasn’t willingly left the blanket cocoon she’s made since building it. I wonder if she’s even gone to the bathroom.

I open the door, and her mother greets me, red-eyed. She throws her arms around me, and I hug her back with one arm, smoothing her hair with my free hand as she weeps.

“Penn,” Kismet’s father says in greeting as he makes his way into my small apartment.

“Kismet’s in the bedroom,” I tell him through her mother’s mass of blonde hair.

“I don’t understand. They were so happy together.” Her mother’s sentiment strikes me as odd. She’s acting as if their happiness somehow contributed to his death. I know she means that it only adds to the tragedy, but Andrew certainly didn’t leave on purpose. I shake my head. If I’ve learned one thing over the past day, it’s that people say odd things when they’re grieving. It occurs to me that Kismet’s mom is grieving for the life and love her daughter has lost more than she is for Andrew.

Eventually, she pulls herself together and moves away from me. “I’m sorry. It was a long night, having to be separated from her like that.” I nod. I’m not sure what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to be with Kismet last night. “How is she?”

“As you’d expect.” I never know what to say when someone asks me that. The truth? She’s terrible. Her true love just passed away. The other half of her soul is gone, leaving her to wander the Earth alone for the rest of her days.

“Has she started making arrangements?” her mother asks.

“No,” I say simply. “It’s only been a day.”

“Yes, I know, but there’s a lot to do. When we lost my mother, Kismet’s grandma, the hospital was immediately pushing us to get the body out, and then the funeral home wanted her in the ground as soon as possible. It was hurry, hurry, hurry. At least I had help. My siblings were very involved, which was good, because my dad was a bit of a zombie through it all.”

“Understandably so,” I offer, and Kismet’s mother nods in agreement.

“Kismet has us for that. Plus, the wedding will have to be…” She hesitates. “Disassembled. It’s all so sad,” she says as her voice quavers again. I brace myself for another outpouring of emotion, but she sniffs and holds back, thankfully.

“I need to see her,” she says suddenly, sticking out her chin, as if that will help her be strong for her daughter.

I gesture toward the bedroom and follow her in. We find her dad sitting on the edge of the bed, silently rubbing her back. Her parents share a dark look as her mom walks around the bed.

“Kismet, sweetie. I’m here.” She kneels by the bed, sweeping the hair away from her daughter’s eyes. Tears fall silently down Kismet’s face, and I fear they will continue to fall for an eternity.

11.

The days that follow are blanketed in a haze of grief that makes everything difficult to process. Aida stops by to offer help and bring food. Cody calls me, but we don’t talk much. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t have anything to say, and Cody doesn’t have any words, either, because when someone you love dies, there are none.

Kismet gets a lot of phone calls at first, but she never answers them. I try to field them for her, but after a while, I give up. Kismet knows people are trying, but she can’t bring herself to respond to them. She can’t bring herself to do much of anything.

Kismet’s parents end up initiating the arrangements for Andrew, and I step in to help when important decisions are needed. I give her mother the key to their place, and she chooses some pictures for a slide show. When she asks me what song to use, I smile for the first time in days.

“I’m really tempted to tell you a song he would’ve hated, just to needle him one last time.”

She smiles back. “You two were close, weren’t you? You were going to be the best man?”

“We were like brothers,” I say as I leaf through some of the pictures her mom picked out. They are all good. Andrew was very photogenic, and the love he and Kismet shared is so apparent in the photos they took together.

“Do you have any siblings? Family flying in to support you during the service?”

“I have two sisters, but they don’t travel.”

“That’s a shame. Family is important at times like these.”

“Kismet, Cedric, Aida, and Cody, they’re my family now,” I say, looking at the last picture in the pile. Andrew is young, a teenager. He stands on the end of a dock, holding a fish up that’s as long as his torso. His grin is almost as big as the fish.

“He told me he fell in right after that was taken. The fish flopped and knocked him off balance. It got away in the end,” Kismet says softly, her voice scratchy from disuse over the last few days.

I didn’t even hear her come into the room. I pull out a seat for her, but she remains standing, as if she isn’t sure she’s ready to commit to joining us. Getting up was enough.

“Good to see you up, sweetie,” her mom says, but Kismet doesn’t respond. She just keeps looking at the picture of Andrew. A tear falls down her cheek, following a trail blazed by thousands of others.

I stretch my hand out to her, but she’s just out of reach. She keeps her eyes fixed on the image. I hold the picture out to her, and she takes it from me, holding it close so she can study his face, as if she’s afraid she’ll forget what he looks like. The thought pours more grief into my already-full cup, but at least I’ve given her something solid to hold on to.

“The funeral is set for tomorrow, honey. Do you need me to go to the apartment to get you something to wear?” her mother asks. But she doesn’t answer. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because she doesn’t hear. She’s in her own world with Andrew.

“Yes, please do,” I whisper to her mother, not wanting to interrupt her. I only have eyes for Kismet. Her beauty has been withered by grief. Her hair is a tangled mess, going every which direction, and greasy from days spent in bed. Her bloodshot, puffy eyes are exposed for the entire world to see. After raiding my closet, she’s dressed in a sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big and hangs off one shoulder, paired with sweat pants that are way too large and long. She looks like a rag doll.

“Okay,” Kismet’s mother softly says. “The wake starts at four, the service is at six, and there will be a graveside service to follow. So that’ll give you plenty of time to get ready.”

Kismet nods automatically, but I know she doesn’t understand. How could she? I don’t, and I’m a Fate. Or at least, I was.

That night, after Kismet’s parents return to their hotel and Kismet settles into her cocoon, I lay on the floor beside her, wondering for the hundredth time what could have happened. The only heavenly person I know who seems capable of such a thing is Webber. It must have been him. But if his purpose was to get to me, why hurt Andrew? Why not Kismet? Webber knows how much I love her. Maybe he’s toying with me. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before he cuts her life’s thread too. As I think of the damage Webber’s doing to the tapestry, I’m filled with rage.

It’s an emotion I haven’t experienced to this degree before, and I’m not sure what to do. I leave the room, shutting the bedroom door behind me. Filled with energy, I pace the main room of the apartment as I try to puzzle out what I can do, how I can stop my rival from ruining the beauty of the human world. What did Webber say? Dark threads add contrast to the tapestry, or something like that. The thought of him weaving in black thread after black thread gives me chills, as does the realization that we’re at his mercy now. All of us.

Surely, someone will see what he’s doing. This can’t go on for long. Maybe they already stopped him, and he’s been punished. Maybe I will run into him on Earth. But that thought brings me up short. It doesn’t make sense. Webber isn’t the kind of guy to risk so much for so little gain. I have already been punished, and Webber has gotten exactly what he wants. What more does he stand to gain from killing Kismet’s soul mate? Nothing, as far as I can tell. But I have no other answers.

I pace for a while longer, still at a loss. Then I think of Michaela. Is this why she was so upset the day I was banished? Did she somehow see this coming? It’s too upsetting to even consider.

“A Reaper,” I say quietly to the dark room. “I have to find a Reaper.”

Once I have a solution in mind, I’m able to settle down. I’m dozing off on the floor of my room when Kismet wakes me.

“Penn,” she whispers.

Despite her quiet voice, she startles me. I’ve grown used to not hearing her speak, so I’m immediately on full alert. “What’s wrong?” I sit up.

She’s still lying with her back to me, and I can barely make out her shape.

“I need you to dye my dress black. I want to wear it tomorrow.” The weight of what she says makes her voice thick.

“Of course.” I get up immediately, pausing only to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I just need to run to your apartment first.”

She doesn’t answer, and although I hope she’s gone back to sleep, something tells me she’s still awake. In fact, I question whether she’s slept at all, which means she knows I’ve been up all night too. We’re two tortured souls together, adrift in the night.

Once I return to the shop with her dress, I sigh as I set to work, darkening the threads of her dress, hoping her life’s thread hasn’t been darkened too.

The funeral is difficult to get through, not only because it’s hard to see my friend, who was always the picture of health, lying there dead, but also because I’m so consumed by the need to find out what happened to him. I need answers, ones that might help save Kismet.

It’s just a week from their scheduled wedding date, and Kismet is watching her fiancé lowered into the ground. The bride wears her wedding dress, forever blackened, and slouches over with sorrow. The life that’s rightfully hers was stolen from her. And as I watch my dear friend return to the Earth, I make a silent vow to uncover the truth of what happened.

That night, after Kismet is back in her cocoon, I ask her parents to stay with her at my apartment. I tell them I have some digging to do.

“What kind of digging?” Kismet’s dad asks once we’re alone in the hallway outside my apartment. Her father is a kind man, but he can also sniff out bullshit from a mile away. Needless to say, he has zero tolerance for it.

“Honestly, I don’t accept what happened to Andrew. I need to know more. I’m going to head to the hospital to see what I can find out.”

“Penn, it’s late. Anyone who can help you will have gone home hours ago. I understand that you’re upset and you feel the need to take some kind of action, but this isn’t the right way,” Kismet’s dad says, holding out his arm to usher me back into the apartment.

“This is just something I need to do. You’re right, I probably won’t be able to figure this out, but I need to try. I need to stay busy,” I say, hoping that I’ve offered enough of the truth to satisfy him.

“Fine. I understand that,” he says, shaking his head. He lowers his outstretched arm to shake my hand. “Good luck. If you don’t find what you’re looking for, I hope you at least find some peace.”

I nod, shake the man’s hand, and leave, heading straight for the closest hospital.

Reapers, like Michaela, are the only heavenly beings allowed to travel back and forth between the heavens and Earth. I have to go somewhere where people die, regularly. And the first idea that comes to mind is the ICU ward of the hospital.

So I catch the train over to Mount Sinai. It’s well past dark when I arrive, and the hospital is pretty quiet. The receptionist at the front desk is both pleasant and helpful, and after smiling at me longer than is necessary, she directs me straight to the ICU ward. For the first time, I’m grateful for the immediate attraction women—and even some men—seem to have to me. It has helped me get past the first barrier.

As I ride the elevator to the correct floor, I wonder why I didn’t think to try this sooner. Perhaps this will provide me with a connection to my other life. There are a lot of Reapers, so the odds are slim that I’ll come across Michaela, but I really hope I do. Ultimately, she’s the one I need to find. But perhaps another Reaper would be able to get a message to her. Anything is better than the questions that surround me now.

The doors open to the ICU ward, and I step out, but I don’t get too far. The elevator dumps into the waiting room, staunchly guarded by the receptionist. The actual patients are securely kept behind doors that remain locked and tightly controlled by the woman at the desk. I approach cautiously, trying to come up with a feasible excuse to get past her.

Oh hi. I just need to make contact with a Reaper. I’ll be out of your hair really fast, I promise. I shake my head. Yes, do you have someone who’s dying? Like right now? I’d like to linger at their bedside. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

“How can I help you?” the nurse asks. She’s middle aged, with a blunt haircut and steel-rimmed glasses that perch at the end of her pointed nose, secured around her neck with a strand of pink beads. It seems to me she’s all business, but at least she isn’t openly hostile.

“My friend was brought here last week. He passed away. I think we might have left something of his behind. His fiancée asked me to come here and look around.” The lie forms a little too easily, but I’m not really ashamed. Not much, anyway. I have to try. The means justify the ends, or at least I hope they will.

Removing her glasses from their perch, she studies me, and I catch a flash of sympathy in her gaze. But maybe I’m wrong. So many intact families come through that waiting room, only to leave broken. I wonder just how desensitized she is to my made-up plight.

“I am so sorry for your loss.” Her tone is very genuine, and I decide she isn’t too jaded, at least not yet. “However, I can’t allow you to go into the ICU unless you are a direct family member of a patient. We can’t have random people poking around in there. Perhaps you can tell me what room your friend was in, and I’ll have an orderly look around. Although, I wouldn’t hold my breath. The rooms are thoroughly cleaned after they are vacated.”

Vacated. That’s one way of putting it. Although I suppose not all patients vacate their rooms in the same way. In fact, a lot of them get better.

“Please, ma’am. Can you make an exception this one time? They were supposed to get married next week. She just wants this one last memento of him. I don’t expect to find it, but I can’t go home and tell her I didn’t even look.”

She crinkles her chin and frowns at me, as if sympathizing with my plight. “I’m sorry, but unfortunately, you aren’t an exception.” She looks over my shoulder at the families huddled in small groups behind me. “In times of tragedy, small things get forgotten. Things that aren’t important when someone’s life hangs in the balance can become monumental once they’re gone.” She looks back to me. “So unfortunately, you are the rule around here. The only advice I can give you is to go downstairs to look in the lost and found. You might have some luck. Frankly, I hope you do. There’s too much bad news floating around here.”

And with that, I’m dismissed. I nod my head, but I don’t move right away—I can’t bring myself to. My one chance at meeting a Reaper is so close, yet so far away. I look longingly at the doors behind the nurse, but she knows what I want.

“Have a nice day,” she says firmly, letting me know it’s beyond time for me to go.

Defeated, I go back to the elevator, unsure of what to do next, where to go. The odds of just happening on a car accident or someone dying so I can find a Reaper are so slim it’s not even funny. Plus, with all these human emotions I’m feeling, I’m not sure I could handle something so gruesome. But what else can I do? As I walk out of the hospital, I spot the ER. But without an ailment, they won’t let me past the waiting room there, either.

I leave the hospital with even more questions than I had before, and no conceivable way to answer them.

12.

Kismet’s parents stay around until a few days after the planned wedding day. Once the funeral is over, they start a campaign to try and get her to go home with them. There’s nothing for her in New York, they say. It would be much better for her to go home and start fresh.

But even in her broken state, she knows that isn’t true. She’s been off work for two weeks, but her phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Her face is still popping up around town—there are new posters on bus stops, buildings, and subway stations. She’s on the cusp of something, and she knows it. The unshakable resolve that once dominated her personality fires to life when she tells them no. I see it again when she tells them no a second time. By the third time, she’s adamant.

After they suggest it a fourth time, while we’re having dinner on their last night in town, she says, “I agree with one thing you’ve said. I need to get out of our apartment.”

Her parents both set their forks down in unison, making a clanging sound that echoes a bit in my small apartment.

“Kismet, it might be too soon for that,” I say, eyeing her parents.

“I didn’t say it has to be done today. I just said it has to be done.”

“Where will you live?” Her mother’s question comes out more like a demand.

“I’m not sure. Here, for now, if that’s okay with Penn.”

Her mother frowns, clearly disapproving of her choice.

A sense of dread fills me as I watch Kismet stare long and hard at her mother. Whatever is said at this table will be damaging for a long time. I can feel it hanging in the air. But there’s nothing I can say to stop it. Whatever I do will be used as more ammunition in their battle.

So I sit silently, watching in horror as the two women stare each other down, each biting back what she wants to say. Finally, her mother lets it go. “Don’t you think you’ve settled into another man’s home awfully fast?”

“Wow, Mom. That’s below the belt, don’t you think?” Kismet’s tone is cold and emotionless, and it scares me. She’s always been so positive and upbeat. I don’t like where this conversation is going at all. I look desperately to her dad for rescue, or at least guidance, but judging from the look on his face, he agrees with his wife.

Kismet’s mother sits staring at her, her lips pinched together, as if she’s holding back another sharp comment.

Kismet throws up her hands and lets out an exasperated breath. “I haven’t settled in to anything, Mom. For heaven’s sake. It’s been less than a week, and all I know for sure is I can’t sleep in that apartment anymore. Ever. It’s where my life was supposed to be, and now it’s not. I don’t need to be reminded of that every time I go through my front door. And I don’t need you judging me for that.”

“Honey, that’s not what we’re judging you for.” Her mom slams her mouth shut, as if she regrets the words as soon as they’re out.

“What your mother means is that your feelings are totally understandable.” Finally, her dad jumps into the conversation. “Of course you don’t want to be in the home you were supposed to share with Andrew. But wouldn’t you rather spend this time supported by your family, rather than by Andrew’s best friend? Don’t you think you’ve burdened him enough?”

I can’t stay silent any longer. “Whoa, hold on. Don’t bring me into this. Kismet isn’t a burden under any circumstance. Frankly, I’m a bit rattled by this whole thing myself, and I’ve appreciated having some company around.” Blood is pounding in my ears. I’m getting upset, but I’m not sure why. Is it because they’re trying to take Kismet away from me? Or because they’re acting like she’s some harlot who’s jumped from Andrew’s bed to mine in one fell swoop? I shake my head. The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

“You raised her better than that, by the way,” I add. “You should also know her better than that. What would ever make you think she would cast Andrew aside so easily? I would never have introduced the two of them if I thought for as single second they weren’t worthy of each other.” I pause, taking a moment to look at each of her parents in turn. Their horrified expressions slightly soften my anger.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to help, to be supportive,” I continue. “But your words are hurting her. And you’re not exactly painting me in a flattering light, either. So why not try to trust your daughter? She’s done well for herself so far. If you doubt that, go see one of her plays when she gets back to work.”

They both look away, and then at each other.

“Why not stay with one of your girlfriends? Someone from the play perhaps?” her mom persists. “People will talk, Kismet.”

“So what?” Kismet shouts. “My fiancé died days before we were supposed to get married. People already thought I was pregnant because we supposedly rushed into the wedding. Now think how they’ll talk. I’m all alone and knocked up.”

“You’re not, though, right?” her mom asks. At that moment, I don’t think the conversation can get any worse. The looming sense of dread I feel makes me shift in my seat.

“Mom, Penn’s right. You’ve lost sight of who I am. If you knew, you wouldn’t even need to ask that question. And really, would that be such a terrible thing? I’d have a piece of him with me, as long as I lived. And you’d have a grandchild. What would be so bad about that?”

“But…” her mom persists.

“No, Mom. You’re not going to be a grandma, so let it go.” Silence weighs heavily on the four of us as we sit around the dinner table. Our food has long since gone cold, but we all toy with it, pushing it around as if trying to unbury just the right thing to say.

We’re all good people, so what went wrong? Why is Kismet’s family crumbling right in front of me?

“Okay, let’s just take a deep breath,” I venture one last time. “We all want what’s best for Kismet. So if we can keep that in mind, and trust her to make her own decisions, everything will be fine.”

But my words don’t help at all. Her dad pushes back from the table and stands. “You’ve known my daughter for how long? A few months? And you presume to know her better than her own father?”

That’s not what I meant to say at all, but it’s too late. Her mother is standing too.

“Kismet, I can’t force you to come home with us tomorrow. Nor, it seems, can I force you to make the right choices about Penn, here. But I do wish you would reconsider.”

“Duly noted, Daddy,” she says, but she remains seated.

“I hope to see you at the airport tomorrow. We’ll buy you a ticket tonight, just in case,” he says.

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the gesture.”

“Kismet, please,” her mother pleads.

“Bye, Mom. Have a safe trip,” Kismet says. With that, she stands up. But instead of hugging her parents goodbye, she grabs her plate and carries it to the sink, turning her back on the people who’ve loved her most her whole life. It breaks what’s left of my heart.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, and they don’t object.

Once they’re in the hallway, I try to repair some of the damage I’ve caused. “I apologize if I overstepped. Obviously, you know her better than I do. But you need to understand that she and I are not romantically involved. We never were, and in light of what’s happened, I don’t think we ever will be. Neither of us will ever get over what happened to Andrew. But it’s a shared trauma, something we’ve bonded over. She doesn’t have to explain it to me, and I don’t have to explain it to her. Please, just try to be supportive as she attempts to move forward with her life. If she can manage that, she’ll do great things. I know it.”

Neither of them responds. They just nod curtly and turn to leave.

“Have a safe flight, guys. Thank you for everything,” I say to their backs as they walk away. Only her father turns and nods in acknowledgment of my gratitude.

When I go back inside, I find Kismet at the sink, shaking. She’s holding a plate in her hands, poised to put it in, but it hovers just shy of the bottom.

“How dare they,” she says, more matter-of-factly than accusingly, and finally sets the plate down in the sink. “How dare they.” The second time is much more emotional, and I can tell her mood is escalating.

But it doesn’t end the way I expected it would. Instead of railing about their misunderstanding and lack of support, she turns to look at me with fire in her eyes, fire that’s quickly extinguished by a burst of tears. All I can do is take her in my arms.

“I miss him so much,” she says through her sobs. “None of this should be happening. We should be at the Four Seasons right now, saddle sore from all of our newlywed shenanigans.”

I chuckle, but it’s a sad sound. “Yeah, I don’t need all the honeymoon details.”

“It’s not fair,” she cries out, soaking my shirt through with her tears.

“No. It’s not.” It’s all I can say, because she’s right. It isn’t fair.

I don’t give up on finding a Reaper. I find myself frequenting nursing homes on the rare occasions when I don’t have to work and Kismet is busy.

Now that Kismet’s parents are gone, she’s eager for something to do, so she goes back to the diner, and tells her director she’s ready to pretend she’s someone else.

I’m worried at first, but when I go to her first show a few weeks later, she’s better than ever. She immerses herself in the character in a way she never has before, as if she truly is that person. Maybe for those few hours she’s on stage, it’s true. She leaves the tragic woman she’s become behind and blossoms into the heroine of a new story. It’s absolute magic, and I only wish Andrew could be there to see it.

After Kismet goes back to work, I have more time to focus on getting some answers. I need to protect her. I start wondering who else has been banished and where they might be. Maybe a fallen angel might be able to cast some light on what’s happening.

A quick Google search for fallen angels plants a seed of doubt into my brilliant plan. Although there isn’t much information, no one gets thrown from heaven for being good. Some of the angels were cast out for wanting God’s power. Still others were cast out for descending from the heavens and seducing the people on Earth. Watchers, they’re called. They sound less dangerous.

I’ve never heard of a Watcher before. But that may be because they don’t live in the heavens anymore; they’ve all been cast out. I wonder at the reliability of human information on the heavens, but I can’t afford to be picky. It’s all I have to go on.

I have to find a Watcher, if they exist. But where should I start looking? Most of the sources I find claim the Watchers descended to Mount Hermon and wreaked havoc from there. Maybe one or two still hang around that area. It’s a long shot, but it’s my best lead. I just have to sell it to Kismet.

I’ve decided to ask Kismet to go with me. Even though it’ll be difficult to do what needs to be done without rousing her suspicions, I need to keep an eye on her.

When she gets home from rehearsal that night, I broach the subject. “Kismet, I’d like to take a trip. Together.”

“Oh? Where?” she asks distractedly as she takes off her shoes and sets her purse and keys on the small table near the door.

“Syria, I think.”

She laughs. “Syria. That’s very specific. Also, I’m not sure the Middle East is the best place to go right now. Aren’t they at war? I’m not big on trying to get into a country that so many people are trying to get out of. Anyway, I just went back to work.”

She sits down on the couch next to me as if it’s a closed subject. “Still. I’d like to try,” I say.

I have no idea how my plan will work. I have a passport now, thanks to Cedric, but the idea of testing it makes me nervous. Traveling to a war-torn country where security is tight seems like asking for trouble.

Sinking back into the couch, I reconsider my idea. “Maybe you’re right,” I say, letting my disappointment come through more than I intended.

She looks at me then, as if taking my inquiry seriously for the first time. “You were serious about going to Syria?”

“No. It was a dumb idea. I’ll find another way.”

“Another way to what?” she asks, but I don’t answer her. Instead, I head back to the computer, intent on brainstorming more ways to find a Watcher.

What are the odds that one of them has made their way to New York City? Without knowing exactly how many Watchers there originally were, I can’t figure the number exactly, but I’m guessing the chances are pretty slim.

What else can I do? In the meantime, maybe I’ll think of a better idea, but for now, I’ll start my search in New York.

My progress is slow, mostly because my attention is so divided. Between resuming my work at the shop and trying to be supportive of Kismet, the months that follow Andrew’s death don’t offer many opportunities to find a Watcher.

I find myself going to all of Kismet’s plays, in a way I never did when Andrew was alive. After all, that was his responsibility. We never turn down an opportunity to meet for lunch or dinner. Somewhere along the line, the friendly hugs change. Kismet starts to linger longer than normal, and I let myself breathe in her scent—lavender, with a touch of lemon.

I’m already in love with her; I have been for a while. But it’s all new for her, and it scares both of us, so we ignore it for quite some time. Months pass this way. We spend more and more time together, our casual affections growing more frequent.

In that time, I struggle to maintain my focus. It’s a struggle, though, and Kismet starts to occupy my mind more and more. The drive to find answers is replaced by the need to make Kismet happy, to see her smile again. And the more she leans on me, the stronger that need grows.

As the months pass, I only find time to steal away on occasion to conduct my search, making the quest for answers frustratingly slow. I start out at the churches and temples, asking the priests what they know about Watchers, or fallen angels. Most have never heard them referred to as Watchers.

Eventually, my search brings me to Rabbi Frankel.

His temple is built from stone and colored glass, and the big, wooden doors creak loudly when I go inside.

The man is in an office, sleeping behind a large, wooden desk covered in open books and papers scrawled in shaky handwriting. He’s an old rabbi, and he looks hunched down under the weight of his congregation’s burdens. I clear my throat as I gently knock on the doorframe.

“Excuse me, Rabbi Frankel. My name is Penn. I have a few questions for you if you have a moment.”

The rabbi wakes slowly, his salt-and-pepper beard draping down over his chest, and his feet perch on the desk in front of him. “Hmm?”

“I have a few questions, if you have a moment,” I say again.

“What? Oh certainly, my boy. Please, come in, sit down.” He sits up without hurrying, and he doesn’t try to apologize for the fact that he was sleeping. I like him already.

I take the chair across from his desk as he closes a few of the books in front of him, but it seems like his heart isn’t in the effort, as he leaves most of them open. He notices me watching him. “I’d hate to lose my place. It’s hard enough to get started without a bone-headed move like that.”

I smile. “Well, don’t feel any pressure to tidy up on my account. I’ve interrupted your nap.”

“Yes, you did. So this better be important.” The rabbi has a glint of mischief in his eye, making me smile broadly.

“I was wondering if you’d ever heard of a Watcher.”

“Like a fallen angel?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since I knew what you meant, yes, I’ve heard of them. Why?”

“I’d like to find one.”

The rabbi leans forward on his desk, staring intently at me. I have the old man’s attention now, and all traces of sleep are gone. His gaze is sharp and intense, and I know intuitively that if I don’t watch what I say around this man, my secret will be out.

“What an interesting idea. I’d never considered that they might still be around. But why not? It’s safe to assume angels are immortal. So why wouldn’t they still be wandering the Earth?” Something about the way he says it makes me feel like he’s teasing me, like he knows more than he’s letting on.

Before I can pursue it, he gets to his feet and circles to the huge shelf of books to my right. He pulls one out and brings it to my side of the desk, gesturing for me to come closer. After opening the book to a specific page, he begins reading aloud.

“Abaddon was said to be the most notorious Watcher. He was known for turning even the most loyal women away from their husbands. One woman in particular was well known in her village for deeply loving her husband. Knowing this, Abaddon took it as a challenge. At first, she resisted, suspecting who, and what, he was. But he disguised himself as her husband, and she lay with him. She was so distraught that she threw herself in the river. Shortly after that, the Watchers were cast out of heaven.”

“Does it say where that was?” I ask, wanting to take the text from the man to search it for myself.

“No. It doesn’t. But this was millennia ago. I can’t imagine an angel like that would stay in one place for long.”

“Do you think there could be Watchers here in New York?”

That question gives the old man pause. “Why do you need to find one so bad?”

“I need to make a connection with the heavens.”

“My dear boy. Just pray. That’s the easiest way to connect.”

For humans. Yes. But I’m not human. And I’m also banished. My prayers will fall on deaf ears, and I know it. “My prayers won’t be answered. I need another way.”

Sadness creeps in to the old man’s expression. “Perhaps you’re not listening hard enough.”

“Rabbi, I don’t need to be saved. I am fine really. I just want to…” I hesitate. To what? “Find answers.”

“And you think an upstanding citizen like a Watcher is going to help you?” The old man’s eyes crinkle at the outside corners with the joys of years past when he smiles.

“Okay, so it might not be the most ideal plan, but it’s the best one I’ve got. My other option didn’t work, and I’m running out of ideas.” I know I’ve said too much, but I’m frustrated. It’s been months since Andrew died, and my search has yielded nothing.

“A friend of mine died unexpectedly. He shouldn’t have. He was supposed to have a long and healthy life. Something is wrong, and I need to know what. More than that, I need to make sure it won’t happen to Kismet.”

“Kismet. What a lovely name.”

Of course, that’s the detail he zeros in on. I hadn’t even intended to say her name.

“If death is what you seek, why not find the angel of death?”

I watch the man closely, choosing my words carefully. “I tried. They wouldn’t let me into the ICU.”

“Ah. I see. So a Watcher was your next best option?” The old man raises a very hairy eyebrow at me.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

“Yes. Pray. I told you that already.”

“And I heard you. Perhaps a more actionable approach would be helpful.”

“My boy, I find nothing more actionable than the power of prayer.”

I frown. There’s no way to make this human understand, and besides, the man clearly has no idea where to find a Watcher. So, I stand. “Thank you for your time, Rabbi.” I hold out my hand for the man to shake, but he only stares at it.

“Sit down, for heaven’s sake. We’re not done.”

I plant my butt back in the chair like a cowed child.

“Now, modern times would have been kind to the Watchers. Adultery isn’t as frowned upon as it once was. Although the challenge is gone, the carnal need can be met with an overwhelming amount of supply.”

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable talking about such an intimate topic with a rabbi. “I don’t think a strip club is where I’d start. You need something more high class. A brothel maybe? Or an escort service? But you’re not looking for an employee. You’re looking for the owner.”

My face lights up with the sheer brilliance of the idea. “Not all brothel owners will be fallen angels,” I say, as my mind races at the possibilities. For the first time in months, I have a lead, an idea that might work.

“I must caution you in your pursuit, my friend. If you care for this Kismet, are you willing to sacrifice her in your quest for answers? If you really do find a Watcher, she would make a fine prize for him.”

I sit back in my chair heavily, feeling totally defeated.

“Weigh your options carefully before you go any further. There are no choices without consequences.”

I look at him, wondering not for the first time how much he truly understands.

The rabbi leans back in his chair and returns his feet to the desktop, making himself comfortable, then drags a book into his lap and opens it. “Perhaps another option might be more appealing to you,” he says, eyeing me over the top of his book.

“I’m not praying if that’s what you’re going to suggest again.”

He smiles sadly at me. “Although I still think it’s worth a shot, that’s not what I was going to say.” He leans forward and pushes a few books aside, uncovering a phone on his desk.

Pressing a button, he asks, “Can you come in here for a moment, please?”

“Of course,” a woman’s voice answers. Even over the phone, I can tell she’s special. Her voice sings. Something about it tugs at my memory, making my pulse quicken.

Not five seconds later, an old woman appears in the doorframe. Her long, silvery hair is pulled away from her face in a loose bun, with strands tumbling down every which way. She seems elderly, but she stands up straight as a rail, not at all burdened by the passing of the years. Her skin is weathered, but her eyes are crystal clear. They’re so familiar to me that I almost stand and go to her.

She gasps at the sight of me, but then she clears her throat and says, “Yes, Rabbi, how can I help you?”

He smiles, quite pleased with himself. “Fia. I believe you can help this boy.”

She nods, but neither of us is capable of movement. Fia. Can it be? She looks so much older than when I knew her, but the eyes…

Slowly I stand. “But… the Keeper said…”

Her stern look makes me clamp my mouth shut before I can say any more. She holds her arm out. “Right this way, young man.”

“Have fun, you two,” the rabbi says, and I can tell by the sound of his voice, he’s barely holding back a laugh.

She shuts her office door behind her, and then wraps me up in the biggest hug I’ve had since landing on Earth. Aida gives some good hugs, but this, this one is filled with memories of times long since passed.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” we both whisper.

“What are you doing here?” we say together.

Laughing, she leads me to a chair in front of her desk. Her office is similar to the Rabbi’s, but smaller. I sit in a small, red leather armchair, and she chooses to sit next to me rather than taking the seat behind her desk.

“You go first,” she instructs.

I spend the next hour telling her everything. About Kismet, the day I made her, how I fell, Michaela’s mysterious problem, Andrew’s untimely death, and my suspicions about Webber. She doesn’t interrupt me the entire time, and I’m so happy to get it all out, I’m nearly crying by the end.

When I’m finished, I realize she’s resting her hand on mine, although I have no memory of her putting it there.

“Well, that’s quite a tale, Penn. I leave you alone for a few centuries, and you let the whole world go to hell, huh?” A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she gets up and goes to the corner of her office, where she pours two cups of tea.

She hands one of the cups to me. “I retired here centuries ago, shortly after you took over. I move around a lot to avoid suspicion. I found Rabbi Frankel about twenty years ago. He knows some of who I am. I don’t think he knows I was a Fate, but he certainly knows I came from the heavens.”

“I gathered that,” I say, thinking of his knowing smiles as I sip the hot tea. The weather is getting colder, and it feels good in my cold hands. “Why the aged appearance?” I ask. “I almost didn’t recognize you. The eyes give you away.”

“It draws less attention. Plus, people would notice quickly if I didn’t seem to age.”

Thinking of how much attention my appearance has garnered since I arrived on Earth, I understand completely. The possibility of aging my appearance never even occurred to me, but it’s brilliant. The perfect way to blend in among the humans.

“You stand up too straight,” I say, gesturing to her back. “Someone as old as you’ve made yourself look wouldn’t have such good posture.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you for your opinion, did I, newbie?” she says, raising an eyebrow at me before she sips her tea. I’ve come home, or so it feels. We’re back to our easy banter from the days before I became an official Fate.

After a few moments of silence, I ask her. “Can you go back?” There’s an ounce of hope in my voice. She could be my connection to Michaela.

“No. I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve retired here for good.”

“So… how is banishment different from retirement?” I ask.

“I chose this. I spent some time researching what life was like on Earth, studying the humans. I also got plenty of resources. I wasn’t left penniless and naked like you were. I have everything I need to live comfortably forever.”

I sit back in my chair. “So what do you think is happening?”

“Whatever it is doesn’t sound good. I’ve never met most of the people you’re talking about, so I don’t have much of a point of reference. But I do know that if Reapers don’t want to see you, you won’t see them. I agree that getting in touch with Michaela is the most direct way you can get answers, but the only way you’ll accomplish that is if she comes to you. Seeking her out is a waste of your time.”

I snort. “Clearly.”

“I also think finding a Watcher is a very bad idea. They won’t help you. They’re the most selfish souls around. And they’ll take you for everything you’re worth. Kismet is no exception.”

“So what are you saying? You think I should just sit and wait?” I say, not at all pleased with this prospect.

“Maybe. You never were very patient.”

“It’s not about patience, Fia. Kismet and Andrew are connected. How do I know she won’t follow him to the grave? I’m not sure I can afford to sit here and do nothing.”

“I’m not sure you have much of a choice right now. I don’t think this is your time to act,” Fia answers.

“How can you possibly know that?” I ask, hoping she still has a connection to the heavens.

“I don’t. But I do know God. And although this might seem out of control for us, it’s not for Him. He will use you to rein this problem in when the time is right.”

I think about some of His last words to me. I’m not through with you yet, Penn, his voice echoes in my mind.

“I just hope He does it before anything more unravels.”

Time marches on, as it tends to do. Fia and I see each other regularly. To explain our connection to Kismet, Fia has claimed the title of my mother’s aunt. I don’t know where she comes up with these things, but Kismet has welcomed her into our lives with open arms, excited to have a connection to my family, and my past.

Easily, we fall into a routine of dinners with Fia every other week, dancing around the rest of our obligations. The girls’ favorite pastime during these shared meals becomes swapping embarrassing stories about me. Fia, of course, changes any heavenly details, but it does nothing to wipe the memories of my embarrassments.

“My sisters weren’t too keen on Penn. When he was a young boy, he liked to come to work and poke around. Oh, he was always getting himself into trouble. One time, he asked my sister if she had such a sour face because she’d eaten a lemon. I nearly died. She didn’t think it was all that funny.”

Kismet dissolved into giggles, and the sound filled my soul with joy. What was a little embarrassment if it got her laughing?

It’s hard to accept, but I know Fia’s right. I can only wait for now. When the time comes to act, I’ll know what to do.

One night, just before Christmas, Kismet asks me for something. “Penn, I’d like you to go to the cemetery with me.”

I look up from my book, startled to see that she’s fully dressed in a coat, scarf, hat, and mittens. Closing my book, I stand. “Sure, Kismet. Just let me get my coat.”

We walk the entire way, not speaking. Kismet hooks her arm in mine, and I stuff my hands in my pockets to try and keep warm. The snow drifts lazily to the ground, and the lights everywhere give the city a magical feel. Although it’s getting late, I don’t mind being out when it’s this lovely.

We round the last corner, automatically finding the way to Andrew’s resting place. I often visit my dear friend to tell him about Kismet and life at the store. But I rarely go with Kismet. She likes to go on her own, and I understand that.

When we arrive, I brush the snow off his gravestone. The simple marker stands out among the big, flashy ones that surround it. It states his name, dates of birth and death, and is etched with a simple statement: You are missed. It has been almost six months since his death, but I still have trouble imagining my life without him. The ache remains keen.

Once I’m done clearing away the snow, and we can both see the writing, Kismet says, “All right boys, we need to talk.” There’s an authoritative tone in her voice that I haven’t heard in months.

I look at her curiously, a half smile on my face. “I think you’ll find the conversation a bit one-sided,” I say, earning a fierce look. Whatever Kismet has on her mind, it’s serious.

“I’ve been struggling a lot with what I want to say, but in the end, I know you both want me to be happy. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

I shift my weight as I stand on one corner of this strange triangle we’ve formed. I can’t help but wonder where she’s going with this.

“Andrew, I love you. I always will. But you’re not here with me anymore. You won’t ever be.” Her voice hitches. “We can’t have the life we planned, so I need to move on.”

What does she mean? Is she planning to move out? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Admittedly, I’m tired of sleeping on the floor, but I bought an air mattress when I realized she wasn’t going anywhere. And I cleared some space in the apartment for her belongings after she moved out of theirs—and sold most of their stuff—a few months ago.

Panic sets in as a new idea occurs to me. Is she thinking about moving back to Florida to be with her parents? Has the strain of Andrew’s death been too much? If she does leave, I’m not sure how I’ll cope with having her so far away.

“Andrew, I know you loved Penn like a brother. I did too, actually. He set his own feelings aside because he saw what was best for both of us. How could you not love someone like that?” She pauses, waiting for him to respond. The wind gently blows a snowflake onto her nose, and she laughs. It’s a sound I don’t hear much anymore, and it delights me. I reach out for her hand, and she takes it.

Looking deep into my eyes, she goes on. “I’m in love with Penn, Andrew. And I think you would approve. Because I know you loved him too.” Her words make me lightheaded, and my smile feels broad enough to carry me off on a slight breeze.

Although I knew her feelings for me have been changing, it’s still startling to hear her say the words out loud, especially in front of her fiancé’s grave. But I know she’s done it on purpose, as if to get his approval. Or maybe to unburden herself. Either way, she has declared her love for me, and it takes my breath away.

She looks up at me with glittering green eyes that are filled with tears—I’m not sure if they’re tears of happiness or sadness, but something tells me they’re both. I cradle her face in one hand, and her hand in the other.

“I’m not sure you will ever understand just how special you are, but if you’ll let me, I would like to spend your whole life telling you,” I say, and she leans in and kisses me, throwing her arms around my neck.

At first, I just stand there, drinking her in as our lips connect. But the joy I feel begs to be expressed. I lift her up, and we spin as the snow swirls around us.

When we both get a little dizzy, we separate and I put her down.

“Good. I’m glad you’re on the same page,” Kismet says.

“Honey, I’ve been on this page since I first saw you.”

She smiles and turns to face Andrew’s headstone. “Goodnight, my love. I hope you are happy. I’ve decided to be.” She squeezes my hand as she turns, and we walk together out of the cemetery.

That night, I don’t sleep on the floor. Kismet doesn’t let go of my hand once as she leads me straight through the apartment to the bedroom. She only releases it when we reach the end of the bed, and only then, so she can shed her coat and start unbuttoning her blouse.

I swallow hard. Are we really going to do this? I reach up and grab her hand. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

But rather than be deterred by my comment, she smiles and presses on. “I know,” she says, as if I should know that too.

She moves slowly, purposefully, and I let her take the lead. I’m in over my head, and I’m not sure if she’s the water washing over me, or the life preserver that will save me. Either way, I cling to her as she slowly undresses me, fully revealing my body to her for the first time. I’ve never been with a woman before—it isn’t something we felt the need to do in the heavens.

Apparently, my nerves are unwarranted, for she gasps at the sight of my chiseled body. “Good God, you’re gorgeous.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy drinking in the sight of her. Although I know her better than anyone on Earth, I’ve never known her like this. When I see her naked in front of me, it stirs feelings I wasn’t sure I was capable of experiencing. I don’t just love her. I want her.

As she trails kisses along my body, she carries me to new heights of ecstasy. Then she pulls me down to the bed, and the passion and love and connection that has been building between us ignites.

Late that night, she sleeps with her head snuggled up to my chest. I stroke her long, brown hair, breathe in the scent of her lavender shampoo, and wonder how banishment could be so bittersweet.

13.

Our life together isn’t easy, that’s for sure. We aren’t soul mates, so we don’t understand each other’s needs on that deeper level. We fight more than I ever saw Kismet and Andrew fight. But I love her more than anything on Earth or in the heavens. And I think Kismet loves me as well as she can love a man who isn’t her soul mate. So, we do our best. Some days, we knock it out of the park, most days in fact, but we also stumble. Some days, we don’t find the right words. Sometimes, we have to start fresh the next morning. But that’s fine with me, because no matter what, we always start over.

The months go by in a flash. I mark my first anniversary on Earth by having dinner with Aida, Cody, and their kids while Kismet is busy rehearsing for a new play on Broadway. I’m grateful there’s no talk of the day we met, or the reason for the occasion. They’ve long since learned there are some questions I can’t, and won’t, answer. But we share one another’s company in a way that reminds me of how these people have come to my rescue in every possible way.

A few months later, we mark the one-year anniversary of Andrew’s death. It’s a hard day for everyone, and I’m reminded that even though a year has slipped away, I still have no idea what happened to my friend.

Fia reminds me regularly to be patient.

“You have to admit, this isn’t right, Fia. In all my years as a Fate, nothing like this ever happened. Threads aren’t supposed to snap on their own. This goes against everything we know to be true,” I say into the phone as I pace around the living room. Kismet is in the shower, so this is my chance to be blunt.

“You’re right. It does. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been here on Earth for a long time, and I’ve met a lot of different people. Last century, my best friend fancied herself to be a witch of sorts. She said she could travel between the world of the living and the dead. Now, I didn’t believe her for a minute, but she did know some things. She knew someone helped souls cross over. She referred to a ‘tapestry of life,’ but not in quite the correct context.”

“But, if you knew her last century, isn’t she long dead?”

“Yes. She was the last in her family of witches, as they called themselves. She didn’t have a daughter. But her knowledge may not be dead. Or perhaps you could find another clan somewhere. If the ability to go back and forth really does exist, that could be your ticket to answers. ”

I sigh. It is a bit of a long shot. “I’m worried, Fia.”

“Worry is a human emotion, Penn. We have more faith than to stoop to it.”

“We’re also used to having more control,” I say, my frustration mounting. “Fia, it’s been a year.”

“That should help you feel better that Kismet is safe.”

“Kismet is no safer today than she was a year ago.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kismet’s voice halts my pacing mid-step. I slowly turn to face her. She’s wrapped in a towel, using another to dry her hair.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath.

“You are far too human, dear Fate,” Fia scolds. Heavenly beings don’t swear ever, which probably makes my curse all the more shocking to her.

“Fia, I’ll call you later.” I hang up before she can respond, but I know she’s shaking her head.

“What’s going on? Why do you think I’m in danger?” Kismet asks, and I can tell she’s not sure if she should be worried.

“I…” I trail off, frantically trying to come up with a response.

“Penn. What’s going on?”

I turn to her and take both of her hands in mine. “You know what? It’s nothing that you need to worry about.”

“What does that mean? That I’m too stupid to understand?” I know that tone—she’s confused, so she’s reaching for her insecurities to make sense of what I’ve said.

“No. That’s not what I meant at all.” But how can I convince her of that without telling her the truth, and not just some of the truth, but all of it?

“So…” She lets the word hang for a moment or two. “What did you mean?”

“I just don’t want to stress you out with something silly, that’s all.”

“Me being in danger doesn’t sound like something silly. In fact, it sounds like the perfect thing to worry about. Either I should be worried about me and my safety or I should be worried about you and whether or not you’ve lost your mind.”

I sigh, getting exasperated. “No. That’s—”

She cuts me off. “You can’t talk to me about it, but you can tell Fia? She’s somehow worthier of this secret than I am?”

“No. Fia is family.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.

“And I’m not?” She folds her hands over her chest, the anger building in her eyes.

Honestly, I don’t feel like I can make this any worse. But then I consider the consequences of telling her the truth. Fia and I have discussed the possible fallout of telling the humans who we are. Fia thinks they wouldn’t be able to handle it. She argues it’s better, and easier, to keep it secret. But the Rabbi is living proof that she’s not altogether right. Besides, Fia is also single, and she has been for centuries. She says that’s easier too, and she likes to mock me for my “tender heart.”

But then I think of the consequences. Will there be retribution from the heavens? Or maybe the greater risk is that Kismet will just think I’m nuts. She might leave.

As she watches me war with myself, I try to come up with an answer that will satisfy her. But none of those things lead up to the truth. And from my own search for answers, I know how hard it is to settle for anything less.

“Can I ask you something?” Kismet says, her voice softening a little. “That night in the cemetery, you said you would love me for as long as I live. I’ve got to tell you, that creeped me out a little. You planning on killing me?”

I laugh out loud. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Does that have something to do with why you never talk about your past? Your family? I hoped you’d open up more after you found Fia, but it hasn’t happened. She’s as guarded as you are. And you share your secrets with her; I know you do. I feel more excluded than ever. Whatever you’re a part of, though, she’s a part of it too.” Each sentence comes out faster than the last. She’s piecing it together right in front of my eyes. Paralyzed with fear or maybe excitement, I sit there and listen as she tries to tell me my secret.

“Are you in some kind of cult with her?”

Again, I laugh. It’s sort of close, yet so far from the truth. “No, I can definitively tell you that I am not in a cult with Fia.” Secretly, I wish she were on speakerphone. She would be dying laughing.

“What then? What have you been keeping from me all this time? Don’t you want to unburden yourself?”

I squeeze her hands. “Yes. I want to unburden myself. I’m sure Andrew told you about asking me about my past that night on your back deck. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to share my story after Cody and Aida rescued me without any expectations or questions. I felt like I owed it to them, and I especially feel like I owe it to you. But I don’t know what the rules are. And I’ve already made mistakes that cost a life. I won’t gamble with yours when I don’t fully understand what the consequences of that gamble might be.”

“You did what? Did you kill someone?” Her face goes pale.

I sigh. This is sounding bad, even to my ears. “Not on purpose, no.”

“Did you do time? Is that why you won’t talk about your past?”

“No, I’m doing my time now.”

She crinkles her eyebrows, creating a deep wrinkle between them as she tries to decipher what I’ve said. “You don’t wear an ankle cuff or anything like that. What do you mean—you’re doing your time now?”

I sigh, deciding to try one last diversion. “Kismet, I love you. I sacrificed my entire way of life to be with you in any capacity. I knew you were meant to be with Andrew, so I never imagined we would be together the way we are now. When I went to the diner that day, I just wanted to see you. To say goodbye, I guess. Get some closure. But after I met you in the flesh, I couldn’t bear to step away from your life. Andrew wasn’t supposed to die. Fia is helping me search for answers. That’s all.”

There, I think. I hope it’s just enough of the truth for her to let it go. But it only creates more questions.

“Answers? What kind of answers? Any time someone dies young, there are no answers.”

I nod. “Yes, you’re right. I need to let it go. I’m just having trouble doing that.” I hope the tiny lie will push her away from the subject. But she circles back around, latching onto one of the details I mentioned.

“We met for the first time at the diner. How could you possibly have been in love with me before that?”

I know I can create some story about falling in love with her after watching Madame Curie, but I don’t want to lie. Not tonight.

“Can we please let this go?” I say. “I’ve already told you more than I’m comfortable sharing. I have no idea what the consequences would be if I were to tell you everything. You’d probably leave me for being a total whack job.”

She releases my hand and folds her arms over her chest, giving me a look that says, ‘try me.’

I feel trapped. Intuition tells me this secret will destroy our relationship from the inside. I haven’t done a good enough job of hiding it. The closer we get, the more of myself I reveal to her. Tonight, I actually talked to Fia about going on a witch-hunt while Kismet was still in the apartment.

I sigh. I started this ball rolling months ago. The consequences will be what they are. It’s time to come clean.

“If you decide to leave me tonight, know that I love you with my entire being. That is what this has always been about for me.”

She holds her challenging stance, and I can tell she thinks I’m bullshitting her. With nothing left to do but plow forward, I say, “I am a Spinner. You know that. But you don’t know all of it. I was the Spinner of the Fates. When I lived in the heavens, I spun the thread of life. My two sisters, whom you’ve only heard me speak of once or twice, are the other two Fates. Horatia, the one who cuts the thread, and Galenia, the one who decides how each person will die. That’s who they are. I was banished from the heavens shortly after creating you and Andrew. You were special, a sparkling thread among billions of dull ones, and you created a beautiful shining spot in the tapestry of life. Andrew was your complement in every way. Your life together should have been perfect. I watched Horatia cut your threads, and they were both extraordinarily long. Andrew’s death was an anomaly. He should’ve lived just as long as you. Because I don’t understand what happened; I’m worried you might be in danger.” Once it’s out, I expect to feel a huge sense of relief, but I don’t. I am consumed with dread when I think about the words that are currently trapped behind her tongue.

“I… um…” She struggles, clearly not sure where to start. Sinking down to the floor, she sits at my feet. Her own are tucked under her. Reaching for her hands, I sit down facing her. I take it as a good sign when she doesn’t pull away.

“Assuming all of this is true, why were you banished? Does it have something to do with the person you killed?”

I will never cease to be amazed by her intelligence… by the way she pieces things together on her own. “Yes. I couldn’t get over you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I connected with you in a way I’d never connected with anyone before. I watched you grow, knowing what an amazing life you had in store for you. It only made my love for you grow stronger. The truth is, I couldn’t move on. After I created Andrew for you, I felt like I’d peaked, like I had nothing left to give. I made others, but I wasn’t as productive, and the work meant nothing to me. After a while, I grew impatient and tried to force a creation. It was wrong, and I knew it, but I didn’t want to accept the truth. That life ended up being a stillborn—an unordered stillborn. A wasted life. For that mistake, I was banished here to Earth.”

Silence reigns in the apartment for several heartbeats. “But things haven’t been so bad. I basically landed in Cody and Aida’s laps, and they took me in without too many questions. They got me here. Personally, I think it was God’s consolation prize. He said I was the best Fate they’d ever had. And He didn’t relish the idea of banishing me.”

I look into Kismet’s eyes, desperate to know what she thinks.

“You had dinner with them a while ago,” she said. “You said it was a celebration, but not of what. I assumed it was a birthday party for one of the kids or something. But you’ve been at the shop for just over a year, haven’t you?”

“Your memory is astounding,” I say, trying to give her a break from puzzling it out. It’s not important. What matters is where I am now.

“You were marking the day you fell. The day they found you,” she says quietly as she looks past me, putting the last piece of my puzzle into place.

I don’t respond to that. I simply hold her hands, waiting for her to decide how she’ll handle the truth.

The silence that stretches between us weighs heavily on me, so it’s a relief when she finally speaks.

“So you came from heaven?”

“I did.”

“And you created me?”

“I did.”

“And you were so taken by me that you were ultimately banished to Earth?” She doesn’t look at me while she asks these questions. She’s absently working a loose thread on her shorts, staring at a spot on the wall.

I follow her gaze. “I was.”

“Can you prove any of this?” she asks.

“Maybe. If you need me to.”

I watch her breathe slowly in and out as she considers my information.

“And Fia, she’s like you, isn’t she? She’s from the heavens too?”

I hesitate before nodding. “I can’t tell you anything else about her. You know she’ll have our heads for talking about her behind her back.”

Kismet moves on without acknowledging my statement. “And Andrew…” Her voice catches in her throat.

“Yes. Nothing that I said to you in the days after his death was untrue. His death was unfair in every sense of the word. He was supposed to live a long and happy life with you. I don’t understand what happened, why his life was cut so short.”

“So what can you do now that you’re stuck on Earth? Anything?”

I sigh, not sure how much detail I want to give her. “Back home, one of my friends was a Reaper. Michaela was her name. I’ve been searching for her or one of her friends. Reapers are the only heavenly beings that can go back and forth between Earth and the heavens. Fia seems to think the search is futile, and we should just let her come to us.”

She nods as if she understands, but her vacant expression says otherwise. “A Reaper…”

“Reapers help human souls transition to the heavens or to hell, as the case may be.”

Her eyes find me again, and I see a hint of fear in them. “You don’t think—”

I cut her off before she has to say something terrible out loud. “No, I don’t. Andrew is in the heavens, waiting for you.” I take her hand in both of mine, stopping her from toying with the thread on her shorts. “And I hope he has to wait a very long time.”

She doesn’t respond, and silence returns to the tiny apartment. I’m not sure what will happen next. I don’t think a bolt of lightning will come down and strike me dead for telling her. But I brace myself for some kind of consequence anyway.

When she speaks again, her voice is soft and hesitant. “Penn, I believe you. I’ve seen the beauty you can create out of literally nothing. I’ll never forget the feeling I experienced when we first met. Like you knew me better than I knew myself. But I couldn’t explain why. It was one of the reasons why I nearly told you to get lost. You were creeping me out.”

“I’m pretty sure you said as much at the time, but you pretended it was a joke.”

She doesn’t laugh like I hope she will. But she does keep talking. “But just because I believe you doesn’t mean I can get my head around what you’re telling me.”

With that one sentence, all the wind comes out of my sails, and I slump over. “You’re talking about myths and fairy tales being real. I’m not sure I can just nod my head and be one hundred percent okay with that.”

Nodding, I ask her, “Would you like me to go?”

“What? No,” she says automatically, and then reconsiders. “Maybe. I don’t know. I need time to think.”

“Okay, I’ll go for a walk. Text me in a few hours. If you still need more time, I’ll grab a room for the night at the hotel down the street.” I stand to go, but she doesn’t release my hand.

“You know I love you, right?” she says as her eyes fill with tears, making the green in them shimmer.

“You know I love you, right?” She nods and lets me go.

Being mid-August, it’s quite warm out, so I just grab my keys and start walking. I head down to the park and sit for a bit, watching the couples wander the quiet paths and feed the birds. I consider calling Fia, but I know what she’ll say to me. I got myself into this mess. “You saw that pile of crap, and you stepped in it anyway.” I can hear her voice as clearly as if she’s standing right here next to me. So I keep walking through the city streets.

Eventually, I find myself back at the cemetery, standing in front of Andrew’s gravestone. “Well, my friend. What do I do now?”

Andrew doesn’t answer, of course, and I chuckle. “Just like you to give me judgmental silence. Didn’t know you were friends with such a freak, did you?”

I glance at my watch. It’s after midnight. Just over three hours since I left. Checking my phone, I see I’ve still received no word from Kismet, so I text her.

OK to come back?

I walk over to a nearby tree and lean on it while I wait for her response. Some part of me hopes the old tree will give me strength. I wait five more minutes for an answer before I start walking home. It isn’t like her not to answer a text, and a sense of dread washes over me, making the distance home feel like a million miles.

Maybe she’s in the tub, or she could have already gone to bed. Maybe it’s nothing at all to worry about. Still, I quicken my pace until I’m flat out running back to our apartment. I climb the stairs leading over the shop two at a time, only stopping when I reach the upstairs hallway. What I see there staggers me down to my very soul.

Michaela gives me a sad look as she steps out of my apartment. She’s holding Kismet’s hand.

“No,” I whisper. Kismet looks at me, confusion masking her features. She tries to go to me, but Michaela holds her hand tight and tugs her down the hall away from me.

“Michaela, wait! Please. What’s happening? Don’t take her from me. Please. Her thread is longer than this!” I beg, but the two women fade into the dim light at the end of the hall, leaving me alone on Earth.

14.

If I thought questions plagued me after Andrew died, I was wrong. In the hours and days after Kismet’s death, question after question after question shakes my soul. How did this happen? Why? What could I have done to save her? Is this my punishment for telling her the truth? Or is it part of my banishment? Did someone wish to destroy my life on Earth by snipping short first Andrew’s thread and then Kismet’s? Or is Webber taking his revenge on me by erasing my two most glorious creations?

There are no answers for my questions, but Webber seems the most likely culprit. I can’t imagine the repercussions of taking a soul like Kismet’s before her time. If I was banished for a stillborn, I shudder to think of what they might do to Webber.

It’s no more than he deserves, I think darkly as I sit with Fia in my apartment above the shop. We don’t speak much. She knows my questions. She’s heard them all. She’s just here with me. I called her after I got home that night, and she hasn’t left since.

Cedric steps in again, just as he did when Andrew died. He’s the one who calls Kismet’s folks; he’s the one who makes all the arrangements for her funeral. Cody and Aida drop by daily to make sure I eat at least one meal.

Finally, wanting some time to myself before the funeral, I convince Fia to go home for a while. Cedric stops by to see me. I’m sitting in the hallway when he arrives, staring at the place where Michaela and Kismet disappeared, willing them to return.

“What are you doing out here?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Clearly. Are you locked out?”

I shake my head no.

“Well, I’m hungry. Want to eat?” he asks, holding up a takeout bag from some place up the street.

I shrug again, and Cedric nudges me with his foot. “Come on, man. I’m not about to feed you out in the hall like you’re some overgrown toddler. Get up and let’s eat.” His tone is firm but not harsh. It’s just enough to spur me into movement.

“How long were you out there?” Cedric asks.

I shrug a second time as I go through the motions of getting plates and silverware out for dinner. Absently, I get out three place settings. I don’t even realize it until we’re already seated around the table.

I stare at her empty seat, and Cedric tries to ignore it.

“Did you hear from the hospital yet?” he asks as he gets out the boxes of food.

“Yes, I did. She died of natural causes, just like Andrew did.”

“That’s odd,” Cedric says.

“Yes, it is.”

“You weren’t here?”

“No. I told you. We had a fight, so I went out for a walk.”

“What were you fighting about?” Cedric asks.

I search his face in an effort to read him. He’s only looking for answers, the same way I am, but his questions aren’t the right ones. “Doesn’t much matter now, does it?”

Cedric stabs at his Japanese noodles. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

We eat in silence for a while, until Cedric asks another question. “They’re doing a memorial service for her on Broadway over the weekend, did you see that?”

I nod. She wasn’t on Broadway for long, but everyone there loved her. They sold out almost every night she was on stage. The community is reeling almost as much from her sudden death as I am.

“Think you’ll go?”

“Probably.” I push the food around on my plate, thinking about Michaela’s sad expression. Why wouldn’t she talk to me? Is it because I was banished? Or because there wasn’t time for her to explain? She seemed so sad. It was the first time I’d ever seen that look on her face, but then again, it was the first I’d ever seen her in action. It can’t be easy to constantly take souls from their loved ones.

“Penn…” Cedric trails off, as if he has something delicate to say. I look up at him in an effort to give the man at least some of my attention. “What will you do?”

I just look at him. What will I do? I’m stuck on Earth for an eternity. And now it seems as if I will spend that eternity completely alone.

Rather than let me despair, he offers a solution. “You might want to consider coming back to work. I’ve seen how you can lose yourself in it. It might help.” He takes a bite of food, giving me time to consider. “Not today of course, or tomorrow, but soon. Don’t sit around the apartment alone for too long, okay? It isn’t good for you.”

“Oh, it isn’t?” I heatedly say. “How do you know what’s good for me?”

“I know that sitting out in the hallway like that isn’t good for anyone.” Cedric eyes me with a raised eyebrow. “Listen, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you, but sitting here alone won’t change it.”

“That’s true.” What he says gets my wheels turning. My plan to corner Michaela didn’t work—not even when I saw her face to face. Maybe it’s time to try to find a Watcher. What do I have to lose at this point? Now that Kismet is no longer with me, there’s much less of a risk. I have been left with holes filled with questions where my loved ones used to be.

I know Cedric is right; I can’t just sit around stewing. But I have to form a plan.

Cedric must see my mind working. “What?”

“I’m just thinking you’re right. Sitting here won’t get me any answers.”

Cedric’s eyes narrow as he watches me eat my food in a very utilitarian way. I’m not enjoying it, but I still mechanically bring the food to my face.

I suspect my friend knows there’s more to what I’ve said than I care to elaborate on at the moment, but he doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer the information.

“I’ll come back to work on Monday, okay? I’m sure there’s plenty to do,” I say, trying to appease Cedric. That will give me the weekend to recover from Kismet’s funeral, which is on Friday, the day after tomorrow. Thinking about it turns the food in my mouth bitter, and I forcefully push the plate away.

If Cedric notices, he doesn’t comment. “Good. That’ll be good.” We don’t discuss it any further. We just start cleaning up in silence.

“Thank you for bringing dinner,” I say as I walk Cedric to the door.

“Of course. I’ll see you on Friday. Don’t loiter in the hall, okay? I mean it. It’s weird.”

Rather than respond, I stare down the hall as Cedric pats me on the arm and walks away. Once again, I’m alone.

Friday washes over me like a vat of hot tar. I hold out my hands, trying to stop it, but there’s nothing I can do. It consumes me, pouring over my mouth, lungs, and eyes, covering me in blackness.

Her funeral is closed to the public, so only her close friends and family are in attendance. She’s buried next to Andrew because I know that’s the way she’d want it to be. Now they can spend eternity together. Maybe that’s all there is to it. They were fated to be together, and when they couldn’t do that on Earth, she naturally followed him into heaven. Maybe her thread was so damaged by Andrew’s death that she simply died. Who knows? I’m growing tired of the constant questions, and now they’re all for nothing.

Her parents stand on the other side of the grave, her mother a total basket case, as any mother would be, and her dad standing behind her like a cold, stone statue. They don’t speak to me as they leave. They never agreed with Kismet’s decision to make our relationship romantic, particularly since it seemed to confirm their initial suspicions about us after Andrew died. So she didn’t speak with them much this past year, and the last time they saw each other was that horrible night in my apartment. I suspect the regret they both feel might crush them, and I can only hope they won’t succumb. I want the domino effect created by Andrew’s death to end.

Fia stands with me during the service, holding my hand, holding me up. As people leave, she tries to pull me away, but I’m not ready. I can’t go with her.

“All right. Take all the time you need, honey. You know how to reach me when you need me.”

Finally, I’m alone at Kismet’s side, looking down into the grave at her casket, littered with pink flowers. I hold a single white rose. The distance between us feels so great—so much vaster than when she was on Earth and I was in the heavens. I collapse to the ground, sorrow overwhelming me. It’s over. Truly. My banishment begins at this moment. Without her, my life is nothing.

After a few moments, I drop my white rose down among the pink ones, and hoist myself up. I start walking, finding myself leaning against the big tree near their graves, the one I leaned against while I was trying to reach Kismet that fateless night. Tears run down my cheeks as I slide down to the ground next to the tree. I lean heavily against it, wanting it to swallow me whole, willing it to take my burdens from me.

What if I’m at fault for her death? What if they really did take her because of what I told her? Or what if she and Andrew both died because of the ripples my appearance caused in their lives? Am I doomed to live out my banishment as some kind of angel of death? Bringing all the lives I touch to an early end? The guilt I feel brings on a new wave of sobs.

Minutes pass, and then hours, but I don’t even consider getting up and going home. I can’t think past this moment. The black tar so engulfs me, I can’t move my arms and legs. I can’t leave her there. It’s too final. Up until this moment, it was easy to pretend she was just away. That she was at a dress rehearsal, or having drinks with her coworkers. Now I have no choice but to accept that she’s truly gone, and the world seems like such a dark, dark place.

“Penn?” I hear a familiar voice softly calling my name.

My breath catches in my throat as I look up.

“Michaela.”

15.

I can’t die, so I’m confused to see her there. I look around, searching for someone she’s here to collect. But it’s just the two of us. Workers filled in Kismet’s grave while I was leaning against the tree. Darkness fell hours ago, and Michaela is standing just beyond Kismet’s resting place, barely visible.

Seeing Michaela there, so angelic in her gown that flows white at her shoulders and gradually fades to gray, then black at the bottom, totally concealing her feet, I can’t be mad at her for taking Kismet from me. When I finally bring myself to look at her face, her expression banishes what little traces of anger may have been left. Pure and total anguish twists her typically joyful face.

I reach out to Michaela, wanting so badly to connect with this soul who knows my pain firsthand.

But she doesn’t move from her spot, so I stop short.

“What are you doing here?” The question comes out a little more accusatory than was intended.

“Something isn’t right, Penn. I can’t put my finger on what’s going on, but…” She trails off, as if she’s been searching for the same answers I am.

“I knew it.” I breathe.

“Kismet and Andrew aren’t the only two who have died before their time.”

I put out a hand and lean on a nearby headstone, needing to stabilize myself from the weight of the news she’s heaped on my shoulders. It’s happening to others.

“Webber?”

“What about him?”

“I assumed he might be behind it, since Andrew and Kismet were the first to go.”

“But they weren’t,” she says, adamant. “We didn’t notice it right away. But it started before you left. That’s what I was trying to tell you and your sisters that day. It’s happening more and more frequently now. There are names popping up on my list that weren’t scheduled to be there for years—decades, in most cases.” She nods her head toward Kismet’s grave.

“And that poor girl.” A tear trickles down Michaela’s cheek as she remembers taking the love of my life. “She was so confused and reluctant. She knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t her time.”

“So it wasn’t because I inserted myself into her life? It wasn’t because I told her who I was?” I say absently, almost to myself.

“What? No. How could it be? It started before you left. And unless you also told Andrew and a handful of other souls, that can’t be the cause.”

“No. She was the only one. I had just told her that night. She was overwhelmed, so I went for a walk. That’s when you decided to come for her. If I’d been there, I would have tried to stop you.” I should feel relieved. But I don’t. Something is so wrong with the world right now that it sours what little hope is left in me.

She smiles sadly at me. “Penn, you know you can’t stop one of us. Once a name is on our list, that’s it.”

“Were you the one who came for Andrew?” I ask quietly.

“No. I was on another assignment that day. I’m so sorry, Penn. About everything.”

“So it’s not Webber? He was my only real suspect,” I say as I sit down right there in the middle of the cemetery. She sits next to me Indian-style, wrapping her dress around her knees.

“I don’t think so. Although he certainly didn’t waste any time to get comfortable in your spot. Truth be told, even Galenia is having trouble getting along with him. If he’s not careful, he won’t last.”

I frown. “I don’t like hearing that. I want the girls to be happy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, and the wind blows Michaela’s blonde hair away from her face and off her shoulders. She turns her face to it and closes her eyes. “You know, as hard as my job is sometimes, I really do love it on Earth, especially the wind. It’s almost like it carries the breath of those who have passed.”

I breathe it in, and it’s remarkably fresh for the city. I try to let it energize me, but the week’s events have left me so bitterly tired. Leaning forward, I rest my head in my hands. “Michaela, why are you here?”

“I need your help, Penn. I need you to come home.”

16.

I look up to get a clearer look at her, needing to know if she’s serious. But she just looks at me, almost pleading. She’s serious.

“Michaela, I was banished. I can’t go home. Finding a Reaper or another fallen angel was my best option for getting answers, but it seems like you have just as many questions as I do. I don’t see how I can help.”

“I do. And I think we can get answers together.” She’s resolved. Like she hasn’t even considered I might push back, that I won’t want to help.

“How exactly? I don’t think you’re listening to me. I can’t go home.”

“I think I can bring you back with me.”

My mouth hangs open as she sucks the rebuttal from me with that one simple phrase. I can travel back with her? “How?” I ask incredulously.

“It would be just like taking a soul as far as I can tell.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “As far as you can tell?”

She shrugs and smiles weakly at me. “I mean, I’ve never tried to bring a banished Fate back into heaven before. I’m kind of a rule follower, if you know what I mean.”

I laugh out loud for the first time in over a week. “Yes, Michaela, I know what you mean.” I think about all the times she left our games to get back to work. She’s a good girl to the extreme. Her willingness to break the rules this way means that whatever’s happening is even worse than I initially thought.

“How bad is it? How many souls?”

“I don’t know exactly when it started, so it’s hard to know for sure. We know of at least a half a dozen. Kismet is the latest.”

“Who are they? Are they all related like Andrew and Kismet were?”

“Not that I can tell,” she says.

I think for a moment. Even though his motivation still doesn’t make sense, all signs point to Webber. Michaela is just hoping for the best. Who else could be doing it? He is one of the only ones with access to everything he needs to cut lives short.

“What about the tapestry? What is this doing to it?”

“I haven’t seen it,” she says, a hint of regret in her voice.

“Webber has access to the tapestry, the threads, everything he would need to do this. I’m sorry, I know you think he’s innocent, but he has the means.”

“But not the motivation,” Michaela adds.

I can’t argue that. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

“Yes. I suggest we stop guessing so we can get back home and find out what exactly is going on.” She stands up, ready to go.

“What about my sisters? Why can’t they help you?”

“They are helping me, as much as they can. But they have work to do, just like I do. We need you. Now.” She looks down at me, waiting for me to join her.

I think of Fia, Cedric, Aida, and Cody. They will wonder what happened to me. And Cedric. He will not only miss me as a friend; my absence will affect him financially. The shop depends on my skills.

“Michaela, I can’t just go. I have ties here.”

“When we get back, you can write them a note. I will make sure it gets delivered.”

“But Cedric. I’m working in his shop. Things are going really well…”

“He will cope. I’m sure he had the shop long before you started working there, and he’ll have it long after. This is bigger than all of them, Penn.”

She is giving me a purpose, something I desperately need, so I rise and brush the grass from my suit. As I do so, I remember why I was in this cemetery in the first place. I look back at my beloved’s grave, sick with the knowledge that this is the last moment we will share, ever. I won’t be reunited with her in the heavens. I will never see her again. I turn back to Michaela, and the pain I feel is mirrored on her face.

“Go say goodbye, Penn,” she urges.

I walk slowly over to Kismet, recently covered over with dirt, not knowing what to say. I always knew this day would come, but I thought there would have been more time to prepare, more time for us to make memories together.

Looking down at her, I’m not sure of anything anymore. The workers have placed one of the floral arrangements on top of her grave, and it stands out against the dirt, sparkling with dew, just like she did in her life. I know she’ll be just as much of a star in heaven. And she’ll be with Andrew. I try to take comfort in that.

“Kismet, I have work to do now. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, but I hope with all my heart that you are happy now.” As I turn and walk away, I feel sluggish. Like the act of saying goodbye has added more weight to my burdens instead of lessening them.

“I shouldn’t have to say goodbye. Not yet,” I say to Michaela.

She takes my hand, touching me for the first time that night “I know. That’s why we have to go home.”

As soon as she takes my hand, I feel myself fading. Without really intending to, I struggle to stay, to hold on to the Earth, to be with Kismet. But Michaela won’t let me.

“I’m used to dealing with people who want to stay, but I didn’t expect to have to encourage you.”

“I know.” I look over my shoulder at Kismet one last time. “I don’t want to leave her.”

“If it helps, she isn’t there anymore. Right now, she’s probably getting pampered as the newest surprise arrival in heaven. She knows no sorrow anymore, Penn. That’s what you always wanted for her.”

I nod and put one foot in front of the other as we walk. She’s right. Trying to gain some strength from that single truth, I turn forward and head back home.

The journey is odd for me. My fall was an assault on the senses, all rushing wind leading to a jarring fall. However, the walk home is so much more peaceful.

The Earth fades away, replaced by billowing white clouds, although it doesn’t feel like we’re climbing. Rather, it seems like a thick fog has simply descended upon us. If it weren’t so quiet, I would’ve thought we were still walking around the city.

“Normally, this is where the soul I’m guiding watches their favorite memories—birthdays, graduations, weddings, babies, all the wonderful things about life—at least for the happy souls. And all the things that made them, them. But you’re not a human, so apparently, we don’t get to watch anything.”

I chuckle, but the sound quickly fades in the cloudy space. “So, what’s your favorite memory that you’ve ever seen?”

“Oh gosh. There are so many. Grandparents holding their grandbabies for the first time. Little kids getting puppies. But I think my favorite was one of an old man. I’d taken his wife years before, but I didn’t remember the two were connected until I saw her in his memories. They weren’t without their flaws. Once or twice, they’d almost broken up. Which is why I was surprised when we came to his last memory, the one we experienced before we arrive at the gates. It’s usually the most defining moment of the soul’s life. His wasn’t their wedding day, the day she died, or any of those important days in between. It was nothing. A day after one of their worst arguments. Someone said the word divorce in that fight; it was their lowest moment.

“But just a day later, they were sitting on a bench together looking out at the lake. Neither of them spoke. They just stared out at the water. Each was wondering what they’d done, if their choices had been wrong, if they’d made too many mistakes to ever make it right again. And then something magical happened.

“While they both looked out over the water, the man reached out his hand and put it on the bench, in the middle of the space between them. For a moment, the wife acted like she didn’t notice, but I saw the slight change in her posture, the way she sat up a little straighter at his movement. But she didn’t let him sit there with his hand out for long. Without looking at him, she put her hand on his, and they sat there, holding hands, watching the ducks swim past. And it was in that moment he knew they were going to make it, and that no choices that led him to her could ever be wrong.”

I smile as we walk through the fog, thinking how sometimes life’s greatest moments can be the small ones.

“What was your favorite memory so far?” Michaela asks me.

“On Earth?”

“Any time, I suppose.”

“You know, I’d have to say, more than creating Kismet and Andrew, it was getting to see them meet. It was such a magical moment to see two souls that were perfectly suited for each other find their other halves. In that moment, I felt like my banishment had been worth it.” Perhaps it’s odd that this moment is more special to me than the time she and I spent together on Earth. But the more I think about it, the more I realize she was never really mine. The moment I made Andrew, I set her free. And together, they were beautiful.

“You introduced them, right?”

“I did. Yes.”

“When were they supposed to meet before you fell?”

I shudder at this reminder of one of my greatest fears. The ripples caused by my presence. Did I intervene too much? “Do you think that’s what set this in motion for Kismet and Andrew? Do you think I tampered too much with their fates?” A part of me realizes it doesn’t make much sense. If nothing else, it doesn’t explain the others who were taken before their time, but horror builds in my stomach anyway. My breath comes in short gasps.

Michaela squeezes my hand as we walk. “No. I don’t think you tampered too much. They would’ve met without you. They were meant to be together. I just wondered how soon, that’s all. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” She hangs her head as she walks, as if she’s failed me in some way.

I look over at her and nod. “You’re right. They would’ve met anyway. And it would’ve been soon. It’s just hard not to have answers. I am a Fate. I’m supposed to know everything.”

She smiles as the fog starts to clear. “We’re almost there,” she says, and I stop walking.

“What are we going to do when we get there? I can’t be seen. And you can’t be seen with me, or you’ll end up banished right along with me for harboring a fugitive.”

“I know. I’m just trusting this will be okay.”

“I’m thinking that’s not the best plan.”

“Listen, not a lot of people wander around the gates. There’s a good chance we can get to my quarters without being seen.”

“Your quarters?”

“Well, you can’t go to yours.” She says it so matter-of-factly. Like I should know why I can’t go there. But I don’t. She has to elaborate. “Webber is staying in them. They’re his quarters now.”

That statement hits me like a freight train. Of course Webber is staying in my quarters. He’s the Spinner now.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly as we stand there in the dwindling fog.

I nod. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Anyway, you can’t be seen wandering around. If you’re caught, you’ll find yourself wishing for your banishment. They will eliminate you. Completely.”

We’ve all heard the horror stories, but it ratchets my blood pressure up a few levels to hear it out loud.

“You’ll have to be careful about where you go and who you ask for information.”

“Who I ask?”

She nods. “Yes, well, my workload has gotten a bit intense lately, with all the unexpected deaths. I’ll help you in any way I can, but I can’t make any promises.”

“How am I supposed to ask people what’s going on without being seen?”

She shakes her head, knowing she’s asking the impossible. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

I nod and look down at our clasped hands as we stand in the mist facing each other. She came and rescued me, putting her whole existence on the line to bring me home. Occasionally a slight breeze that comes from nowhere ruffles her hair or the bottom of her dress.

“Thank you, Michaela. You have saved me, in every possible way.”

Without letting go of my hand, she throws herself at me and pulls me into a tight hug. I try to let go of her hand, to embrace her with both hands, but she holds fast. “Don’t let go,” she commands. Instinctually, I listen.

“We’re so close. If you let go of me, you’ll be lost. The humans who let go of their Reapers become ghosts, wandering the Earth forever.”

I pull back a little to look at her. “How many have you lost?”

“Three.” She’s quiet for a moment as I hold her. “One was a child who didn’t understand. That was the worst one. She wanted to go back to her mommy. And she did. She haunted that poor woman for the rest of her life. It was horrible when I had to come back and take her, leaving her child alone on Earth.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “But we shouldn’t talk about such dark things as we approach the gates, or we’ll end up at the wrong one.”

“What?” I ask.

“That’s how I know where to bring the soul. If their final memory is something… unsavory, I know they’re destined for hell, and that’s the gate that will appear at the end of the road. Then I know to prepare myself for a fight. But there are guards at that gate that usually help. They’re trained for that kind of thing. All I have to do is get them there. I rarely go through them.”

I nod, shuddering at the thought of the guardians of hell. I hope I never have to see them myself.

“Which gate do you anticipate for me?” I ask, not sure what to expect.

“Neither, really, since you’re not human. I’m hoping the gate home will appear, and we can just go on through.”

“What if the gate of hell appears?” I ask nervously as I hold fast to my friend.

She pushes back a little and looks up. “If that happens, I will let you go. I don’t know what will happen to you, but I won’t let you spend eternity in hell.”

I nod, trying to take assurance in that thought.

Finally, she backs away from me, still holding fast to my hand, and we stand next to each other for a few moments. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She smiles at me in what I interpret as an attempt at reassurance, so I squeeze her hand as we walk together through the mists.

When the mist finally disappears, we stand in front of three gates. The one on the left is white, the one on the right is black, and the one in the middle is gold.

“Huh. It’s weird to stand in front of all three at the same time. Normally, the only one that appears is the one intended for the soul, and then ours will appear once I’ve delivered them.” She stands in awe of them for a few minutes, and they truly are beautiful to behold.

They aren’t simply white, gold, and black. They are intricately carved with detailed representations of what is held within. I look down at Michaela’s hand, and she nods, indicating it’s okay to venture forth on my own now that we’re free of the mist. I let her go and wander to the white gate first.

It tells a story, I realize. Adam and Eve are at the bottom. Working my way up, I see Cain and Abel, and eventually Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, and Jesus. But Jesus is only at the halfway point. There are many others above Him whom I don’t recognize.

“Who are all these people?” There are men, women, and children climbing toward the top of the gate, all of them reaching outstretched arms to the heavens.

“Most of them haven’t been born yet. But they will all play some vital role in the history of humanity.”

I move toward the gold door, carved with angels, Reapers, and human-like figures clasping hands. There are Keepers standing in front of stacks and stacks of books, Weavers working on the great tapestry of life, and finally the Fates, standing around the cauldron. All three of them are women.

“This was made some years ago. Long before you became a Fate,” Michaela says, as if apologizing for the oversight.

But I don’t see it that way. My heritage is carved into that gate. I come from a long line of women, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something I embrace.

I reach out for the gate, wanting to touch the sisters of my heritage, but Michaela stays my arm. “Don’t touch it until you’re ready to go in.”

The only gate left is the great black gate. Part of me doesn’t even want to go over to it, and I let my hand hover over the three sisters as I give it a closer look. Although it’s the same size as the other two, it seems bigger, more imposing, and a thousand times less inviting.

Still, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I cautiously approach the gate, taking care to keep my hands clasped behind my back, lest I touch the gate by mistake.

But I don’t find what I expect. I think demons and other creatures of nightmares will be carved there. But instead, the gate tells a sad tale of humans who have gone astray, and been forever parted from their loved ones. Every single human carved on it is crying. It overwhelms me. I take a step back, but the further I back up, the bigger the gate seems to get as it looms over me.

Eventually, I bump into Michaela. “It’s okay,” she says. “I know it can be a bit… overwhelming.” She puts her hands on my shoulders, trying to steady me, but my heart is racing, and I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the depictions on the gate.

“Isn’t there any chance for redemption for those trapped behind those gates?”

“They had many chances for redemption before they landed here.” She says it without emotion, as if that’s the way it is. I suppose for her, it is. Her tone reminds me of the ICU nurse I met—guarded, not jaded. If she didn’t take a very unemotional approach to the gates, being a Reaper would be a very difficult job indeed.

Without anything left to explore, we both turn to face the gold gate.

“I guess there’s nothing left to do but go inside,” I say.

“One last thing.”

She lingers in the cloudy area next to the base of the gate. Reaching a hand into the clouds, she pulls out a pile of hidden clothing.

It’s robes and sandals in heavenly style. “If you go in wearing that, they’ll mistake you for a human and flip out.”

But they aren’t Spinner’s robes. I hold them up for a better look. Spinner’s colors are a shimmering light gold color. But these are tan, with a brown belt at the center. “A Keeper?”

“No one looks at the Keepers. They keep to themselves unless approached for information. Let’s just hope no one does that to you. If you keep your head down and your hood up, with a little bit of luck, you won’t get caught.”

“If I do…” I hesitate, looking deep into Michaela’s blue eyes, silently thanking her for everything.

“If you do, I won’t even know about it. You’ll just disappear without so much as a goodbye. And I won’t even be able to ask about you. So don’t get caught. I don’t want to worry about you for the rest of eternity.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I’d be gone.”

“Exactly.”

I take the robes from her and change. Once I’m done, I leave my human clothes carefully concealed behind the cloud. “If anyone should find them, we’re toast,” I say.

“They won’t. These have been hidden for almost a week on Earth. As soon as Kismet’s name appeared on my list, I knew I had to come get you. I just needed to wait for the right time.”

I think of my last moments by her graveside. “I couldn’t have left her before today anyway.”

Michaela nods knowingly as we approach the gold gate. “You go in first, I’ll be right behind you. Don’t call attention to yourself. No one can know you’re here.”

“That’s going to make it hard to do any kind of recon work.”

“We’ll talk about it more later.” She gives me a little shove toward the gate, and I put my hand out. The moment I make contact, the gate dissolves and I pass through it.

I expect a bustle of activity, but I’m not sure why. I’ve never even been to this side of the heavens before, and I’ve never seen the gates from either side. And based on how empty it appears to be, I imagine not too many others have seen it either.

Michaela bumps into me in the doorway. “Sorry, I expected you to keep moving,” she says. “Only Reapers frequent this area. If one of them sees you, they might think it’s odd, but you probably won’t be questioned. We’re all too busy lately to pay much attention to anything but our work.”

That’s a little sad. “Don’t you want a break?”

Michaela looks at me like I have six heads, but then she actually pauses to consider my question. “Maybe. But to even have a chance at getting a break, I need help. That’s where you come in.”

I nod, doing my best to keep my head down and my face concealed as we walk. Because of that, I can’t get a good sense of where we’re going. Michaela guides me with a light touch on my elbow, telling me when to turn, when to slow down, and when to speed up.

I occasionally hear other footsteps, but the Reapers—if that’s what they are—never speak to us. All I can do is hope they won’t notice the banished soul walking among them.

A few twists and turns later, we arrive at a door. Michaela ushers me inside and shuts it behind her.

“Okay, you should be safe in here.”

I pull the hood off and look around. It’s much different from my quarters. Hers doesn’t look out on the heavens like mine did. Mesmerized, I walk to her back wall, with my hand held out. “Earth,” I breathe.

“Yes. Reapers get to see anything on Earth they’d like. I change mine based on my mood. That’s a waterfall in the Brazilian rainforest. One of my favorites. I haven’t gotten to see it in real life yet, but it’s on my list. But I have seen some other beautiful things.”

In an instant, the wall changes to the painted deserts of Arizona, then to the northern lights in Alaska, to the colorful fish of the Great Barrier Reef, to a volcano in Hawaii, to a lightning storm, and on and on as I watch all the beauty I missed with my mouth hanging open.

“I thought New York was nice,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb the moment.

She giggles. “It is nice. They have some great things. But the world is more than that. So much more,” she says. There’s an undeniable hint of longing in her voice.

I understand. Now that I’m home, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go back and see all the things Michaela has seen. Although part of me is glad to be back in the heavens among my friends, a larger part of me misses Earth, and my family there. The feeling makes me feel out of sorts, as if I don’t know which place is truly my home.

Michaela doesn’t give me much time to dwell. “I have to go. I’ve already been gone too long. I can’t let them notice. I’ll be back when I can. Try to discover what you can, but for the love of God—”

I cut her off. “Don’t get caught.” I nod. “I know.”

“Good luck,” she says.

“You too. I hope you don’t get any more surprise names on your list.”

“Me too,” she says. And with that, she leaves me alone in her room.

I look around the small space, similarly furnished to my own. I never thought I would find myself back in these surroundings again, and now that I’m here—as a fugitive—I’m not sure what to do.

First thing’s first. I need to write a note to Fia so she can tell the others I’m okay, which is true—for now. There is no need for everyone to know the danger I’m in.

Fia,

Thank you so much. For everything. I hope you know how much you mean to me.

I’ve gone home. You were right, and so was I. Michaela needs my help, so I’ve gone back to the heavens with her. Something isn’t right, and Andrew and Kismet aren’t the only ones to have been taken before their time.

Please tell Cedric I’m sorry. And tell the others I’m all right, and I love them. I’ll check in on you all from time to time, and maybe someday I can come back.

I will make this right, or die trying, Fia.

—Penn

I fold the letter and leave it out for Michaela. Next up is to find some answers. But as I sink down into a chair facing a wide expanse of turquoise water and white sand beach, I wonder where in the heavens I’m going to start.

17.

Because I’m dressed as a Keeper, my first thought is to go to their side of heaven and search for anomalies among their literature. It’s quiet work, where no one will bother me. But I fear it will take too long, if the information I need is even in there.

So I decide to poke around where I am. Maybe if I can see the names for myself, I can make a connection between them. It would be easier with Michaela’s help, but she isn’t back yet. Probably still trying to make up for the time she lost while she was collecting me.

With absolutely no idea of where to go, I set out, hoping to find what I need before someone finds me.

As I wander the halls of the Reapers, I find myself wishing I’d followed Michaela when she left, so I would at least know my way around a little.

“Keeper,” a deep voice calls.

I freeze. I don’t recognize the voice, but if the soul behind it recognizes me, I’m done. Briefly, I consider running, but I know I won’t get far. My best chance is to play it cool and make the guy believe I’m a Keeper.

“Yes?” I ask as I turn to face the owner of the booming voice.

A tall, muscular man with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes, he’s dressed in a black shirt and pants that fade from black to gray to white. A Reaper. But he isn’t familiar to me. I can only hope he doesn’t recognize me either.

“Are you lost?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for the most recent list of names. For our records.”

“Of course. This way.” He holds out his arm and falls into step beside me as we walk in that direction.

“Are you new? I’ve never known the Keepers to send someone to collect the names before.”

“Yes, I’m new.”

“I see.” He chuckles to himself. “Are they punishing you for something, or do they really want the names that bad? Usually we deliver them at the end of the day.”

“Considering the number of names we’ve been getting lately, we wanted to get a head start on the task.”

The man nods grimly. “There has been a slight influx.”

He stops in front of a glass door that pulls silently into the wall, allowing us passage. Inside, LED screens line three walls of the huge room. Names cover the screens, and more than once, I see the list trickle downward so a new name can appear on top.

Pearl Hughes

Frederico Gillam

Jeff Rummel

They’re my creations.

Thinking I might take a chance, I ask, “How many surprises have popped up today?”

The man lets out a sharp sigh, but I’m not sure what it’s directed at. Me? The situation? The fact that I know about the situation? All three? Despite his obvious hesitation, the man answers. “The last one was about four hours ago. Kismet something.”

Four hours ago. It had been just over a week for me.

“Do you have a list of the surprises?” The man gives me a sidelong look, and I worry I’ve gone too far. The longer I stay with this man, the greater the chance he will recognize me or realize I’m not a Keeper. I quickly try to cover my tracks. “We’re keeping a record of what’s happening.”

The man nods. “This way.”

I follow him to the end of the room, and then over to the corner on the right. There’s a door there I couldn’t see from where we entered. The door is glass, like all the rest in the Reapers’ section of heaven, but this door is an opaque white, so I can’t see through it. It blends in seamlessly with the walls. In fact, if the Reaper hadn’t led me here, I never would’ve seen it.

The man leads me to the end of the dark room. A small LED screen is there, with just over half a dozen names on it. Kismet’s is among them, as is Andrew’s. I know who all of them are. I created each of them.

“I’ll leave you now,” the man says. “Please, show yourself out.”

“Of course. Thank you for your kindness.”

The man tilts his head in acknowledgment and leaves. I move some boxes off a chair and take a seat in front of the list, wishing I’d brought something with me to write the names on. Even so, I can tell that Michaela was right—the only two that appear to be related are Andrew and Kismet.

The only fact they have in common is that they are all adults. No children are on the list. That seems odd. There also aren’t any elderly people. They’re all in their twenties or early thirties. There are only seven of them.

I look at the very first name, the one who started it all. Nysa Amberry. What’s special about her? She was only twenty-four when she passed, so I must have spun her thread fairly recently. I try to think back to her order, wishing I could touch her hand to get a better picture. She was energetic. I remember that. Energetic but disciplined. A nurse. That’s right. The order was for a Healer on Earth. I smile to myself as I put the pieces together, but they still don’t add up to a full picture.

As I try to puzzle it out, Michaela comes into the room. “Thought I might find you here when you weren’t in my room. How did you get here?”

“A very kind Reaper helped me out,” I say. “Hey, what happened with Nysa?” I nod to her name at the top of the list.

Michaela sighs. “She was the first, we think. An anomaly, or so we hoped. Her death was blamed on some infectious disease she came into contact with in the hospital where she worked. It killed her quickly and quietly, leaving no trace behind, or so the humans said. We Reapers knew something else had happened to her, but we couldn’t figure it out.”

“What happened when you took her?” I ask.

Michaela scans the room before she speaks. She’s obviously nervous talking about it, no matter how private the creepy room appears to be. “She wasn’t ready. Just like all the others, her soul knew it wasn’t the right time. She didn’t have a family yet or anything like that, but she just knew. She fought me some, but quickly gave up when she realized it was futile.”

I frown. It’s a familiar story, but it doesn’t provide us with any information about the who, the why, or the how. I need to spend some time at the tapestry and find a connection between these people. We’re missing something.

Michaela glances around again. “We need to get out of here. Someone is going to notice you lingering.” I suddenly notice her expression. She seems agitated and flustered.

“You okay?” I ask as we walk back toward her room.

“Just frustrated. And antsy.”

I nod, but something nags at me. “This is going to sound horribly insensitive, but there are only seven names on the extra list. How many Reapers do you work with? Why would seven souls make so much more work for you?”

She sighs, and I immediately regret the question. But I want to know. How did they even notice seven names? Seven souls must seem like a drop in the ocean of souls who leave the world each day.

“There are about twenty Reapers total, give or take. The problem is that we were already busy. It’s the life of a Reaper. It doesn’t help that one of the Reapers is on leave right now. When you consider how many people die each day, and how many of us there are, it’s a tremendous workload. So, when one person gets added to a Reaper’s list, it dominoes, because it means someone else has to pick up one or two names from our list, then someone else has to pick up a few names from their list, but then another name pops up on someone else’s list, and before long, we’ve lost control of the situation.

“Like I said, a lot of people come easily, not everyone, of course, but it helps the job go faster. When you have a surprise pop up, you know it’s going to take longer. You saw the way Kismet looked back at you. She was so confused.”

“On top of that, it’s happened in just over a week. Nearly one a day. It’s exhausting.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes as we continue on toward Michaela’s quarters.

“I didn’t see an obvious connection between the names either. I want to spend some time at the tapestry, see their lives. Maybe I can find something there.”

She turns to me in the doorway of her quarters. “Are you crazy? You can’t go back there. You’ll be recognized. What if Webber is the one who finds you? That’ll be it.”

“But we need to watch the threads. It’s our best chance of finding out what happened,” I argue.

“There must be another way.” She says it as if that closes the discussion, not giving me the opportunity to respond. Looking back and forth, she makes sure no one sees me go inside. When she’s satisfied, she shuts the door behind her.

“You need to be careful coming and going. Someone will think we’re having an affair.”

I smile. Affairs in the heavens are rare, and those who participate in them are thought to be too much like humans and totally out of touch. “If only that were the least of our concerns.”

Her smile manages to banish some of the frustration etching deep lines on her face. It spurs me on.

“Can you imagine the gossip in the common room? The whispers? A Reaper and a Keeper?” I put my hand over my mouth and gasp. “Oh dear.”

She slaps at me. “It’s only funny because it’s true. It really would create quite a scandal. I don’t know why, though. Keepers are truly interesting souls.”

“Oh, imagine what they’d think if they discovered your lover wasn’t a Keeper at all. The speculation that would create! Certainly, they would all decide he was an archangel in disguise, because that’s the type of man you deserve.”

She wrinkles up her nose. “What do you mean by that? They’re so serious.”

I look at her, surprised. “The archangels are the best of us,” I say simply.

Her smile warms her whole face this time. “That’s very kind of you, Penn.” Then her expression turns mischievous. “But the angels are too stiff. You saw them. Not exactly the best conversationalists.”

“Maybe not. I assumed they were just like that because I was around. Maybe they crack each other up?” I lower my voice, making my best attempt at being serious. “Did you hear the one about the angel who tripped over his wings? No? That’s because he fell. Har-har-har.”

She shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “All right. We should at least attempt to be constructive.”

“I did notice one thing about the list,” I say. I’d been stewing over it on the way back to her quarters.

“What?” she asks.

“I don’t think Webber would know who the others are. The other five. I mean, he wove them into the tapestry and everything, but why them? Remember how he said he liked the dark threads? There were dark threads in the mix. Why would he cut dark threads short if he likes them? Something doesn’t add up.”

“I know you’re focusing on Webber because he wronged you, but I don’t think he’s behind this. I truly don’t.”

“You are too trusting,” I accuse.

“Thank you.” Her response gives me pause. I didn’t mean it as a compliment, but she chose to take it that way, robbing the sting from the barb completely. Honestly, I’m glad. Her kind heart is one of the things I like best about her.

Flashing a small smile at her, I sit down in the nearest chair.

She sees the note I left. “You know what, I’m going to go deliver this while I have a break.”

“All work and no play makes Michaela a—”

She cuts me off. “A Reaper. That’s what it makes me.”

“I know, but take a breath, maybe stop by the observatory to center a bit before diving back in.”

She sighs, nods, and her eyes narrow. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“We’ve had this discussion already today.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

I know I’m heading to the weaving room as soon as she’s gone, whether she thinks it’s a good idea or not. Fates are the only ones who can watch the threads. To others, the tapestry looks like the gorgeous landscape it is, nothing more, nothing less. Because of that, I can’t send her to do it. It has to be me.

I nod toward the letter in her hand. “Thank you.”

She smiles and walks out, but I’m not far behind her. We both have things to do.

After the day’s wanderings, I’ve learned my way around the Reaper’s area enough to make my way out of it. Like all the other factions, it dumps out into the common room. From there, I know how to make my way to my old stomping grounds. Even with my hood concealing some of my peripheral vision, I know exactly where to go. I’m home.

By the time I wander past the workroom where I’ve spent such a large portion of my life, everyone has gone to bed. I’m glad. I’m not sure I would have possessed the strength to walk past Galenia and Horatia. Plus, I know I can’t examine the tapestry during the day. I need time alone with it.

I shut the door behind me and approach the tapestry slowly, taking in its beauty, almost as if I’m seeing it for the first time. I feel so torn between two worlds. A part of me feels like Earth is now my rightful home, but here, seeing the tapestry, I feel the tug of my calling strongly enough that my fingers start to twitch.

From a distance, the tapestry appears undamaged. However, I notice there have been very few new additions since my departure, which means production is way down. I’ve been gone for over a year on Earth. There should be a whole new section, at least a million threads added. But there’s only maybe half that amount. The cascading impact will be tremendous.

I shake my head as I examine the threads. There are so many, it seems an impossible task to find seven specific ones among the billions that make up it up. When we watch threads, we choose them at random, never searching for any one in particular. Kismet’s thread was an exception. Between the sparkling gem it was, and the way I’m drawn to it, it’s always easy to find. Others though… I’m not sure it’s even possible. But I have to try.

Kismet’s thread is the easiest to find, so I begin there. I frown as I bring my hand closer to the delicate fabric in front of me. None of the threads around hers are damaged, but a clean cut has been made through her thread. The bottom portion of her thread is missing.

My pulse quickens as my mind races with the possibilities. What would someone want with a portion of her thread? Andrew’s thread is next. To my dismay, I discover the same thing. It takes a little more time, but I find the five other threads too, all of them cut short. I notice some damage around the other threads. Nysa was the first, I remember. There are at least three threads around hers that have been shredded and frayed. Those lives will be permanently altered. I look back to Kismet’s thread, confirming the lack of damage around hers. It’s almost like whoever is doing it is getting better at it with time and practice.

What could it possibly mean?

Settling in, I decide to watch Nysa’s thread first. Her life is just as it should be. Until it isn’t. The end is just as abrupt and confusing as Michaela described it.

Nysa was a nurse in the oncology ward of a pediatric hospital. It was taxing work, but she found it very rewarding. Her last patient before she passed away was a young boy named Shiloh.

Nysa knew he wouldn’t make it. It was a miracle he’d survived as long as he had. His mother seemed very distraught, but the boy seemed to be at peace with his fate.

She tried to comfort the woman out in the hallway. “Shiloh needs you to be strong now.”

The woman’s tearful expression turned cold. “I don’t need you to tell me what I need to be or do right now. My son is dying. I need to save him. Whether you plan on helping me or not.”

Nysa straightened, apologized, and excused herself. This was probably the type of thing she had to deal with all too often in her line of work. The rest of her day was filled with paperwork, tending other patients, nothing remarkable. She started to feel ill near the end of the day, and the very next day, she was gone.

That’s it. I sit back, sighing. Kismet passed away so quickly, with no signs of illness. Why did Nysa’s death take so long? A chill runs down my spine as I examine her damaged thread again. Was her death drawn out because whoever did this didn’t make a clean cut?

“Can I help you?”

The familiar voice stops my train of thought cold.

“Hey, don’t touch that. Keepers shouldn’t touch the tapestry. You might damage it.” Webber runs over and grabs my arm, turning me to face him.

18.

The look on Webber’s face transforms from surprise to fear as he tries to comprehend what my presence could possibly mean. He drops my arm like a hot potato.

“What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same thing,” I respond. “Come to take another thread for yourself?”

“What?” Webber takes a step back, glancing around nervously.

His attitude seems to confirm he’s the one responsible. He has to be. Otherwise, why would he be so nervous?

“What are you doing with them? I know why you took Andrew and Kismet, but why the others? Why not start with Andrew? Did you need practice to get it right?”

Instead of answering, Webber takes another step back.

I advance on him, taking advantage of my upper hand. “Webber, answer me. Why?”

“I…” he stammers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t hurt me.”

“What? Why would I hurt you? What have you done to deserve being hurt?”

“Nothing! I swear.” He holds up his hands in defense. I’m getting more and more confused. Heavenly beings don’t raise their hands against each other. What is Webber so scared of and why?

“Webber, why do you think I’d hurt you? If anything, I would take you to the archangels and report your crimes. But I would never strike you in any way. No matter what you might deserve.”

“You are fallen. You don’t have to adhere to the rules of heaven anymore.”

That gives me pause. Am I forever tainted by my banishment? Is everyone going to be afraid of me? Michaela isn’t. “You’re an idiot. If you knew me at all, you’d know I wasn’t going to hurt you. Now tell me what’s going on.”

“What are you doing here then?” Webber asks, ignoring my demand. I’m not sure he even heard it. His eyes dart wildly between the tapestry, the door, and me.

“I’m trying to figure out why people are dying before their time on Earth is up. And I have a feeling you’re behind it, since Andrew and Kismet were two of the victims.”

“What?” he says, genuine horror in his voice. My eyes narrow. Either he’s a remarkable actor, or he truly isn’t involved. I know Webber. He isn’t smart enough for this level of manipulation. But accepting that means accepting the fact that he isn’t responsible, and I’m not ready to do that.

“People are dying on Earth, Webber. Well before they were meant to.”

Webber’s eyes shoot to the tapestry. “I noticed the damage early last week. And then your beautiful thread was cut and removed yesterday,” he says, his voice quiet as he cautiously approaches the tapestry, taking care to glance at me on occasion.

Have I really been sitting here looking at the tapestry for that long? When I first arrived in the heavens, Kismet had only just been taken. I shake my head, cursing myself for losing track of time.

“I don’t understand it,” he adds as he examines the fabric.

“You did this. You had to. You did it to get one final dig in at me.” Even as I say it, I know it’s not true, but that means we don’t have any leads. It means we’re stuck.

Webber sinks down into a nearby stool. “You got the final dig, Penn,” he says quietly.

“I… what?” I ask, growing more and more confused.

“Turns out I’m a much better Weaver than I am a Spinner. I guess I should’ve known that. Production is the worst it’s been in centuries. All because of me. I’m going to be demoted. They just have to find a replacement.”

I’m about to speak, to ask more questions, but he sighs and cuts me off before I even get my mouth open. “For God’s sake, Penn, I didn’t do this,” Webber says, his fear totally gone. This is more like the Webber I knew. Impatient. Brash.

“With that kind of sass, you must not be afraid of me anymore,” I say, pulling a stool up to the tapestry and taking a seat beside Webber.

“I’ve just never seen someone who’s fallen return. They say the fallen become horrible, twisted version of themselves. Lawless and ruthless.”

I laugh, the sound genuine. “Think about that for a moment. Would God really unleash someone like that on His creations on purpose?” In all honesty, it’s me who should be afraid of Webber. Of all the people who could have found me here, Webber is the worst. He would do anything to destroy me. Maybe if I can hold on to some of that basic fear, I can convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“No, I suppose not.”

We stare at each other for a few moments, each waiting for the other to make a move. But neither of us knows what to do.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” I say.

Webber nods. “Ditto, actually.”

I nod. “So you truly don’t know what’s happening here? I mean, I’m fallen. I could shoot lasers out of my eyes at you to get you to tell me the truth.”

Finally, Webber chuckles. The sound doesn’t irk me as much as it did in another life. Maybe Webber’s right. Falling has changed me some, but not for the worse. It has only made me appreciate the things I left behind. Perhaps even this man I never cared for is not all bad.

“Penn, now who’s being stupid? Don’t you remember that it’s nearly impossible for heavenly beings to lie?”

It hits me like a freight train. I sag down on the stool as the truth barrels down on me. “You’re right,” I breathe.

Webber reaches out to offer a steadying hand. “You okay?”

“No. I have no idea what’s going on. And I need answers. We have to stop this.”

Webber nods.

“Did you tell Michaela what you discovered?” I ask.

“No. Everything was already so messed up because of me. I was afraid this was my fault too.”

I frown at him. “Webber, it’s time to grow a pair. Your information may have helped Michaela. She came to get me to help her. More names keep popping up on her list of souls, more people who are dying before their time. You could’ve at least tried to stop this, and you didn’t.” I’m beginning to remember why I didn’t care for Webber.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a tough time since you left. For everyone.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by that?” Instinct tells me Webber is talking about his sisters, my sisters.

“Horatia and Galenia haven’t been very happy.” He pauses. “One of my first assignments was for a man, or at least I thought it was supposed to be a man. Adventurous and innocent, those were the instructions. But Horatia cut the thread so short, and Galenia gave him some mysterious skin disease. He never grew to be a man. She killed a kid. I think they did it to gang up on me. They don’t like me much.”

I bristle. “You don’t know them very well at all, do you? They would never punish a human for something you did, let alone a child. Sometimes kids get sick, but you have to see the larger purpose. Maybe that child will serve as an inspiration to millions of people to find a cure. You can’t be a Fate without seeing the bigger picture, Webber. If you don’t understand that, it’s no wonder you’re not doing well.” It’s harsh, but I can’t listen to him accuse my sisters of that. “They’re your sisters. Treat them with some respect, man.”

Webber looks up at me with a sadness I hadn’t noticed before. “No, they’re your sisters.”

I sigh, not knowing what to say to that. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty for his downfall. He got what he wanted. It’s not my fault he can’t handle it. “I’m sorry to hear that they aren’t happy. Is that all?”

“Well, I guess so. That, on top of everything else, has made for an unpleasant work environment. I mean, how was I supposed to succeed when you were this rock star Fate?” He points accusingly at me.

“Look, you got what you wanted. Whether you’re involved in the major screw up that’s going on or not, I’m here to fix it. So you can either quit whining and help me or you can keep your damned mouth shut.”

Webber freezes. Heavenly bodies never throw the word “damned” around like that. Ever. It hits too close to home, with the city of the damned so nearby. I hold my ground as Webber processes what I said.

“What do you mean by keep my mouth shut?” He deliberately leaves out the damned part.

I kick myself internally for my slip up and watch as Webber’s mind chews on what I said.

“If I reveal you, they’ll erase you from existence.”

“But you’re not going to do that, are you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

A glint shines in Webber’s eye, just like the one I saw there when I was being escorted out of heaven.

“Webber, there are too many lives at stake here.”

“Too many? Seven people have died. Out of billions. Seven. This is barely a problem. You only care because your beloved Kismet was one of them.”

“That may be why it came to my attention, but—”

Webber cuts me off. “Oh, please. Your whole good-guy bit only goes so far with me.”

“And your pathetic loser bit only goes so far with me. As you said, I am fallen. I have nothing to lose. And if you threaten me again, I will silence you.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” Webber says, his tone revealing the tiniest shred of doubt.

“That was before. Now that you’re trying to erase me from existence, I may rethink things.”

Webber swallows and eyes me warily. Eventually, after letting several tense heartbeats go by, he says, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I’m not getting knee deep in whatever overdramatized situation you think is happening here. It’s seven lives, Penn.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn’t care. But the way he stares at me says otherwise.

“All life is precious. Why do you think I was banished because of one?”

Just then, Michaela bursts into the room.

“Penn. It’s Kismet.”

19.

Michaela huffs and puffs as if she ran across the entire heavens to get to us. “I found her in the prison of souls! We have to save her.”

“The what?” I ask.

Bending over, she braces herself on her knees, sending her blonde hair cascading on either side of her body. “The prison of souls,” she pants out. “It’s not supposed to exist, but someone’s opened it. And she’s trapped in there, along with Andrew and the other five. Penn. They didn’t go to heaven, where I left them. Someone’s kidnapped them in the worst possible way.”

As she takes a deep breath, trying to slow her breathing, Michaela looks up at Webber. She shoots straight up. “Webber, I didn’t see you there.” Her tone is guarded.

“He found me here. We have no choice but to trust him, and him us. As he has so kindly reminded me, I’m fallen and have nothing to lose. I could destroy him just as easily as he could destroy me.”

Michaela looks between us, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. But I can’t tell which one of us has met with her disapproval, maybe both.

She approaches the two of us, her frown still in its place. Her presence is suddenly not that of the welcoming, happy girl next door. She’s an intimidating and formidable woman. We both stood up when she ran into the room, but seeing her like this is enough to make us sink back into our stools. “Listen, you two. I’m about sick of the pissing contest between you. I’m only going to say this once, and I’m not pleased that I have to say it at all. Get over yourselves. This isn’t about you. This is about saving lives. Human lives. The lives that we’ve devoted the entirety of our existence to protect and care for.” She clenches her fists at her sides as she speaks. I have never even seen her mad, let alone this angry.

I chance a glace at Webber, and he is totally cowed into submission, all but whimpering in his seat. Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Coward.

“Webber, either come with us or don’t, but if I hear that you breathed a word about Penn to anyone at all, Penn won’t be the only one you need to fear.” Her blue eyes bore into him, and all he can do is nod.

“Penn, let’s go.” But as she turns to leave, she spots someone in the doorway.

Galenia stands there with an open mouth, tears pooling in her eyes. “Penn,” she breathes.

The sight of her washes over me like a warm breeze, and a smile tugs at my lips as I whisper her name. “Galenia.” She runs to my open arms, and we hold each other tight.

“Well, this is a nice love fest,” Webber says, interrupting our moment.

Galenia ignores him completely. “What are you doing here?” Fear clouds her joyful expression. “If they find you—”

I cut her off. “It’s Kismet. She’s in trouble. And it’s not just her. There are others. Something is happening.”

She frowns as she considers my words.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“I thought I heard voices.”

“From your quarters?” I ask.

“No, I was out walking. I couldn’t sleep, and anyway, it’s nearly time to start the day. There’s a lot of uncertainty around here lately. It’s not something a Fate deals with real well,” she says as she looks at Webber. “As I’m sure you well know.”

Webber seems to shrink back into his chair. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. I’m pretty sure Galenia is the only person Webber would ever willingly apologize to.

“Horatia will want to help too.”

“Too?” I ask. “No. I don’t want to get you involved. You don’t need to endanger yourselves.”

“Penn,” Michaela says sternly, “we need all the help we can get.”

I sigh and nod, giving Galenia the go ahead to retrieve Horatia.

While we wait, I sort through my questions. “What is the prison of souls, Michaela?”

“The humans refer to it as purgatory—a place where souls would go before their ultimate place in the heavens is decided. The problem was that they could stay there indefinitely. It was unnatural. A soul needs a home, a place, even if it’s hell. Plus, those who ran the prison were… unsavory. They tended to go outside their duties to punish the souls inside. So, centuries upon centuries ago, the prison was sealed, although many of the humans still thought it existed. To be trapped in there is a fate worse than death.”

“Punish?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of that, especially not when Andrew and Kismet are caught in there.

“Try not to think about it.” Her grim expression says enough for the time being.

“So who could have opened it now? Who would even be capable of doing such a thing?” Webber asks.

“Aside from God, I don’t know. And since He was the one who closed it in the first place, I can’t see Him reopening it. The demons who run the outer gates of Hell don’t have the resources or the intelligence for something like that. Their jobs are simply to keep those who belong inside, and those who don’t out. They’re the ones I found wandering closest to the prison.”

“So, if God is capable of closing the prison, why not take this to Him? I think He could wrap this up in a nice little package for us,” Webber persists.

I think about what he said to me before I was dismissed. That there might be more work for me to do, and He’s not through with me. “Maybe He’s using us to do just that,” I say, and Michaela smiles and nods.

“How did you even find it?” I ask.

She sighs. “Normally, I don’t go past the gates. In both cases, guardians are there to collect the souls, be it heavenly angels or demons. When the guardians aren’t there for heaven, it’s not as big a deal. I just lead them through the gate and go. My last surprise was Kismet. And the guardians weren’t there,” she says sadly.

“This last soul was different too, and not just because he was going to hell. No one showed up to take him either. He fought me, of course, but I wrestled him inside and offloaded him on one of the demons on the outskirts. After giving the gatekeeper a stern talking to, I turned to leave. I mean, we’re overwhelmed here. The last thing I need is for the guardians to not do their jobs.” She sighs, trying to compose herself. “Anyway, I’ve only been on the other side of the gates a few times. Once, when I first became a Reaper, they took us through hell to show us what happens to the humans there. They did the same thing for heaven. As a Reaper, empathy is important. So, anyway, I knew to expect the moaning, screaming, and crying. But something felt off. It was too loud considering it was so far from the belly of hell. So I followed the sound and found the prison.” She visibly shivers, as if what she saw there has affected her to her core.

I’m devastated in a way I didn’t think was possible. The losses I experienced on Earth shattered me. But knowing my dear friends are tortured souls is so much worse. I fight the urge to let it overwhelm me. Now’s the time for action, and I let my anger kill my sadness and fuel the need to move, to do something.

“I’m not sure what’s worse. The souls I saw trapped there or the empty shackles lined up on the walls. There were so many empties.” She pauses and looks up at me, her eyes filled with a fear so basic, it gives me chills. “This isn’t over, Penn. Not by a long shot.”

We stare at each other for a few moments when Michaela jumps a little. “I almost forgot.” She pulls a letter and a small package from a pocket I didn’t know her dress had. “It’s from Fia. I really like her,” Michaela says with a smile.

Penn,

I’m so glad Michaela found you. Didn’t I tell you she would? We are all fine here on Earth. Cedric is reluctantly carrying on. You actually inspired him to hire a designer. He says she’s not nearly as good as you, but she’s good in her own way. Aida and Cody have welcomed me into their circle, and I’ve assured them all you are well. I told them you’re just off sowing your wild oats, or licking your wounds. I forget which one. At any rate, please, do not worry about us.

Now is the time to focus on the task at hand. There’s more at stake here than just a few lives. I can feel it. The winds are changing, Penn. Keep them at your back, or you’ll be swept away, and the rest of us will follow.

Although my fate is here on Earth, a place I know you hold near and dear to your heart as much as I do, Fate has something bigger in store for you. I’m sure of it.

Enjoy a cookie from Aida. You’re lucky I didn’t eat it. She did send a whole batch for you, but some of them got lost in transit. Hopefully, Michaela has better luck with the delivery process. They are delicious.

All my best.

—Fia

I shake my head. It’s the perfect mix of sarcasm, comfort, and advice. Perfectly Fia.

Just as I’m enjoying the cookie and rereading her note again, Horatia bursts into the room and grabs me in a big bear hug. I return the hug and spin her around.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she says through tears.

“Me too.”

“So, what’s the plan?” she asks, always ready to take action.

“To save Kismet and the others,” I answer.

We stand in a circle looking at each other, five heavenly beings not sure of the future. Are we enough to save her and all of humanity from their fates?

Michaela takes my right hand, and Galenia takes my left. Surprisingly, even Webber joins in.

“So now what? We sing Kumbaya?” Webber asks.

We all chuckle. I don’t know if we’ll be enough to save my world. But I know we’ll either succeed or die trying. And that’s more than enough for me.

Names

Abaddon: Destruction. Notorious Watcher

Aida: Helper. Cody’s wife and brother to Cedric.

Amedia: Brazen or shameless. Aida’s sister.

Andrew: Warrior or strength. Kismet’s true love.

Cassandra: Prophetess. Kareena’s doll.

Cedric: War leader or gift of splendor. Aida’s brother and owner of Feldman’s Bridal.

Pearl: Precious stone. One of the names that pops up while Penn is with the Reapers.

Cody: Helpful. Aida’s husband, who helps Penn out of the swamp.

Columbus: Curious. Cody and Aida’s only boy.

Eve: Lively or life. Cody and Aida’s oldest (and first) daughter.

Fia: Weaver. The woman that Penn replaced as Spinner.

Frederico: Peaceful. One of the names that pops up while Penn is with the Reapers.

Galenia: Small and intelligent. The third Fate who decides how a life will end.

Horatia: Timekeeper. The second Fate who decides how long a life will be.

Jeff: Peaceful. One of the names that pops up while Penn is with the Reapers.

Kareena: Innocent and pure. Cody and Aida’s youngest daughter.

Kismet: Destiny. Andrew’s true love.

Marshal: From the marsh. The airboat driver.

Michaela: Feminine of Michael, the angel of death. The Reaper.

Nysa: New beginning. The first surprise name, the first to have her thread cut short.

Penn: Masculine form of Penelope, meaning Weaver. First of the three Fates, the Spinner.

Sandi: Defender or helper. The waitress who takes over Kismet’s tables when Penn arrives at the diner.

Shiloh: Hebrew name meaning “the one to whom it belongs.” The young boy Nysa cares for before she dies.

Webber: Weaver. Penn’s rival who’s promoted to Spinner when Penn is banished.

*Meanings found using basic Google searches and MeaningofNames.com*

Acknowledgments

A brand-new series. After working on Unseen for so long, it’s alternately fun and terrifying to start a new series. But of course, I didn’t do it on my own.

First of all, thanks always go to God. I can’t believe I’ve been so blessed as to pursue my dream this way. Writing is something I’ve wanted to do since I was in third grade. This is my seventh published book, and I still can’t believe it. Thank You so much for letting this be my life. I am forever grateful.

This book is exciting for my husband and me as we push harder and harder to make this venture successful by our standards. My rock never fails to be endlessly supportive, and constantly come up with new ways to get out there and be seen. Hon, I have lifelong feelings of affection for you.

My editors worked harder than ever to make this turd shine, and I love them for it. Angela and Cynthia, you guys are amazing. Thank you so much for pouring yourselves, your time, and your efforts, into me and my books—no matter how annoying I can be with my questions about POV and tiny tweaks to my synopsis. You’re worth your weight in gold, and chocolate. So. Much. Chocolate.

My friends and family are my constant cheerleaders. They listen to me panic when things start crumbling, and they listen to my excited chatter about some new plot twist they don’t even understand because they haven’t read the book yet (because I’m still writing it). I’m a lot to take. I’m loud, active, overbearing, tactless, and a bit of a tornado when I get riled up. And somehow, I still have all these people who fiercely love me. Thanks guys. I certainly couldn’t do this without you. (Mom, that means you…and Dad too, since he’ll be mad I mentioned you and not him.)

Lastly, my deepest thanks to you, dear reader. As my daughter, my husband and I get older, I’ve come to value my time more and more. And you have chosen to spend yours with me. I will be forever grateful for that. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.

Until next time, happy reading, and I’ll see you in March.

—S

The Reaper

By: Stephanie Erickson

Reap what you sow, dear reader.

1

“The humans are fragile, and therefore must be handled with care. To effectively help them transition from their world to the next, the Reaper must know when to use a gentle touch, and when to use a firm hand.”

—Mortem, Section 1, Paragraph 1: On Reapers

The mists between our worlds are thick and tempestuous today, and given all the rules I’ve just broken, it seems like an ominous sign. Even though I’ve already traveled back and forth through the mists several hundred times, I can’t afford to lose my concentration yet, not when there’s one name left on my list. It’s time for me to head to Colorado to claim the soul of Dempsey Shellman. Still, I can’t deny my thoughts are more with my friend Penn, the banished Fate, than they are with poor Dempsey.

Before a human is born, the Fates determine what type of person he will be, how long he will live, and how he will die. His path is set out before him, and he cannot divert from it. So, while being a Reaper is not exactly easy, it is usually predictable. We only take souls that are, literally, at the end of their rope… or, well, the end of the thread the Spinner has created for them. But not long ago, surprises started popping up on our lists. Souls who weren’t supposed to take the journey to the afterlife for decades were showing up without apparent reason.

It’s an anomaly the Reapers have no idea how to stop, which is why I have risked Penn’s very existence by cutting his banishment short. We need all the help we can get, and I’m not sure I can figure this out without him. Despite the fact that he was banished for the distractions his love for a human created, he’s still the greatest Fate in history. It’s that connection to the human that will drive him to help me figure out what’s happening, and why she and the others ended up dying before their time.

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. Dwelling on the surprise deaths won’t help me get Dempsey where he needs to go. I will deal with the mystery later, once the workday is over.

As the mists clear on a busy downtown street in Denver, I’m left standing in front of a ten-story office building. The sun is gloriously warm on my skin, but the air still has a bit of a chill to it, making the sun feel even more welcome on this lovely spring day. I take in a deep breath, letting myself enjoy the scent of the clean mountain air, all the more delightful because it’s in the middle of the city.

The building is modern on the inside, decorated in greys and blacks with a few red accent pieces—a rug here, an abstract painting there. I stride across the lobby, unnoticed by the receptionist and the people milling about, and board the elevator just as a few others are getting off. Happily, someone else on this floor happens to be going up to the eighth floor as well. That’s where I know I’ll find him. The man reaches out and presses the button for eight, paying me no mind.

His office is along the back wall, with a maze of cubicles in the center of the large room. He’s one of the only people with actual walls and windows. The sounds of frantic clicking and typing, phones ringing, and hushed conversation follow me as I make my way across the floor. Not one person looks up from their work to look at me, nor should they. I’m not here for them.

One woman who’s on the phone looks up just as I walk past her cubicle. She stares right at me, but her vacant expression confirms that she doesn’t see me. I often wonder what makes some humans look up as I pass them, while others don’t react to my presence at all. Do I create a gentle breeze? Are some humans simply more attuned to our world? It’s a question that may never be answered. The woman goes back to her conversation, and I keep walking to the back of the floor, making my way toward my quarry.

When I walk into his office, the middle-aged man I’ve come to collect is yelling at a young woman. Dempsey Shellman is a big man, overweight and balding. Despite the fact that he’s visibly sweating, not to mention spitting with every word he yells, he’s intimidating. He’s still wearing his black suit coat, which isn’t helping his sweat situation. The woman, who’s probably half his age, stands there listening to him. She writes down any instructions she can pick out between his insults, but I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. Her hatred for the man radiates from her.

“Dempsey,” I say to the man. “It’s time to go.”

He clears his throat and pounds his chest a little, ignoring me. I know I will win in the end—I always do—so I wait patiently. He will struggle, and it won’t be pretty for this young girl. I want her to leave. But she stands there without flinching.

“I don’t know who you slept with to get your job, but you are the most worthless assistant I’ve ever…” He trails off, his breath coming in short gasps now. Bracing himself on the desk with one hand, he grabs his chest with the other.

“Mr. Shellman?” the young woman asks, clearly unsure of what’s happening.

“Are you ready now?” I ask.

Finally, he looks at me. His face has lost its color, and his eyes are filled with terror. I attempt to calm him.

“My name is Michaela. I’m a Reaper. I’m here to take you home.” The mists are gathering behind me, telling me it’s time to go, and I gesture toward it, trying to show him. The breeze from it ruffles my black-and-white gown, tossing my long, blonde hair around my face. Some of the humans I collect mistake me for an angel, but there’s one key difference—I don’t have wings.

The man still doesn’t respond. He slumps in his chair before sliding grotesquely to the ground. The poor girl screams and runs out of Dempsey’s office, calling for help as she goes. But it’s his time, and he’s beyond their help. His soul, a carbon copy of his body, looks back as it raises from his Earthly self. They don’t all look back, but I can tell this one is very rooted in the world—taking him will be a struggle. He’s a lot larger than I am, and I can only hope it’s not the black gate that appears for him. But based on what little I’ve seen of him, let’s just say I’m a bit concerned.

If he has questions, he doesn’t vocalize them. As I wait for him to join me, it occurs to me that I will not be very efficient today. This one will be time consuming, but that’s okay. Some people need more of me than others do. It’s all part of the job. Reapers are trained to be exactly what the humans we collect need us to be.

While I wait for him to come to terms with his fate, people rush into the office and try to help.

“He’s not breathing,” one man says. They start pounding on his chest while the young girl—Dempsey’s assistant—stands in the doorway watching, relaying information to a person she’s talking to on her cell phone. Probably a 911 operator.

“He just grabbed his chest and slumped over,” she says. “They said he’s not breathing.” Pause. “Okay.”

A few others crowd along the walls of the office, not sure what to do. A man and a woman lean toward each other to speculate on what happened. “Think it was a heart attack?” the man asks.

“I’m not sure. Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asks. It’s hard to tell from their short exchange, but it sounds like she’s more upset by the horror of what’s happened than by the fact that it’s happened to Dempsey.

“He looks a little blue,” the man says as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable. He leans in a little closer to the woman. Their coworkers can’t hear him now, but we can. “I won’t lie. I’ve been hoping he would leave. God, we all were… just not this way. I didn’t want the S.O.B. to die.”

Confusion blooms on Dempsey’s face. He’s only now realizing how much they hate him. It’s sad, really—especially now that he can’t hope to change things for the better—and I reach out my hand to him.

“Come, Dempsey. There’s nothing more for you to see here.”

Stoically, he nods his head and walks toward me. He resists holding my hand though, which is problematic. His only way through the mists is with me, and I can’t leave him here. If I do, he’ll become a ghost—doomed to wander the Earth forever. The few ghosts I’ve had to leave behind over the centuries still haunt me in their own way. No matter how bleak a human’s soul, I won’t leave one behind if I can help it.

“You need to hold my hand. It’s the only way through the mists,” I tell him.

Dempsey looks at me with disgust, like holding my hand is the most deplorable thing he’s ever been asked to do. I take a deep breath, reminding myself to be what he needs. And right now, he needs to make the journey between worlds safely.

Because he is so attached to the Earth, I resist telling him what will happen to him if he doesn’t take my hand. I just stand there, waiting for him to decide. Fortunately, he takes my hand on his own, and we begin to walk through the mists, which closes in around us with every step. He looks back several times, trying desperately to hang on to that life—to the power and position he clearly attained. But I keep him moving forward, one step at a time.

I’m curious about what his memories will reveal about him. Every human I take to the other side relives their pivotal moments—the ones that have shaped them into who they are today—as we walk through the mists separating Earth from the heavens. Dempsey is no exception.

As his memories start to play, I watch them right alongside him. The first ones are from when he was young. His mother yelling at him, telling him she wished he’d never been born. Blaming his existence for her unhappiness over and over again. The repeated verbal lashings and manipulations turned him cold and hard. By the time he reached adulthood, he kept his distance from everyone. No dating, no friends, and no close family. Just him.

I glance over to gauge his reaction to these harsh memories. His face is briefly twisted in a flash of pain, but the emotion disappears in an instant, leaving behind a stony, unemotional expression in its wake.

As we continue our walk down memory lane, as it were, I see that his self-induced isolation was the secret to his success. However, he didn’t come by all of his accomplishments honestly. He liked to take shortcuts where he could. After all, why work harder when a shorter route would get you to the same objective?

The deeper we go into the mists, the darker the memories get. I see him fire hard-working family men without blinking so he can bring on cheaper, younger workers and interns to do the same jobs—a decision he refers to as “smart business sense.” I watch him cut corners, take credit for others’ work, and hurt person after person, all in the name of moving up the corporate ladder.

Chancing a glance over at him, my fears are confirmed. He’s smiling. He’s proud of these memories.

Finally, after an exhausting walk, we come to his last memory, his most defining moment. This is the one that will show me which gate to expect at the end of the mists. If his memory is happy and loving, I will know that, despite his sins, he’s earned a place in heaven. If not, the black gate will be waiting for us.

Despite the fact that not one of his memories was happy, I still hold out hope for this man. When the Fates spin a life for their tapestry, the color of the thread reflects the type of person he or she will become. Greys are an odd breed—some are good, some are bad, but they’re never wholly so, which makes it difficult to predict where they’ll end up after death. Dempsey is clearly a grey thread, a man who regularly walked the line of moral ambiguity, but it’s not an automatic go-directly-to-jail card. Greys can still go to heaven.

His final memory forms in front of us on the mists, playing out like a movie on a giant projection screen. I cling to his hand in anticipation, but he lets his fingers dangle loosely in my grip.

I watch him sitting in a dark office. It seems to be after hours. A large executive desk separates him from another man with dark hair so slicked back it’s shiny. Dempsey is young in this memory, perhaps in his late twenties. The thin, secondhand suit he’s wearing doesn’t quite fit him right, but he’s paired it with a nice silver statement tie, probably to distract from the poor quality and fit. It tells me he hasn’t come into his money yet, but he doesn’t want people to know it.

“If we do this, and someone finds out, we could go to jail,” the man says.

“If we do this and succeed, we’ll be promoted to the top positions in the company,” young Dempsey says. The look on his face tells me he’s excited, even exhilarated. I frown and look over at the man next to me. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, telling me he enjoys this memory.

“A lot of people will go bankrupt for this. Lives will be ruined. I can think of a few who might even kill themselves,” the greasy-haired man says.

Young Dempsey shrugs and leans back in the chair across the desk from the man, clearly not as concerned as his coworker is. “Less competition, if you ask me.”

“Riding out the panic will be key.”

“Starting the panic will be the fun part,” Dempsey says with what sounds like glee.

“You are a bit disturbing, Dempsey.” Although the man looks untrustworthy in every way—salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with grease, pointed features that make him look like a super villain when he smiles, and an overly starched suit that makes him look like a used car salesman—I can’t help but agree with him.

“Not disturbing. Successful. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” the older man asks.

Dempsey chuckles. But the sound isn’t happy or contagious like it sometimes is when people laugh. No, his chuckle is more of a derisive snort that leaves an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. “No, maybe not.”

And that’s it—that’s where it ends. I don’t know the outcome of their plot, let alone the specifics of what they did. I suspect they orchestrated some stock market crash that earned them millions. I’m not sure it’s enough for the black gate. I hope it isn’t, but I fear it might be. He was too happy about it, too carefree about the consequences. They love the selfish in hell, and Dempsey here is one of the most selfish men I’ve ever reaped.

As the mists clear, I hold my breath. The man stands next to me, relaxed, but I brace myself for what’s coming. Very few souls accept their fate willingly when it comes to hell. And this man doesn’t seem like he’s used to consequences.

Much to my chagrin, my fears are confirmed, and the black gate appears on the other side of the mists, but there’s no sign of the demons that are usually there to collect the souls of the doomed. I cling to Dempsey’s hand, holding tight. Where are they? I have been a Reaper for many centuries, and never have the demons missed the opportunity to collect a soul. Their absence is yet another sign that the usual rules no longer apply.

On instinct, the man tries to jerk away from me as soon as he sees the gate. It looms over us, threatening to suck all the happiness from our lives.

“No,” Dempsey says. It’s the first word he’s spoken since we met. Even without any sign of the demons, he knows. It’s impossible not to—the gate practically emanates the worst emotions humans feel. His eyes grow wide and dart around, searching desperately for a way out.

Now’s my chance, while he’s in shock. If I wait, he’ll really start fighting me. I hate to see them fight. It always breaks my heart.

The demons are always here, so combative humans are their problem. I don’t like to watch the struggle, so I tend to disappear back into the mists, hoping the next soul on my list will meet a better fate.

I pull Dempsey along as he stares slack jawed at the beauty and horror that is the black gate of hell. Thankfully, he follows me automatically… for now, at least. The tortured forms of the humans who came before him are carved into the black stone—all are crying, and all are doomed for eternity. I imagine it must be a terrible thing to try to comprehend, especially moments after his unexpected demise.

As I push the gate open, he finally starts to pull away, and my heart cries for him. His fight is futile, of course. As a spirit, he’s lost his physical heft and strength.

“Come on now. Don’t fight me, please.”

“Why? So you can toss me into the pit of hell? I don’t think so.” And just like that, he pulls back his free hand and tries to punch me in the face. It’s a ridiculous move. Even if he makes contact with me, I won’t feel anything. But the intent behind it shows me his soul is even darker than I thought.

It makes something inside of me snap—this man who’s hurt so many people is trying to hurt me—and suddenly, I’m out of patience. I yank him through the gate with little sympathy. It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like that. Centuries ago, when I was first training to be a Reaper, we were taught to always be compassionate with the humans, even those who possessed the blackest of souls. But this man rubs me the wrong way, and I start to wonder about myself. Have I been a Reaper too long? Am I losing my touch?

I’ve always been a bit… eccentric for a Reaper, drawn more to the company of the Fates than that of my own kind. That’s not to say I’m not friendly with the other Reapers, but the Fates have always interested me more. I’m drawn to their creations, their processes, and their love for each other. Sometimes, I think I should’ve been a Fate, but their jobs are just as hard, and occasionally as heart wrenching, as mine. I shake my head. Despite my lack of compassion for the soul in front of me, I know I’m doing the work I’m meant to do.

After the gate closes behind us, I straighten and glare at Dempsey’s soul, anger bubbling deep inside of me. It’s not an emotion I feel very often, but this man is about to get the full force of it.

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you ever try a move like that again,” I say, keeping my voice low and even, “I will personally see to it that the demons have an extra-special reason to torture you. Let me tell you, the demons here like their jobs. They don’t need a reason to make your life more miserable, but if I give them one, they’ll be happy to oblige.”

His face goes white, but I can tell the fight hasn’t gone out of him. Not giving him time to think, I guide him deeper into the depths of hell, trying to hide my desperate search for a demon to take him from me. If I make him think this is normal, I have an advantage. If he sees my desperation, I’ll end up chasing after him for half the night. Definitely not my idea of a good time.

More than once, he tries to run, and more than once, I consider letting him. Now that he’s on the other side of the gate, he can’t escape. The gates only open from the inside for heavenly beings, not human souls. That’s true for heaven too. We don’t want lost souls wandering around. Once they reach their new home, they’re there for good. Still, I go after him each time he tries to flee, determined to do my job even if the demons aren’t doing theirs. I’m not going to let him wander around hell before he’s properly processed.

Finally, I find a pair of Torturers. They aren’t my first pick. Guardians make an effort to follow the rules—as generalized as they are. They would at least process the soul—find out who they are and what they’ve done—before torturing him. But I have little choice. Although my workday is technically over, there is nothing I can do for this man’s soul. Frankly, there is nothing I care to do. He’s shown me his true nature, and I want no part of it. It’s much more important for me to figure out what’s going on in the heavens.

“Why are there no Guardians at the gates?” I demand.

The demons don’t seem cowed. “How should we know, Reaper? We’re not their keepers,” one of them responds, its voice high and scratchy. Dempsey shrinks back from them, and rightfully so. Torturers are fluid in form. They change appearance to exploit their victims’ greatest fears or desires. But they don’t yet know Dempsey, so they appear as they always do—huge, black, and horned, with red eyes and razor-sharp claws. Anyone’s nightmare.

“What do we have here?” the one on the left asks me.

“Your newest resident,” I say with a hint of regret. Despite what he’s done, it still saddens me to leave him here. It almost always does. Almost. There was one exception—a murderer who had a liking for children. I took quite a few of his victims to heaven before he was finally executed. He’s one of the only souls I’ve reaped for whom I felt no empathy. I still don’t.

“Wonderful.” Dempsey recoils as two demons reach out for him with charred hands.

“They’ve been burned,” he says, almost to himself.

I don’t respond. He has a lot to learn about his new home, but he has an eternity to do it.

“I trust you’ll take care of him properly,” I say. It’s not a question.

“You’re a foolish one to put your trust in demons, Reaper,” one of them says, his red eyes laughing at me. His sharp, yellowed teeth form a gruesome smile.

“Maybe,” I say, but I leave it at that. I don’t like to engage the demons in unnecessary conversation. It never ends well.

I have no closing words for Dempsey. No words of encouragement. Nothing. While he was reluctant to hold my hand before, now he clings to me, knowing what my departure will mean for him.

“I’m sorry,” he screams, tears of desperation flowing freely down his cheeks.

“Me too,” I say. With that, I shake my hand free, turn my back on him, and walk back toward the gate, leaving him to his eternal doom.

Hell is dark, filled with the stench of sulfur, rotting flesh, and other unpleasant things. No matter where you are inside the dark gate, your ears are assailed with the din of souls being tortured in unimaginable ways. Needless to say, I don’t enjoy spending time here. Once I’m out of sight of the two demons and Dempsey, I hurry to leave as fast as my feet will carry me. But a sound stops me in my tracks before I reach the gate.

Someone’s crying.

It’s not an unusual sound to hear in hell. Plenty of souls cry out for help, and many others simply cry in their anguish. But I’m on the outskirts. The sound shouldn’t be so pronounced this far from the torture chambers. I follow it around a few rocky turns, entering an area of hell I haven’t visited before. It makes me a little nervous, and I take special care to notice landmarks that will help me find my way out. Hell is designed to keep its residents inside, and as such, it is a quagmire of caves and crevices all leading nowhere. Torches burn red against the walls, casting an eerie glow as I continue to follow the sound.

I finally reach a long, empty corridor. It’s odd to find such a place in hell, particularly during working hours. During the day, there are usually demons wandering around everywhere except for the area directly around the gate. That same feeling of dread I had when I didn’t see the Guardians outside the black gate washes over me. Too many things have gone wrong lately—Penn getting banished to Earth, humans popping up on my list before their time, the missing Guardians, and now this. I can’t help but wonder if all these problems are connected, but if so, the nature of that connection eludes me.

I look back and forth as I listen to the crying. It’s very loud, but also a little muffled. I walk to the place where it’s loudest, following the noise. There’s a symbol carved into the side of the stone wall, and as I get closer, I can make out the outline of a door. Frowning, I can’t resist the urge to touch the symbol. It seems oddly familiar, as if I’ve seen it before, maybe in the handbook given to new Reapers. Three distinct swirls connect in the center, surrounded by a thin circle that joins them all together. What does it mean? Death? It seems cyclical, so maybe death and rebirth? I can’t quite put my finger on it.

As I trace the symbol with my finger, the door moves slightly. When I cover the symbol with my hand, the door opens fully. Just as expected, there are souls inside, chained and hunched over. Some are silent; some are crying. There are seven in all.

No more than a handful. It’s odd to me because souls are normally kept apart in hell. They aren’t given an opportunity to seek comfort or encouragement from one another. It’s unheard of for seven to be grouped together.

Before I take two steps inside, a pair of haunting green eyes looks up at me. I reaped this very soul only a few days ago. Penn was banished after he created her and fell in love with her. She doesn’t belong here in hell; in fact, I’d left her at the gates of heaven. Kismet.

A small sob escapes my lips as I go to her. “What are you doing here?” I ask, but she can’t answer me. Tears choke her words. I’m not sure if she’s crying out of sorrow for what’s befallen her, or if she’s simply relieved to see me. I tug uselessly on her shackles as she looks over my shoulder in fear.

I left her at the gates of heaven, so why is she chained up in hell?

My mind is already racing when a pair of demons walks by the doorway. I freeze. I have no idea what they will do to me if they find me here. I don’t even know where we are. All I know is demons don’t need an excuse to punish someone. Nor do Reapers wander the halls of hell alone.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I hold my breath, waiting for the demons to pass the hidden room. Kismet looks at me with sheer terror in her eyes, and I try to smile encouragingly at her. I give a small nod, hoping she knows I’m here to help.

Once I’m certain the demons are out of earshot, which seems to take an eternity, I whisper, “What is this place?” I look around, assessing the room. Each soul is chained with his or her arms above their heads to the outer walls. But there are several pairs of empty chains, and an entire row of chains down the center of the room. Plenty of room for new additions. Some of the prisoners are worse off than others. In fact, one woman in particular seems as if she’s literally fading away. She’s becoming opaque. It terrifies me. It means her soul is dying, and once that happens, she will simply cease to exist.

I go to her, and to my horror, I recognize her too. This is Nysa, the very first surprise. I remember collecting her. She was so confused. Her soul knew it wasn’t her time. But her name was still there on my list of assignments. Undeniable. Irrefutable. It was painful to take her before her time, but we all hoped she was an anomaly—not a sign of a bigger problem. But more and more surprises popped up, and as I look around the small room, I see they’re all in here, every single one.

Another demon walks past, so I crouch down, making myself look small and beneath notice. My time is running thin. Then it hits me. This place we’re in is a prison. Something clicks into place in my mind, and I remember where I’ve seen the symbol on the door before—the cyclical waves churning around, bringing the surprises and the prison around full circle.

“The prison of souls has been opened,” I whisper.

2

“I will come back for you. I promise,” I say to the souls trapped in this terrible room. But before I go, I take Kismet’s hand. She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. I see her glance up at Andrew, her soul mate. Penn created these souls as two halves of a whole. They weren’t meant to be sitting in hell, rotting away. They were meant for greatness.

There are answers in this room, ones I’m not prepared to retrieve, and so I’m left with more questions than I had before.

“I promise, Kismet.” I say to her. But I don’t know if I’m getting through to her. When I hear movement outside again, I decide I can’t waste another moment. I need to leave so I can get to work on rescuing them. I can’t hope to get seven souls out of hell unnoticed. I need help—and a plan.

It’s agony to leave them. But I’m no good to them now. Without knowing how to free them, I might as well be trapped in there myself. I consider asking them more questions, trying to get more information, but the sound of another demon walking by spurs me into action. I need help. The others will know how to attack this problem better than I could on my own. I have to leave them, even if it breaks my heart to do it.

I slip back out of the prison, and then wind my way back to the gate. A few demons walk past me, but they pay me no mind. I’m a Reaper, after all. I don’t spend a lot of time in hell, but it’s not unusual for me to be here, especially since the Guardians are off duty for some reason. If one of them stops me, I will demand to know where the Guardians are. Hopefully, I’ll manage to keep my cool.

Tears stream freely down my face as I arrive at the gate and make my way back out to the mists. I stand in front of the golden door that leads to my home, but instead of going inside, I sob. I cannot get my mind around what’s happened, and why. I consider going straight to God with this information, but then I reconsider. He already knows. I’m sure of it. So the question is—did He mean for me to find it? If so, why? What am I to do with this information?

The question spurs me into action, although it doesn’t dry my tears. The running does that. The more I think about the souls trapped in there, the faster my feet carry me across the heavens to find the banished Fate.

Penn isn’t in my room, but I didn’t really expect to find him there. It’s dangerous for him to wander the heavens on his own, and I told him so before leaving for my shift.

Banishment doesn’t come with second chances. If he’s discovered, he really will be eliminated. But I’m not surprised he didn’t sit still in my chambers. He had to watch me snatch his beloved from him, long before her time, knowing all the while that it wasn’t supposed to happen. He wants answers as much as I do, and he must be anxious to see his sister Fates, despite my warnings against doing so.

I asked him to stay out of the weaving room, at least for now, but it’s the obvious place to look for him. He can no more resist the pull of that place than a moth can stay away from an open flame. I’ve been gone all day, so he’s had plenty of opportunity.

And maybe it’s not such a bad thing that he got a head start on me. We need information from the tapestry of life—data that only Penn or one of the other Fates can get. When I look at it, I see a beautifully designed weaving of multi-colored threads—the type of diversity that keeps life on Earth, and in the heavens, interesting. But the bigger picture is all I see. As a Fate, Penn can see each thread as an individual life. What’s more, he can actually watch that life play out like a soap opera on a TV. For the Fates, who don’t actually travel to Earth, it’s a way of keeping in touch with the constantly changing human world.

In my hurry to find him, it doesn’t occur to me what this news might do to him. Reality kicks in when the weaving room comes into view. He loved Kismet with all of his heart. They grew close in his time on Earth. To find out that her soul isn’t in heaven where it belongs will destroy him.

I stop short at the end of the hall. The door to the weaving room is slightly ajar, but I can’t see if anyone is inside from this distance. What in the heavens am I going to tell him? It takes only an instant for the answer to bloom inside of me. The truth. I must tell him the truth. We have to save her—and all the others, for that matter—no matter how much it hurts.

I sprint the rest of the way to the weaving room.

As I burst through the door, I instinctively know he’s on the other side. I don’t even scan the room for him. I just start talking. “Penn. It’s Kismet,” I say, bending over, leaning on my knees. That last sprint winded me a little. My blonde hair cascades around my face on either side, effectively creating blinders.

“I found her in the prison of souls! We have to save her,” I emphatically say.

He’s confused. “The what?”

“The prison of souls,” I pant out. “It’s not supposed to exist, but someone’s opened it. And she’s trapped in there, along with Andrew and the other five. Penn. They didn’t go to heaven, where I left them. Someone’s kidnapped them in the worst possible way.”

I take a deep breath and stand up straight. As I do, my eye catches some movement to Penn’s right. It’s Webber. Of all the people who could be in here with Penn, why does it have to be him? He’s the one who took over for Penn after he was banished to Earth. He coveted Penn’s job for over a century, so he ran off to God to tattle about Penn’s mistake, which led to the Fate’s banishment. I know he would give him over without even batting an eye, despite the fact that Penn’s punishment for returning would be much more brutal than banishment.

“Webber, I didn’t see you there,” I say, taking care to guard my tone.

Penn answers before Webber can speak up. “He found me here. We have no choice but to trust him, and him us. As he has so kindly reminded me, I’m fallen and have nothing to lose. I could destroy him just as easily as he could destroy me.”

I look back and forth between the two Fates, and I can practically see the anger building between them. I’ve had enough of their constant competition to see who can go farther, faster, and longer. I approach them, frowning deeply. They back into the stools behind them, sinking down into seated positions as I come closer. The tapestry hangs behind them in all its majesty.

“Listen, you two. I’m about sick of the pissing contest between you. I’m only going to say this once, and I’m not pleased that I have to say it at all. Get over yourselves. This isn’t about you. This is about saving lives. Human lives. The lives that we’ve devoted the entirety of our existence to protect and care for.” I clench my fists at my sides. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry twice in one day. Dempsey’s attempt to hit me pushed me over the edge, and that act of hate may very well be fueling my rage. Whatever the reason, this is not the time for sibling rivalry or whatever this twisted situation between them has become.

Penn glances at Webber, who’s totally cowed into submission.

“Webber, either come with us or don’t, but if I hear that you breathed a word about Penn to anyone at all, Penn won’t be the only one you need to fear.” I stare at him until he nods. In all honesty, I have no idea what I would do to him, except maybe report him for his tattling. I’m not usually much of a rule breaker… at least, not when the normal rules are guiding our lives. But Webber seems to believe me more than I do. He shrinks away from me, avoiding my cold, stern stare.

Disgusted, I say, “Penn, let’s go.” But as I turn to leave, I spot someone else in the doorway.

Galenia, the Fate who determines how humans die, stands there with her mouth open, tears pooling in her clear blue eyes. As the light from the hallway pours in around her small frame, she looks a little angelic.

“Penn,” she breathes.

I halt, knowing this reunion will be emotional for both of them. Galenia and Penn worked side by side for centuries, but after his banishment, they had every reason to expect they’d never see each other again. An Earth year has passed since their last meeting, which translates to just over a week here in the heavens.

A smile tugs at Penn’s lips as he whispers her name. “Galenia.”

She runs to him, and they hug as if it’s the last hug two people will ever experience in the history of the world.

“Well, this is a nice love fest,” Webber says, making me bristle yet again.

Galenia ignores him completely, and I am happy to follow her lead. “What are you doing here?” she asks as fear clouds her joyful expression. “If they find you—”

He cuts her off. “It’s Kismet. She’s in trouble. And it’s not just her. There are others. Something is happening.”

She frowns as she considers his words, and then chances a glance at me. I told Penn’s sisters about the mysterious deaths just after he was banished, but none of us could figure out what to do. I brought Penn home in the hopes that he could help, but I neglected to share my plan with the other Fates. I thought it would be safer not to involve them. Now, I know I made a mistake. The sheer joy that fills the room makes me wish Horatia—Penn’s other sister—was here too.

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” Penn asks her.

“I thought I heard voices.”

“From your quarters?” I ask.

“No, I was out walking. I couldn’t sleep, and anyway, it’s nearly time to start the day. There’s a lot of uncertainty around here lately. It’s not something a Fate deals with well,” she says as she looks at Webber. “As I’m sure you well know.”

Webber seems to shrink back into his chair. “I’m sorry,” he quietly says. I’m pretty sure Galenia is the only person to whom Webber has ever willingly apologized.

“Horatia will want to help too,” she says.

“Too?” Penn asks. “No. I don’t want to get you involved. You don’t need to endanger yourselves.”

“Penn,” I say a bit more sternly than I intended. Taking a calming breath, I soften my tone and say, “We need all the help we can get.”

He sighs and nods, and it’s all the encouragement Galenia needs to bounce joyfully from the room, off to retrieve her sister.

Once she’s gone, Penn wastes no time before he starts firing questions at me. “What is the prison of souls, Michaela?”

How can I explain it to him? Somehow, I have to tell him that the human he loves is trapped in hell, her soul withering away in a place that isn’t supposed to exist. “The humans refer to it as purgatory—a place where souls would go before their ultimate place in the heavens was decided. The problem was that they could stay there indefinitely. It was unnatural. A soul needs a home, a place, even if it’s hell. Plus, those who ran the prison were… unsavory. They tended to go outside their duties to punish the souls inside. So, centuries upon centuries ago, the prison was sealed, although many of the humans still think it exists. To be trapped in there is a fate worse than death.”

“Punish?” he asks, his voice thick with uncertainty, and I cringe, upset that he zeroed in on that word.

“Try not to think about it,” I say, imploring him to move on.

“So who could have opened it now? Who would even be capable of doing such a thing?” Webber asks timidly from his stool next to Penn’s now-empty seat. Once he realizes he’s drawn my attention, he returns his gaze to the gold sandals on his feet.

I shrug, attempting to exhale my frustrations in one heavy sigh. “Aside from God, I don’t know. And since He was the one who closed it in the first place, I can’t see Him reopening it. The demons that run the outer gates of Hell don’t have the resources or the intelligence for something like that. Their jobs are simply to keep those who belong inside, and those who don’t out. They’re the ones I found wandering closest to the prison.”

“So, if God is capable of closing the prison, why not take this to Him? I think He could wrap this up in a nice little package for us,” Webber persists.

After taking a moment to think about it, Penn offers an answer. “Maybe He’s using us to do just that.” All I can do is smile and nod. I’m so grateful that Penn is back home to help us make sense of this mess.

“How did you even find it?” Penn asks as he paces around the weaving room.

Knowing his sisters will be back soon, I give him a two-minute synopsis, ending with what I found inside the strange room.

“I’m not sure what’s worse. The souls I saw trapped there or the shackles lined up on the walls. There were so many empties.” I pause and look at Penn for reassurance. What lies ahead is so… frightening, like nothing we’ve ever faced in our centuries of predictable routine. “This isn’t over, Penn. Not by a long shot,” I finally add.

We stare at each other for a long moment, sharing a knowing look, and then I suddenly remember the note I was given by Fia, his mentor, and a former Fate who retired to Earth when Penn took her place. “I almost forgot.” I pull out the letter and a small package from a hidden pocket in my dress. “It’s from Fia. I really like her.”

After I brought him back to the heavens with me, he asked me to deliver a note to Fia to assure her and the rest of his friends back on Earth that he was all right. I stopped in New York to see her before picking up Dempsey. She asked if I could linger a moment or two so she could write a response. Of course, I could hardly say no to that.

As I watch Penn read the note while munching a cookie Fia sent, I reflect on how far he’s come in such a short time. Penn’s time on Earth has changed him, and so has his love for Kismet. Fates are naturally inflexible, perhaps because they know what the future holds for so many souls, but his time on Earth seems to have taught him there’s more to life than just creating it. In spite of our dire circumstances, the thought makes me smile.

Then Horatia, the third Fate, bursts into the room, followed quietly by Galenia. She’s different from her sister Fate in almost every way. She exudes confidence as she crosses the room, her dark hair flowing behind her. Her gold robes billow behind her straight, almost rigid form as she grabs Penn in a huge hug. They spin around.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she says through tears. Normally, she maintains a tough exterior. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. The sight brings tears to my own eyes.

“Me too,” is all he can manage.

She clears her throat after Penn puts her down. “So, what’s the plan?” She is always ready to spring into action, which is why I love her. We need that now.

“To save Kismet and the others,” Penn answers simply.

We stand in a circle, and I know this is the start of something big. I take Penn’s hand, and Galenia and Horatia follow suit. Even Webber joins in.

“So now what? We sing Kumbaya?” Webber asks.

We all chuckle. I have to believe we will be enough to save this world. These seven souls are a sign of a cancer on Earth, a disease that will kill it if we don’t intervene. There is too much good. Too much light. Too much joy to let it fade away, buried inside the prison of souls. No. We will stop it. We will be enough.

3

Unfortunately for us, the workday is starting. People are bustling around outside, and I know we can’t stand around in the weaving room forever. But we don’t have time to come up with a plan of action either. Besides Penn, each of us has responsibilities that can’t be ignored during the coming day. Not only would people notice if the three Fates stopped working, but production of human life would come to a screeching halt, and the number of ghosts I would leave in my wake if I took an unplanned day off would be disastrous.

“What should we do?” Horatia asks, searching each of us for answers with her dark chocolate eyes.

“We all have to get back to work. We need to try to stay ahead of whoever’s behind these surprises. Penn, I need you to take the lead here, since you aren’t working. Find out what you can while we’re gone.” He nods. “Webber, do what you can to increase your production. We need you to step up, now more than ever,” I say, but he glares at me in response.

“Like I haven’t been trying hard enough already,” he answers, his voice low and thick with hurt.

Sometimes, I feel a little sorry for him, but I’m short on patience today. I shake my head. “Webber, now is not the time for self-pity. We need you to get to work. That’s all. Do your best, and I’m sure it will be better than nothing.”

Penn claps his hand on Webber’s shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be fine as long as you don’t make an accidental stillborn,” he says, making a joke about how he was banished. It’s nice of him to try to make Webber feel better, particularly after everything they’ve been through, but Webber doesn’t laugh. He shrugs Penn’s hand off and heads into the Fates’ workroom, moving just out of earshot.

Horatia leans in and lowers her voice. “He’s a bit of an unknown. Think we can trust him?”

Galenia looks sadly after him. “He’s not an unknown. He’s told us who he is over and over again. It’s up to us whether we want to accept that.”

I nod. “I agree. But I think we’re kind of stuck with him now. He knows too much for us to move forward without him.”

Penn frowns, but he doesn’t comment further. “I’m the only one who’s free today. What should I do? I want to stay here and examine the tapestry, but the new Weaver will be here any minute. I can’t linger.”

I shift my weight. I have no idea what to tell him. Everything is happening so quickly, and I have no answers.

“We have to go back into hell to get them out of the prison of souls, right?” he asks me.

I nod.

“Okay, then I’m going to spend my day with the Keepers to find out everything I can about what we’ll be up against. I’m already dressed like a Keeper, so I shouldn’t draw too much attention.”

“Yes.” I nod emphatically. If anyone in the heavens has the knowledge to help us, it’s the Keepers. Their duty is to maintain all the knowledge of history, science, and creation, both on Earth and in the heavens. “That sounds perfect. We can reconvene in my quarters at the end of the day.”

We all nod and part ways, but not before I remind Penn to pull up the hood of his Keeper uniform. If he’s discovered, we’ll probably never see him again—he’ll simply disappear. With everything that’s going on, it’s more than I can bear. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch him cover his blond curls with his hood.

Penn’s sisters join Webber in the Fates’ workroom. They look miserable, all of them, but we have no choice but to try and proceed as normal, impossible as it feels to concentrate on work with the knowledge that Kismet and the others are waiting desperately for us to help them. But we are the ones who keep the world turning; we are the bringers of life and death. We must do our duty, for now at least.

Penn and I walk together to the common area at the center of heaven. We part ways there. Before he gets too far away, I whisper, “Good luck.”

He gives a slight nod and walks on ahead. I hope to God this isn’t the last time I’ll see him. If he’s punished for returning to the heavens, it will be my fault. And even though he won’t leave behind a ghost like the human souls who become lost on Earth, I know the knowledge of my failure will always haunt me.

All the Reapers, me included, gather in the naming room each morning. It’s a large room lined with huge screens that remarkably resemble the newest black LED TVs on Earth on three of the four walls. Names scroll across the screens, and after the one on top is collected and taken home, another appears at the top. This goes on throughout the day.

We wait anxiously for our assignments, making idle chatter as we do so. I know all the Reapers, and they all know me. But that doesn’t mean we’re close friends, per se. The Reapers are a solitary group, which is part of what attracts me to the Fates. I see how close they are, and I can’t help but want to be a part of that.

A few of us gather around to chat while we wait for the meeting to begin. Though the conversation veers away from any talk of the surprises, it’s obvious we’re all thinking about it.

“Yesterday, I had a woman try to reason her way out of coming with me,” Ariel says with a smile. A tall, thin Reaper, she has beautiful blue eyes and jet-black hair.

“Reason?” I ask.

“She threw science and statistics at me, giving me things she believed to be facts as reasons for staying behind. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the heavens, God, or whatever. It was that she didn’t believe it was the right place for her.” She makes a clucking sound and shrugs. “In the end, I had to work late last night because of her delays.” We all shake our heads with her, commiserating.

“She came with me eventually, but still…”

I nod, feeling her pain. I’ve been there. The souls who are reluctant to leave Earth can be frustrating.

We go on swapping stories about our silliest humans and the ones who touched us, delaying thinking about the coming day.

Even if there isn’t another surprise death, we all know we will have more work to do today than usual. One of our Reapers is on leave. I try not to be too irritated about it, but it really is a terrible time for a vacation. We’re in crisis here, and he’s off gallivanting who knows where. My last vacation was nearly a century ago. I went to Bora Bora and relaxed. It was gorgeous and lush, but it didn’t take long for me to grow lonely—humans can’t see me, and I went alone. I wonder if Nathair is lonely wherever he is. Probably not—most of the other Reapers are loners.

I take a deep breath and hold it as the head Reaper takes his position in front of us. He walks up onto the platform along the side wall of the long room and clears his throat. We brace ourselves for another surprise death. Typically, he’ll tell us first thing in the morning if an unexpected name has appeared on the list. It’s difficult to see individual cuts on the tapestry with so many millions of threads, so our first indication of a problem tends to be when a surprise name pops up. Once we know who it is, the Weaver has no problem finding the damage.

“Good morning, fellow Reapers,” Ryker says. His deep voice booms out across the naming room. He has a huge, imposing presence, made even more so by his black-and-white Reaper’s uniform. He’s not someone I’ve ever wanted to question.

“Here are your day’s assignments.” He pauses and waits for us to receive our lists. As always, they just pop into our minds. It’s like listening to a radio transmission through headphones, except there is no radio or headphones.

My list is exhaustingly long, but I notice nothing out of the ordinary. I glance at the Reaper next to me, silently searching for any hints at a surprise, but she shrugs her shoulders. Apparently, she didn’t get one either.

“Thankfully, there have been no surprises today,” Ryker says. “Let’s be grateful for that as we move forward with our day. Good luck.”

The group mumbles some sort of thanks, and then we separate. No surprises today. That is something to be heartened by as I face my daunting list.

As a group, we file to the golden gate, and Reaper after Reaper disappears into the mists to pursue his or her first soul of the day. I linger for a moment, watching the others vanish until I am left alone in the mists. I glance to my left, thinking about the black gate and how I’m going to sneak the others into hell to help me save the prisoners. An idea tickles at the back of my mind, but it’s not something I can focus on at the moment. My list demands my attention. Right now, my world exists for Irene Small.

Irene comes easily. She lived a long and happy life, which is very refreshing for me after the night I had. The rest of my list follows suit. Only a few of the souls resist me, which makes my efficiency outstanding for the day. I even take several names for some others who were having more trouble with their souls. Unfortunately for me, not for them, none of my souls went to the black gate, which is almost unheard of for a day’s work. The one day I want to do some reconnaissance in hell, every last soul goes straight to heaven. I suppose if that’s the worst of my problems, I’m doing all right, but it’s cold comfort.

By the end of the day, I’ve helped over ten thousand people find their way to their eternal homes. It’s exhausting, but there is nothing more fulfilling for a Reaper.

For the first time in over a week, I end my day feeling good. Refreshed. But that changes when Ryker summons us to a meeting. The sound of his voice in my head is clearer than if he were broadcasting the message on a radio. “Reapers, please assemble in the naming room at your earliest convenience.” I recognize his tone—it’s not to be ignored—so I rush from the mists to find out what’s happened.

It’s highly unusual for there to be a meeting at the end of the day, and they are rarely used to announce good news. My stomach twists itself into knots as we file back into the naming room to hear what Ryker has to say.

He doesn’t speak until we’re all gathered before him. “Thank you for coming back,” he says. “I know you are all anxious for a break. Today was a wonderfully productive day, thanks to the extra efforts of a few Reapers. When we all come together as a group, it’s a beautiful thing,” he booms. But I can tell by his stiff posture and stern expression that he didn’t just bring us here to thank us.

“But that’s not why I’ve kept you late today. I have some news. Nathair is officially missing.” A collective gasp sucks the air from the naming room as we all try to absorb this unexpected news. Nathair is missing? How can such a thing even be possible?

I immediately wonder if this is somehow connected to the surprises, and if so, is Nathair the one orchestrating them? I can’t imagine a Reaper purposefully cutting lives short, so I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt… for now. But the questions linger.

I’m still struggling to comprehend the news when Ryker continues. “We suspected foul play back when he first disappeared over a week ago, but we wanted to confirm he was indeed missing before announcing it to you. I can assure you that those of us in upper-level management are doing everything we can to find him. I even have a few Archangels on the job. Unfortunately, the only thing we know for sure about his sudden departure is that he isn’t on leave. He didn’t take vacation. And he hasn’t reported his whereabouts to anyone in the heavens.”

He pauses and surveys our faces. I glance around to see what he sees. The expressions around me are filled with anger, confusion, and fear. I must say, I’m leaning toward fear myself, but it’s not just me.

“Are we in danger?” someone up front shouts out. There’s an edge to her voice that makes me turn back to look at Ryker for reassurance.

His face is stony and expressionless as he says, “There’s no evidence to point to any of you being in direct danger. Let me repeat that. We do not believe you are in danger. At all. We are not sending you as lambs to the slaughter.”

I clear my throat, but someone else beats me to the punch. It’s a Reaper behind me. Sophia. She came on shortly after I did, so her seniority should help her stay grounded. Still, the fear in her voice is unmistakable when she asks, “How do you know for sure?”

He pauses a moment before answering, as if searching for an answer that will satisfy us. “I suppose we don’t. But the information we have indicates there’s no reason for the rest of you to be concerned. For now.” The end of his statement makes me wonder. What does he mean for now? Is there more danger ahead? Does he believe the missing Reaper is only the beginning of our problems, and if so, doesn’t that mean the rest of us are in danger? Does the danger stop with us? All signs point to no, that it doesn’t, and it’s more than a little troubling.

As more and more questions race through my head, I select the one that seems most pressing. “Excuse me, sir. But do you think this is related to the surprise deaths?” I ask, taking care to speak loud enough for him to hear me, but not so loudly that it seems like I’m demanding something. It’s a fine line in such a large group.

His expression softens when he sees me, and he sighs. “I don’t know, Michaela, but the timing is certainly coincidental. He disappeared right around the time the surprises started popping up. I just don’t have enough evidence to make a conclusive link between the two events.”

“But you know enough to say we’re not in danger?” a loud, angry voice calls out. “Who’s to say another one of us won’t end up ‘on leave’ by the end of our next workday?” The man is two rows in front of me, and I immediately recognize him. Heth is my Webber. I try very hard to get along with everyone, even Webber, but this guy tests my patience. It’s as if his only source of joy is to antagonize everyone around him. No one is safe from him, not even our boss.

Ryker stares hard at him, but he doesn’t back down. They share a few silent, tense moments, and I have to remind myself to take a deep breath. This is their battle, not mine. “That’s right. As I’ve already explained, you’re not in danger,” our boss says, as if daring the defiant Reaper to question him further. When he doesn’t, Ryker relaxes his jaw slightly and adds some words of encouragement. “I know this is difficult news to take. Never in the history of our existence has one of us gone missing. Believe me when I say we are doing everything we can to not only get to the bottom of this, but also to keep the rest of you safe. Never forget who is in control around here. Try to take comfort in that.”

He excuses himself and walks off the small platform. The crowd parts for him as he makes his way to the door. We watch him go in silence, but the moment the door clicks shut behind him, the murmurs turn to rumblings.

It just doesn’t add up. Nathair is what I’d like to think of as another gray thread. He’s a friend of Heth’s, but he keeps to himself, never openly criticizing others or drawing attention to himself. I always figured they were friends because Nathair lets Heth do whatever he wants, and Heth likes that in a companion. The questions return to my mind. What if someone else got to Nathair, and he’s just going along with them? What if that person is really the cause of the surprises… and Nathair is helping?

“This is an outrage.” Someone interrupts my thoughts. “How could they knowingly endanger us this way? We’re sitting ducks.” I turn to argue the point, but someone else joins the bandwagon.

“I’m not going to work again until this is resolved,” a woman says. She’s new, and only finished her training last week.

“How can you abandon your post so readily?” I ask. “You haven’t even been working with us for that long.”

She glares at me. “You want to put yourself in danger, go right ahead. I’m not stopping you. But you don’t have authority over me, so excuse me if I don’t care what you think of me.” She pushes past me on her way out.

I stand there as the rest of the Reapers file out around me, a loud handful of them spouting off phrases like “I won’t stand for this” and “the humans aren’t worth it.” Finally, they’re all gone, and I’m alone in the naming room.

My stomach is curdling. I want to throw up, but I also want to rage at them. How can they be so selfish? Reapers are made by God to be compassionate, understanding beings. We’re supposed to think of ourselves last. Granted, we’ve never been in any real danger before, but still… I stand there, staring at the closed glass doors as disgust and rage war inside of me. But I don’t have time to dwell on the problem.

I have a date with the Fates.

4

They’re all waiting for me in my room when I get there. I spent the short walk back fuming about the irresponsible Reapers threatening to quit. My inner conflict must be playing out on my face because Galenia, Horatia, and Penn all ask, “What’s wrong?” in unison. Webber is the only one who doesn’t seem to notice my distress.

“One of the Reapers is missing.”

“What?” Galenia asks, horrified. “How can that be? What happened?” Her questions are no different from my own, so I just stand there and stare back at her for a moment. Finally, I say, “I don’t know. The head Reaper didn’t have any answers for us. He just assured us that we’re not in any danger.”

“How can he know that?” Penn asked.

“He wouldn’t knowingly lie to us, so he must truly believe it. But maybe he’s just in denial. My instincts are telling me this must be related to the surprise deaths. It’s too coincidental.”

“Do you think the missing Reaper opened the prison?” Penn asked.

“I…” My mouth hangs open. I don’t want to admit it, and it stings to have it out in the open. “Why would one of our own do that?” My mind races at the possibilities. What would he stand to gain from cutting those humans’ threads short and then trapping them in that place? Still, the two had to be related, right?

“I don’t know,” Penn answers, clearly frustrated as he paces around the room. “But it makes sense that a soul from the heavens is involved. How else could they access the prison… or the tapestry, for that matter? Do you think there are larger forces at work here?”

It’s not something I want to consider. If faced with the devil himself, I’m not sure the five of us could win. So I ignore the question entirely.

“How could one of us do something so horrible? We all know the humans are important. They’re the whole reason we’re here. Without the humans, we have no purpose, no need to exist. I just…” Tears choke the rest of my words away.

Galenia puts a hand on my shoulder. “I know. You can’t understand how someone among us could do something so evil. I don’t either.” She rubs my back as the tears stream down my face.

Horatia is the one who breaks the silence. “So what are you going to do, Michaela?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused by her question.

“Are you going to keep working?” She says it as if the choice is truly that black and white, without a million variables muddying it up.

“Well, of course. If I quit because I’m scared of something happening to me, think of all the human souls that might be left behind to wander the Earth.” I shudder, but I don’t let myself dwell on it. “Do you think the others will really refuse to work? Honestly, I assumed it was a lot of talk, and they’d reconsider after having some time to cool down. I don’t think any of them will actually go through with it, do you?”

Penn looks at me and wrinkles his chin. “I hope you’re right, Michaela.”

I shake my head. We have bigger problems at the moment, and I struggle to focus on them. “Well, this is a problem for tomorrow. For now, we have plans to make,” I say, forcing a smile. “Did you learn anything useful from the Keepers, Penn?”

Penn nods. “I learned everything I could about hell. It’s full of mazes, traps, torture chambers, and things worse than you can imagine. This won’t surprise you, Michaela, but our rescue attempt isn’t going to be fun at all.”

Webber scoffs, earning glares from everyone in the group, even sweet Galenia. I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s right for us to force Webber to participate in our plan.

“It seems like there are a few main areas of hell,” Penn continues, and I nod, familiar with the levels of hell. “Like all the mazes are in one spot, the torture chambers are somewhere else, and so on. Michaela said the prison of souls is on the outer circle, so with a bit of luck, we can get in and out undetected.”

He looks to me to confirm this hope, but I’m not sure I can, so I just shrug. “Demons constantly patrol the outer circle. If we’re bringing seven human souls with us, we’ll be seen. I can guarantee it.”

“So how do you propose we do it?”

“Getting out will be a problem, but I have some thoughts on how we might get in.” I hesitate, not sure what they’ll think of my plan, but I’ve been chewing it over since I walked into the mists this morning. I think it might work.

“Let’s hear it. If we can get in, maybe we can wing it on the way out,” Penn says, taking a one-step-at-a-time approach. I smile at him, appreciating his newfound humanity. Before his banishment, he was very cautious about following the rules. But now he’s ready to wing it at a moment’s notice, and I love that about him.

“Since we’re about to be a little shorthanded, no one would think twice about me training new Reapers.” I pause to let that sink in, and then take a look at each of them in turn. “In fact, new Reapers often get tours of heaven and hell, so they can empathize with the souls they help transition. The only thing that would be out of place would be to have more than one trainee with me. However, given the circumstances, I believe I could get the demons to look the other way quite easily.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of trying to hoodwink the demons,” Penn says. “But I can’t say I have a better plan. After spending some serious time looking things over today, I don’t mind telling you all that this feels like a suicide mission. And if we all die, who’ll be around to make it right?”

I smile sadly at him. “You’ve been on Earth too long, my friend. We wouldn’t die. We would either spend an eternity in hell or be erased from existence. Our kind does not die.” When I hear myself say it, it sounds odd. My voice is so soft and soothing; some call it melodic. To use it to say such dark things feels wrong in every possible way.

Penn walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder, reminding me of our trip back through the mists after Kismet’s death. He is a dear friend. I would hate to lose him, particularly as a result of my poor judgment.

“Yes. Thank you, Michaela,” he says in a quiet voice. He’s not saying it to scold me, or because he’s irritated I’ve reminded them of the risk we’re taking. He’s simply telling me that we’re on the same team. I put my hand on his and squeeze.

“So, what do you think?” I ask the group.

Horatia is the first to speak up. “Go into hell cloak-and-dagger style? I’m in.”

Penn nods. Webber looks ill, but to my surprise, he nods too.

“Webber. You’re in? I thought for sure you’d want to stay behind,” I say.

Swallowing hard, he glances at Galenia. “I mean, I’m in if… everyone else is.” I’m not so sure. I can tell he’s not fully committed, and we need everyone to be on board one hundred percent. Hell isn’t a forgiving place, and once we’re in, there’s no turning back.

“Webber, no one will judge you if you want to stay behind. In fact, we might want someone to stay, just in case we don’t come back. You can hold down the fort, explain what happened, and send people after us if need be.” I try to sweeten the deal to give him an out.

But his face hardens at the challenge. “I said I’m going.” His tone is short. I pushed a button, and I’m not sure which one.

I shrug. “Wonderful,” I say, trying to mean it.

Galenia is the only one who hesitates to respond. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she says, and I hold my breath. “We can’t just go barreling into a place like hell without an exit strategy. Especially if we expect to escape with seven human souls.”

Penn turns to me. “Do any of the souls actually belong in hell? If so, it would make our job easier.”

“No. They were all taken from the gates of heaven,” I answer sadly, wishing I knew how or why.

“I hate to say it, but I agree with Galenia. We need a way to get out,” Penn says.

“Okay, well, I came up with our plan of attack. Does anyone else have an idea for a way out?” I say, feeling helpless and derailed.

Penn squeezes my shoulder before walking away and resuming his pacing. “Seven souls.”

“Is there any way we could get them out one at a time? Perhaps swap clothes with them or something? Leave one of us behind and come back for him or her later?” he suggests.

“I don’t know. Is anyone willing to stay behind in hell?” Horatia asks.

“I will,” I offer. Of course I will. I’m the one who found them, and it was my idea to go there in the first place. It seems right for me to stay with the lost souls. I’m a Reaper. Maybe I can offer them some comfort while we wait for rescue.

Galenia smiles sadly at me. “It can’t be you, dear Michaela. You’re our ticket in— and out—of hell.”

I sink down onto the couch behind me. She’s right, and it weighs heavily on me, pressing me deeper into the couch cushions. I can’t help them. I can’t do my duty as a Reaper. It’s a strange, almost out-of-body feeling, and I don’t like it.

The last time I felt this useless was… well, never actually. I wasn’t made specifically to be a Reaper. I was given a choice. I could have been an angel, a Keeper, or a Fate. But reaping is what drew me. The level of compassion the job requires has always come naturally to me. God warned me I wouldn’t fully fit in among the Reapers, but I knew that would be true no matter what vocation I chose. Usually, I don’t question that I made the right decision, but tonight, I need to accept the fact that I won’t be able to do my job the way I’d like.

“I’m happy to do it,” Galenia offers. “I’m not imperative to the mission. Maybe I can offer them some comfort.”

“Oh, sure, the Fate who spends her days thinking about how many different ways she can kill them is going to be super comforting,” Horatia teases. “I’ll do it. I’ll stay behind.”

“To be fair, you’re the one who cuts their threads. I just decide how they die,” Galenia says evenly.

Penn laughs at them, bickering like a couple of… well, sisters, and it occurs to me again how long these three have worked together. “I’ll stay behind. Kismet won’t be the first one out. I’d like to stay with her and Andrew.”

“Why wouldn’t you want your precious Kismet to be the first one out?” Webber asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“He’s right,” I say. “Nysa will have to be the first one out. She’s in the worst condition. If we want to save her from extinction, she has to be the first.”

“And if whoever brought them there returns while Penn is in her place? Don’t you think that person will notice Nysa isn’t Penn? They don’t really bear a striking resemblance,” Horatia wryly says.

“Nysa is black, Horatia. You don’t look like her either. Quit trying to take my spot,” Penn says.

She pouts, knowing she’s been defeated.

“Horatia, I’ll need you and Galenia both to help me keep watch for demons. I also might need help coaxing Nysa out. I don’t expect her to be terribly aware of her surroundings when we return. She was in rough shape the last time I saw her. She may need… convincing.”

“What will we tell a demon if we see one?” Galenia asks, her eyes filled with fear. I can’t tell if it’s fear of hell or fear for Nysa. Maybe both.

“I think we’ll have to tell them that one of the trainees isn’t quite cut out for reaping yet. That her weak stomach was deeply affected by the things she saw in hell. Just because it’s uncommon doesn’t mean it’s unheard of,” I offer. It’s thin, and I know it. The others exchange uncertain glances.

“It might work,” I say with a shrug.

“It’s the best we have for now. We will have to put this into play tomorrow night,” Penn says. We’ve spent too much time talking to do anything more tonight, especially if we don’t want to get caught midway through our mission. “If we come up with anything better in the meantime, we can execute that.”

I stretch out on the couch, not sure how to face the upcoming workday, or the night that will follow.

“I’m not sure what to do with myself tomorrow,” Penn says, a bit forlorn.

“You could just relax. Get ready for our trek through hell,” Horatia says, and then snorts at her own joke.

“I know what you can do to help,” I say. “We need extra Reaper uniforms. You’re already in this section of the heavens for the day. I was going to grab them on my way back from my shift, but if you’re looking for something to do, go for it.”

“Michaela, how exactly is a Keeper supposed to acquire Reaper clothes?” he asks.

“Use your imagination. The closet where we keep our uniforms is just by the gate. There isn’t too much foot traffic back there once we’re all out on assignment. Wait an hour or two after the workday starts, and go for it. You should be fine.” I sound more confident than I feel. My plan to take all of my dearest friends into hell has left me shaken and unsure of myself. Why is this a good idea again? Oh, right. Because the fate of humanity rests on getting into that prison, rescuing those inside, and finding out exactly what is going on.

We are reluctant to part ways, even though we have several hours before the workday starts. So we spend our time in my room playing games, laughing, and bickering. To be honest, we’re all a bit sad when it comes time to report for our duties.

“Okay, so I’ll see you all back here tonight, ready to march into hell,” I say, forcing a smile. Their expressions are grim, but they all nod in response.

We part ways silently, each going to our respective workstations, and I turn to look back at the Fates. Horatia and Galenia hold hands while Webber walks in front of them. Penn looks longingly at them, and I know he wants to join them. I notice his fingers are twitching, as if they long to spin the threads of life, but he absently puts his hands behind his back.

Even though I know I’m at risk of being late, I want to comfort him. “There’s work to do, Penn. We need to focus.”

He nods and smiles, but I can tell it’s mostly an attempt to reassure me. “Get to work,” he says. Out of nowhere, he slaps me on the butt. I squeal and he laughs, lightening both of our moods.

“That’s one for the rumor mill,” he calls to me as I hurry away, rubbing my backside. When I brought him back to the heavens, he joked about the rumors that would spread if anyone saw me bringing a Keeper into my room. Heavenly beings don’t have illicit affairs. We just don’t feel the need for them. And often those who do indulge in a romantic relationship are judged for being too similar to the humans.

Heavenly beings have an irrational fear of ending up like Penn, ruled by their emotions when it comes to life and love. Personally, I don’t see what’s so bad about that. Penn is unique. Except now, he’s just drawn more attention to himself at a time when he’s supposed to do the very opposite. I glance around as I’m walking away, but by sheer dumb luck, no one is around to have witnessed my spanking.

I shake my head, thinking of how much I’ve missed Penn, hoping this workday goes by quickly so we can dive into our real work. In hell.

5

I feel hopeful as I walk to the naming room to get my assignments for the day. Maybe the other Reapers will have settled down after a night of rest and relaxation. Maybe they’ll be less angry and more helpful. Maybe.

But as I weave my way into the group of my fellow Reapers, nodding polite greetings as I go, I can tell my hope is in vain. Everyone is tense, and the mumbling is loud enough to create a faint rumble throughout the room. A hush falls over the space as the head Reaper takes his position on the platform. He’s such a huge presence up there; I can’t imagine defying him. But I feel like some of my colleagues are about to try. I cringe as he opens his mouth.

“All right, thankfully, there are no surprises to announce today. There’s also no news about Nathair. I’m sorry. As soon as I know something, I will pass it along to you. Currently, we are trying to pinpoint his last assignment, which will help guide our work. You all have a fair amount of freedom to go where you please in your downtime, so he could be anywhere.”

He isn’t wrong. Some Reapers choose to spend their downtime in exotic locations on Earth. Humans can’t see us unless it’s their time, so we can go anywhere. I’ve seen some lovely things on Earth. Waterfalls, glaciers, rolling hills, mountain ranges, tropical islands. The ancient buildings and ruins of Europe have their own special charms, reminding me of reapings gone past. Traveling the world is a wonderful way to decompress and re-center.

But from what Ryker’s said, it sounds like Nathair wasn’t actually approved for vacation. He really could be anywhere. I sigh, trying to stave off the hopeless feeling weighing me down. I only need to get through the day.

As our assignments start filtering into our minds, the boss keeps talking. “Here are your assignments for the day. As always, I hope you all have a good and productive day.”

But as he was signing off, a few of the Reapers walked over to a cluster of tables and chairs along the opposite wall of the naming room and sat down. A few others followed, until a group of six is gathered around the tables.

“I will not be working under these conditions,” Heth says. Of course he’s their leader.

“Nor will I,” the others say, one right after the other, until all the dissenters have voiced their grievances.

No, I think. This isn’t happening. It’s not in our nature. Although reaping isn’t normally a dangerous job, we’re simply not built to think of our own well-being first. The humans are our priority. But wishing the problem away is like trying to hold back the ocean with my bare hands.

Ryker’s eyes turn cold and hard. I shrink back from his huge presence and brace myself for what’s coming. I expect him to yell, to force them to work, to punish them, to threaten them, to do something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stops halfway down the platform and looks down at all of us.

“Your actions do not come without consequence. Remember that.” His voice is low and menacing. I have no idea what he means by that, whether he’s talking about the huge influx of ghosts Earth is bound to see after today’s work, or if there will be an actual punishment for the dissenters. He doesn’t elaborate. But after seeing what happened to Penn for his single spinning mistake, I know justice is swift and harsh here in the heavens. I shudder to think what will happen to them.

“Those who remain will each be given extra names to account for… our losses. Thank you.” He looks directly at me and I nod, then he exchanges looks with a few of the others who are still standing in front of the platform. Without saying anything more, he turns to leave. We watch him silently, our group now divided between working Reapers and dissenters.

After he’s gone, and the Reapers are starting to scatter—at least those of us who are still willing to work—I climb up onto the platform and walk behind Ryker’s podium. I have no idea what’s gotten into me, but I have to say something. I have to try to make them understand who they’re hurting. I know I’ll regret it if I don’t make an effort.

“Guys, what are you doing? Don’t you understand how many people will be left behind because of your selfish choices? The humans are the reason for our existence. Our purpose is to care for them. To make sure they get safely to their eternal homes. If you turn your back on that, what will you be? If you are not a Reaper, who are you?” I’m panting by the end of the speech. The stresses of the week are catching up to me, and something that feels like what the humans describe as an adrenaline rush is washing over me. Energized by my anger, I clench my fists at my sides.

“Well, aren’t you a softhearted one?” Heth says. “Michaela, unfortunately, I couldn’t care less what happens to the humans today. I’m more interested in making sure I live another day.”

“Perhaps I’m not being clear,” I snap back. “Think of the child who will be left behind because of your selfishness. Have you ever left a child behind? I did once. It was horrible. The child just wanted to stay with her mother. And she ended up torturing the poor woman for the rest of her life. When I had to take her mother in the end, it was even worse. Now that child wanders the Earth alone.” I shudder at the memory. “If you take this path, there will be thousands of children left behind. Not to mention adults. The Earth will quickly be overrun with restless spirits. The Earth is a sanctuary for the humans, and for us, if you really think about that. And it will be ruined. Because of you.” I look hard at their faces. A few are unsure. So I strike while the iron is hot.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. There’s a terribly simple solution. You could come to work. Bring them home.”

One of the Reapers speaks up. She’s a shy girl who’s been working about half as long as I have. She’s not very social, so her fearfulness is one of the only concrete things I know about her. I’m not surprised she’s standing with Heth.

“But what difference can I make?” Her voice is small and quiet, an exact reflection of her.

I smile and climb down from the platform. Taking her hands in mine, I look into her eyes. “Even if you only take one soul home today, you will have made all the difference in their world. You will have saved that soul from a terrible, lonely existence. One that can’t be reversed.” I smile encouragingly at her, and it’s enough. She nods her acceptance. One other Reaper joins our group, but there are still four on the selfish side. That means that over forty thousand people could be left behind by the end of the workday if the rest of us can’t pick up the slack. I try to focus on my success, not my failure, and I profusely thank the two who have agreed to work. Even if we can’t save everyone, we can do a lot.

As we approach the gate leading out to the mists, I work hard to clear my head and concentrate. I need to think about the people I can help. If I don’t, they will suffer too, and even more people will be fated to linger on Earth as ghosts. I can’t give in to the panic I’m feeling, but this problem seems much more immediate than our trapped souls in hell. One thing at a time, I think.

Taking a deep breath, I step out into the mists to collect my first assignment.

Of course, things don’t quite go the way I hoped. The dead are slow minded all day long. It’s as if they’re extra reluctant to come with us because they know something is off. I barely manage to finish my own list, and there’s no time to help anyone else.

Everyone else had the same problem, and a few didn’t even finish their lists.

All of us returned in defeat at the end of the day. Ryker calls us into the naming room for another meeting, and I worry it’s going to be an unpleasant surprise. The anxiety from the day threatens to boil over, and tears build in the backs of my eyes as I wait to hear what he has to say. After all the people we left behind today, I’m not sure I can take more bad news.

Ryker clears his throat as he makes his way to his usual position on the platform. The dissenters sit in the back of the room while the rest of us stand up near the podium.

He doesn’t waste time with a greeting or any other formalities. “As you can see, every Reaper who went out today returned home safely.” He looks toward the dissenters, who are laughing and joking together. Did they just sit in the naming room goofing off all day while human souls were left wandering untethered? I frown as I watch them throwing a paper ball to each other.

A frown creases Ryker’s forehead. “As a result of your… malcontent,” he says, staring at them, “9,752 human souls were left behind. Because of you.” I follow his gaze, expecting to see a bunch of apologetic, cowed Reapers, but they don’t even look at him. Although they’ve stopped causing a commotion, they still don’t acknowledge him. They’re busy studying their nails, talking to each other, or fiddling with various belongings.

“I would like to remind each and every one of you that your actions, whatever they are, will have consequences.” He returns his attention to those of us who are still gathered around the platform. “Thank you to those who did their best today. You kept the number of souls left behind as low as possible. I hope we can do even better tomorrow, and that more of you will decide to return to your posts.” He doesn’t sign off; he simply walks off the platform and leaves.

I think I hear the group of dissenters mocking him as he leaves, and I actually find myself worried about them. How could these heavenly beings have wandered so far astray? What will happen to them as a result of their choices? Penn was punished for accidentally cutting one life short, so I know the punishment for their far graver crime won’t be pretty. As I pass by, Heth calls out to me.

“Hey Goody Two-shoes. Seems like your best efforts weren’t enough. Why even bother?” he asks, and the others around him laugh. The Reaper next to him claps him on the back.

But I don’t have to answer. Miette, the shy Reaper who faced her fears this morning, stands up to them. “Because even one life makes all the difference in the world. It matters.” In that moment, I am so proud of her, of what we do, that it doesn’t matter what they say in reply. She takes my hand, and we walk out of the naming room together.

“Thank you.” I say to her once we’re outside the glass doors.

“No, thank you. I nearly made a very bad mistake today. You saved me from it.” There’s a twinkle in her deep brown eyes as she smiles up at me. Then she retreats, heading toward the quarters hall. I can’t help but smile in spite of the dismal day. I made a difference on Earth and in this Reaper’s life. Now, if only I can make a difference in hell.

6

When I return to my own room, everyone is there waiting for me. They’re already dressed and ready to go. Penn is striking as a Reaper, and the uniform fits his sculpted body as if it were made for him. But I’m concerned. Without his Keeper’s hood, his face is totally exposed.

“You can’t wear that here. You’ll be recognized.” I think of how unsavory my comrades have been acting and shake my head. “You can’t be seen around here. To make matters worse, my peers can’t be trusted right now.”

“What happened today, Michaela?” he asked.

“Well, there weren’t any surprises, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s good?” He says it almost like a question.

“The Reapers didn’t change their minds. Four of them stayed behind today, so we left behind almost ten thousand souls. Ten thousand new ghosts who will be doomed to wander the Earth forever. All in one day. It usually takes centuries to create that many ghosts. In fact, there might not even have been that many ghosts before today. We might have more than doubled the ghost population on Earth in one day.”

Flopping down onto the empty couch, I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to block out that terrible number and the mission that lies ahead. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, thousands of souls lost their tickets home, and there’s nothing I can do to help them or prevent it from happening again. I’m overwhelmed, so I stop thinking about it. Right now, all that exists is this couch, the darkness behind my eyes, and the sound of my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Penn is the one who breaks through my haze. “Michaela, this isn’t your fault. I’m sure you did everything you could to save as many people as possible. You can’t control other people’s choices.” He pulls my arm off my face, and I look up at him with shining eyes.

“What you can control is how you react. So tuck in your bottom lip and lead us the hell into hell.” He’s trying a little too hard, but I appreciate that he is trying. I give a token chuckle and swipe at my tears. Galenia is watching me as I sit up, and I can almost see her broken heart through her clear blue eyes. She tucks her long, brown hair behind her ears, comes over, and silently embraces me. The others say nothing; they simply allow me this moment to grieve for those I lost today. Those we lost today. Although it solves nothing, it’s exactly what I need.

Eventually, I take a breath. When I look up, Penn is donning his Keeper’s uniform and the others are wearing their Reaper outfits.

“Not sure I want to be associated with a Keeper,” Webber says, nodding to Penn’s clothing. His tone hints at the bit of truth behind his joke.

“We do make a misfit bunch, don’t we?” Horatia asks, eyeing herself in her Reaper’s uniform. It hugs her body in all the right places, and her dark hair flows down her back, complementing the look quite nicely.

No one answers her, and we look at each other for a moment, each of us undoubtedly thinking the same thing—we are about to go on a suicide mission. But none of us tries to leave or back out. After a few heartbeats, Penn moves to the door and exits. The rest of our group follows, and I bring up the rear.

We walk in silence to the gate in the mists. Penn knows the way by now, so he walks up ahead with his head bowed down. I glance around as we walk. Horatia’s right. We do look like a bunch of misfits. I can only hope we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves as we make our way toward the gate. Lucky for us, most of the Reapers have adjourned to the common room or their own quarters. Even the dissenters have dispersed, and I find myself wondering if they’ve already been punished. I still don’t quite know how I feel about that. They deserve their fate. But I’ve worked with many of them for a very long time. The thought of their demise saddens me.

A thought occurs to me as we make our way to the gates of heaven. Maybe they’ll be banished to Earth and assigned to manage the ghosts. It’s a perfect and appropriate solution. So much so, it makes me smile a little. I consider suggesting it to Ryker, but he has enough on his plate without me trying to tell him how to do his job. Besides, there’s no time for stalling.

We make it to the gate without being stopped. Penn goes through first without hesitation. Horatia and Galenia stop abruptly, and Webber nearly collides with them.

“What’s the hold up, ladies?”

“We’ve never been outside before. Ever,” Galenia says as she stares at the gate, almost in awe of the golden figures carved on its surface.

Horatia’s hand is suspended midair, reaching out for the door but not quite touching it, marveling at it just like Galenia is doing.

“Penn is just on the other side, waiting for you,” I say. “This will be an adventure you can take together. Just like old times.”

“That makes me feel great,” Webber flatly says.

“Webber, we all have our own roles to play in this,” I say. “Roles that do not require whining.”

I nod toward the gate, urging the girls to go through. They look at each other, take a deep breath, and do just that. Webber and I follow before the gate has a chance to close.

“What took you so long?” Penn asks.

I shrug at Penn, handing him his Reaper’s clothes, and nod toward the girls, who are walking around the misty area with their mouths hanging open. The three gates are clustered around us in all their glory. Our gate stands behind us, the gate of heaven is to our right, and the gate of hell is to our left. Naturally, everyone is drawn to heaven’s gate. They all wander toward it, taking in its beauty. I stand back, allowing them this moment to appreciate one last good thing before we enter a place where the word “good” doesn’t exist.

Finally, they turn toward the gates of hell. Webber and the girls shrink away. It’s huge, black, and terrifying to be sure. Even Penn, who’s already seen it, takes a step back.

“Everyone still on board with our plan?” I ask, unsure of how to proceed. I hadn’t anticipated losing them so early in the journey. The things they might see behind the barricades are much worse than the gates themselves. If they can’t steel themselves now, they’ll never make it back out unscathed.

Galenia is the first to set her jaw and walk toward me, stretching out her hand and pushing through the gate. “Let’s go,” she says. Horatia follows, then Penn, who’s back in his Reaper disguise. Webber falls in behind them, and I bring up the rear, which fits with our cover story. We are a group of Reapers touring hell. Nothing more, nothing less.

Once on the other side, the group lets out a collective gasp. It’s certainly an unforgettable sight. Despite the expanse of the cavern we’ve just entered, it’s claustrophobic. The darkness is only eased by the eerie red glow coming from the torches lining the stone walls, and the smell of sulfur permeates the air. I hate crossing into hell. The immediate urge to get out always overwhelms me. Today is no different. My body clamors to turn back, but I stand up straight, taking step after step away from the gate.

“This way,” I say, pushing through the group to lead. “Penn, stay at the back to make sure no one lags behind.”

He nods and takes his place while Webber walks between Horatia and Galenia. With any luck, we’ll pass by undetected. The Reapers aren’t working right now, which means the demons aren’t either. They’re not expecting anyone. They might all be…well, doing whatever demons do in their down time. My heart hopes, but my mind doesn’t believe it for a second.

We follow the winding corridors for quite some time, getting so close to the prison that I can hear the moans coming from inside. I glance back at Penn, who has a stricken look on his face.

When I turn back around, I find myself face to face with a demon. His scorched black body hulks over me. The cracks in his skin glow red, matching his eyes, and his black wings extend out on either side of him.

“What are you doing here, Reaper?” he asks, not backing down. Straightening, I look right at him. I can hear the others nervously shifting their weight behind me. I swear one of them is whimpering, and I’m willing to bet it isn’t one of the girls.

“We’re conducting a tour for new trainees now that the workday is over. Seeing as we’re shorthanded, there’s no other time for it,” I say, trying to sound confident.

He glances over my shoulder. “Quite a large group for this time of night. That one there doesn’t seem suited for the job.” He nods toward Webber.

I eye Webber, silently urging him to keep his cool. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Things must be desperate indeed if you’re using the likes of this one.”

“Hey,” Webber says, clearly feeling wounded. “No one talks to me like that, especially not a lowlife like you.”

I tense. It’s not a good idea to engage the demons. I glance at Penn, but he’s busy glaring at Webber.

“Lowlife, hmm? I think you’ll find our working relationship requires a bit more respect than that, Reaper.” He turns back to me. “He has a lot to learn. You have your work cut out for you,” he says. He isn’t wrong.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it then,” I say, hoping to cut our interaction short.

“I’m not busy. Would you like a private tour? I can show you where we put those who think they are better than others.” The malice in his voice makes my skin crawl.

I clear my throat. “No, but thank you. I’m sure you would like to enjoy your downtime. Things have been busy lately.”

“How thoughtful of you. But I truly don’t mind. There’s someone I want to check on anyway. Come. Follow me.”

We exchange nervous glances, but ultimately, there is nothing we can do. We have no choice but to follow him. All of us manage to sneak a glare at Webber, who maintains his stiff posture and avoids eye contact with everyone. He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. I sigh, hoping we don’t regret the decision to include him.

Much to my chagrin, two other demons join our tour guide at his invitation. They’re enjoying this, if for no other reason than to make the new recruits uncomfortable. Trial by fire. Normally, new Reapers handle their first visit to hell relatively well. It can be overwhelming to see all these terrors in one place, but Reapers only come here after receiving extensive training on what to expect, so it’s not as much of an assault on the senses as my poor Fates are experiencing.

We walk away from the prison, and I glance over my shoulder at it, catching Penn’s eye in the process. His face is red, and while the demon’s back is to us, I mime for him to take a deep breath. We’re not out of the woods by a long shot, and I need him to stay with me.

I’m not quite sure how we will shake the demons, but I know it won’t help if one of us disappears or goes rogue.

After a few twists and turns through the dark caverns of hell, we arrive at an area I’ve never seen before. There are so many doors on either side of the eerie hallway that I lose count.

“Why aren’t these hallways smoky? There are so many lit torches. Seems like we should be choking by now,” Horatia asks. I can tell she’s trying to focus on anything besides the fact that we’re off course and surrounded by demons.

“An observant one,” the demon says. It’s supposed to be praise, but nothing from his voice would sound positive. Judging from the look on Horatia’s face, I gather she feels the same way. “It’s not real fire. Only light. You can touch the flames if you’d like.” He nods toward the torch nearest us, but Horatia shakes her head no.

“I believe you.”

The demon laughs, his colleagues joining in, and the horrible shrieking sound makes all of us shrink back. I fight hard not to cover my ears.

“That would be your first mistake, dear Reaper. Never trust a demon.”

“Noted,” she says, eying him. He just continues to chuckle as he walks along.

After what feels like an eternity, the three demons stop in a seemingly random spot. The door we stand in front of is black, much like the gate, except there are no intricate designs on it. It’s simply a black door that fits perfectly into the rounded archway in which it hangs. The handle feels like a black hole that will suck in the soul of whoever touches it, and I find myself recoiling from it a bit.

The demon opens the ancient door without a second thought. It creaks with age, as if complaining about its sudden use. All I can see inside is blackness. No windows or torches offer any kind of relief.

The demon that originally found us gestures inside. “This is where we keep souls to await processing while we find the perfect home for them here in hell.”

“There’s no light in there.” It flows out of my mouth as a statement, not a question.

“No, there isn’t,” the demon said, sounding unduly proud. “There’s also nothing in there that can hurt them, but they don’t know that. The human mind is sometimes all the torture we need around here.” His smile is gruesome.

“Perhaps you’d like to see inside.” His confident tone makes me hesitate.

But Webber is so puffed up after his perceived slight that he pushes past our group and into the room.

“It’s not so scary in here. Maybe you should up your game, demon,” he says, goading the demon on.

“Maybe I should,” he says as he slams the black door home.

I hear Webber laugh nervously on the other side, and we all uneasily shift our weight.

“Okay, your point is made. Let him out, and we’ll just go. Clearly, this isn’t a good time for a tour,” I say, keeping my tone as professional and even as possible.

The demon laughs, but this time, there’s no glee in it like there was before. He’s mocking me.

At the sound of his laughter, Webber starts to panic. Banging on the door, he starts screaming. “Let me out! I am a heavenly being. You can’t do this to me.”

This spurs even more laughter from the demons. “Looks like we just did.”

I touch the demon’s arm and pull him aside. He looks at my hand, clearly surprised by my action. Contact between us isn’t typically physical, but I’m hoping to break him out of this cycle.

He looks at me with eyes that burn with curiosity. “This is enough,” I say. “Your point is made. It’s time to end this game.”

He smiles broadly at me, showing me his gruesome rows of sharp, yellowing teeth, spaced far enough apart to reveal a red glow behind them.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Reaper. Here in hell, you don’t make the rules. I do.” He turns to his comrades. “What do you think, boys? A day or two in there ought to teach him some respect.”

“You can’t do this,” I say, my voice rising in panic, but I try to make it sound like anger and authority.

“I already have, dear Reaper. I don’t believe you would have been able to teach him the lessons he needs to learn. Come back in a day or two, and maybe we’ll let him go.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” I say accusingly.

“You’re catching on,” he says with a grin. He looks at the others, who’ve remained silent during our exchange. “Seems like your trainees have lost their stomach for the tour. Perhaps I should lead you out.”

“I’m not leaving without him.” I point aggressively toward the closed door.

Webber continues to scream, but his words have become jumbled by panic, so I can no longer understand what he’s saying.

The demon laughs and gestures toward the door. “He didn’t think it was that scary in there. I’d hate to see him in a real torture chamber.” His eyes light up as he looks at his companions. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if we hid him deeper in hell before you came to retrieve him?” The laughter from the three demons is low and slow. Menacing.

“You can’t do this. I will report you.”

“I don’t answer to your authorities, Reaper. And I think my own boss will be quite entertained by my quarry,” he answers. “Now, I can escort you out peacefully, or you can join your friend in the empty rooms around him.”

“Don’t leave me in here!” Webber shouts, finally intelligible.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, for it’s all the volume my voice will allow. Fear, shame, and anger have taken the life out of it. To the demon, I manage to choke out, “Thank you, sir. I would appreciate an escort out.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the demon says with a cruel smile. He won, and he loves it.

“Of course. I’m so glad I crossed paths with you,” I say. After that, our trek back to the gate is silent, although I notice the longing look Penn gives to the corridor leading to the prison of souls. We’re all cowed into submission after what was done to Webber.

When we get to the outskirts of hell, the demon stops walking. “You can take it from here, Reaper. The gate is just there.” He gestures behind him. “If you’d like, come back tomorrow night and see if you can find your wayward Reaper. Maybe I’ll feel generous and return him to you. But don’t get your hopes up. I think we’re going to have fun with him.”

“I know better than to hope in a place like this, demon,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

He smiles broadly at me. “Good. I look forward to seeing you again, Reaper.” He walks away, leaving us alone in front of the gate.

There aren’t any demons milling about this close to the outskirts, so we all stand where we are, looking at the gate in front of us without seeing it.

“Are we really leaving without Webber?” Galenia asks. The horror in her voice cuts me straight to my core. I fight the urge to crumple into a heap on the floor of hell.

“Of course we are,” Penn says. The anger in his voice startles me out of my doom spiral. “His attitude finally caught up with him. He made his own fate, now let him stew in it. I think we should make our way to the prison now that we’re alone.”

Galenia shakes her head. “He’s still our brother. We can’t just leave him there.”

It’s too late. We’ve spent too much time with the demons. “I’m afraid we have to,” I say as a tear winds its way down my face. “For now.”

7

None of us want to leave. It’s something I never imagined would happen. Hell is such a horrible place that no one would ever choose to stay there, but I just can’t bring myself to take that first step outside, knowing we’re one man short. If we leave, it’s like making it real. Final.

Penn is the first to go out, clearly not as disturbed by Webber’s situation as the rest of us. I don’t want to leave the girls in hell, but I also don’t want to leave Penn wandering around in the mists. As a heavenly being who was banished, he’s in almost as much danger out there as he was in hell. I give them each a gentle push, and they reluctantly exit.

I’m the last to go. With one last glance over my shoulder, I whisper to the darkness, “I will come back for you.” But I know the sentiment will die on my lips without ever reaching Webber’s ears. Hell does that to hope.

When I join the others, I see Penn pacing around at the edge of the mists. “Couldn’t he watch his mouth for just a few hours?” he demands. “It’s his fault that we couldn’t get into the prison, not to mention the fact that we were forced to leave him behind.”

“It was a mistake to bring him. I should’ve insisted he stay behind,” I say. I shiver as I think about how Webber might be doomed to share my past assignments’ fates.

“All he did was make more work for us. Just because he couldn’t control his pride in a place that eats that kind of thing up.”

“You’re right. Hell thrives on those attitudes. Yet another reason why it was a mistake to bring him,” I say, starting to wallow in my poor decisions.

“Michaela, stop. You aren’t responsible for Webber’s actions. He is. When God sentenced me to banishment, I blamed no one but myself for my fate. The punishment was just, so I accepted it. Like on Earth, there are direct consequences for your actions here in the heavens. And Webber is justly feeling his.”

“Those are harsh words, Penn,” Galenia says.

“That doesn’t make them untrue,” he says, staunchly standing by his anger.

Horatia goes to him. “You’re just angry. Maybe you’ll see it differently once you settle down. He was just scared and desperate.”

“Would you still feel that way if the demon had taken me instead?” He looks deep into her brown eyes. His question makes me shiver. Would I have given Webber the benefit of the doubt if he were here in Penn’s place, and Penn was gone forever?

“No,” Horatia says honestly. “But you wouldn’t have mouthed off to a demon. So you would never be in that position in the first place.”

“Exactly,” Penn says. “Webber had full control over his actions. The demon’s decision was a direct result of that. And now, instead of helping us, we have one more name on our ever-growing list of souls to save from a horrible existence.” His fists clench and unclench, like he needs something to throw.

I sigh heavily as we stand at the edge of the mists. The black gate still looms behind us, but our golden entrance home calls to me.

“The bottom line here is that it isn’t our job to pass judgment on Webber,” I say. “Our bias comes into play too much, as you have so acutely pointed out. No, I wouldn’t feel the same way if you were in his place. But we’re not God; we’re ill-equipped to sentence him to anything.” My voice is swallowed by the mists, leaving us in silence for a time. Penn looks away from me, and his posture slouches a little. I can tell my words reached him, but perhaps they didn’t get all the way through. I shake my head, knowing it doesn’t really matter.

“I can’t believe we had to leave him there though,” Galenia says. “What are we going to do?”

“Do you think we should tell God what happened?” Horatia asks.

I laugh, but I don’t mean to. It just a release of pent-up energy. “I’m sure He already knows. But I’ll bet He’ll wait to see how we handle this before intervening.”

“So, how do we… handle it?” Galenia asks.

Despite the fact that I’ve been moving through a fog of disbelief over what happened, my mind has been working hard to think of solutions to our most imminent problems. “I suggest Penn disguises himself as Webber. I know you’ve been itching to spin anyway, Penn. Just watch your productivity. Webber is slow. If you suddenly have a great day, you’ll draw attention to yourself.”

“But think of the ground we could make up, Michaela. Our team, back together again.” He smiles at the girls and reaches for their hands. They take his gratefully. Standing there in a triangle, they leave me on the outside. The image fills me with mixed emotions; I’m happy to see them back together, where they belong, but I long to be inside that triangle with them.

“I know you’ll do what you think is right… and nothing I say will sway you from that path. But please try to blend in. You’re in more danger now than ever. And for heaven’s sake, stay away from the new Weaver. He would be the first to notice. Have Galenia or Horatia deliver all the threads, and make sure to work with the door closed. Be careful.”

He nods, as if he knows the risks and willingly accepts them. “It’s only a day, Michaela. Anyone can have a good day. Tomorrow night we’ll go get him, and he can get back to work.”

My laughter sounds bitter. “Right… Assuming the demons let him go, he’s totally unaffected by his jaunt through hell, and our decision to leave him there to be tortured doesn’t affect his productivity.” The pessimism I feel is uncharacteristic, but I’ve reached my limit of failures for the day.

I know Webber is on his way out anyway, but if this experience does damage his productivity further before a replacement can be found, it will have a vast effect on Earth. Combined with the added ghosts and the surprises, it makes me feel like we’re in the middle of a perfect storm.

“He did this to himself as far as I’m concerned,” Penn says, his tone dark.

“And as far as I’m concerned, it was my half-baked idea that got us into this mess in the first place. It’s as much my fault as it is his.” Frankly, I’m hurt by what’s happened, even more so by my role in it, and Penn’s intolerant attitude is wearying.

Penn breaks the triangle and comes toward me. I turn my back to him, not wanting him to see my pain. But he takes my hand anyway, walking around to face me.

“This is not your fault. Maybe the person at fault for this whole mess is the same one who cut those threads short. I don’t know.” He hesitates and looks over my shoulder at the girls before returning his attention to me. “But I do know one thing. This is dumb. All of this. It’s beyond stupid. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with a human. I shouldn’t have made a mistake bad enough to get banished. People shouldn’t be dying before their time. The Reapers shouldn’t be letting the humans become ghosts. We shouldn’t have gone into hell. And Webber shouldn’t still be there. Nothing like this has ever happened, and somehow, we’re the lucky crew who gets to deal with half a dozen problems at once? It’s all just bat-shit stupid.”

I laugh. It’s one of those moments where if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.

Horatia pipes up. “Dumber-than-a-doornail stupid.”

I laugh harder.

“Get-your-tongue-frozen-to-a-lamppost stupid,” Galenia offers. “I’ve seen that happen to humans. It’s a real thing,” she earnestly adds.

“A-Fate-without-a-fate stupid,” Penn says quietly as he holds both of my hands in his and looks into my face. “But we have each other, and we will muddle through it as best as we can.” He looks over at Galenia.

“We’re not leaving him in there,” he adds to reassure her. “We will go back for him at our first opportunity. Hopefully tonight. I won’t even entertain the idea that the demons won’t give him up. We’re getting him back. Just not right this second. We all have a job to do today, and if we don’t work, the problems we’re facing will only become worse.” The conviction in his voice gives me faith.

I nod. Together, we walk back to the golden door, short one Fate. Despite the fact that our mission was a complete failure, we cling to the hope that it’s not over until we quit. And we’re not quitting.

Penn changes back into his Keeper’s robes before we go through the gate. We stop by my quarters so the three Fates can change back into their robes before heading to work for the day. I urge Penn to stay in his Keeper’s robes until he gets to the workshop.

“If you don’t, the guards at the weaving room will recognize you, and they’ll act first and ask questions later.” Archangels had been posted there not long after Kismet was taken in an attempt to stop the damage to the tapestry.

He reluctantly agrees, but I can tell he’s itching to wear Webber’s spinning robe. I think he just feels good about returning to familiar territory, to the work he loves, and he wants to do it on his own terms. But if he doesn’t keep himself hidden, he’ll disappear, and he will become one more loss. One more sacrifice to the storm. I’m not sure I could handle that.

We’ve spent an entire exhausting night in hell, and I’m having trouble facing the day to come. The others don’t speak as we go through the motions of getting ready, but I can tell they’re just as drained as I am.

I watch them as they head toward the common area on their way back to their workroom, hoping they can get through the day without being caught. I don’t believe for a second God doesn’t know what we’re doing, but if someone forces His hand, He’ll follow through with the consequences he laid out for Penn. My friend may be the greatest Fate the heavens have ever known, but he isn’t above the rules. He must remain inconspicuous today.

Realistically, no one visits the Fates. There’s no need. The Weaver is the only one who sees them at work, and if one of the girls delivers the threads, Penn will be perfectly safe. But the odds haven’t been in our favor recently, so I can’t help but fret.

My heart is heavy with the things that have happened, and the things to come as I walk to the naming room. How in the heavens am I going to get through the workday, knowing what Webber is going through today? Knowing how many more ghosts will be made today if the strike continues? Knowing how much worse it will be if another surprise is named? Knowing the loss we will all feel if Penn is discovered?

As I take a deep, shuddering breath, Miette appears at my side. She takes my hand and squeezes it.

“Ready?” she asks me with a meek smile.

“Not really,” I admit.

“Me neither.” But we walk through the glass doors and into the naming room together.

Much to my disappointment, the dissenters still refuse to work. Ryker says nothing. He simply comes in, makes sure we all get our assignments, and leaves. He usually says at least a few words to us—have a good day, good luck, something. I’ve never seen him this silent before, but at least there are no new surprises. It’s been a few days since the last one landed. But I don’t allow this change to comfort me. Perhaps it only means we’re in the eye of the storm, and the worst is yet to come.

I turn to Miette. “Do you think it’s over? The surprises?”

“I don’t want to let myself hope that’s true,” she says as we leave. The dissenters are cackling at us the whole way to the door.

When we reach the gate, I wish Miette good luck before we step into the mists. I hope this will be over soon. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

My first assignment is a middle-aged woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even after all this time, it’s hard for me to watch things like this unfold. I still have an instinct to call out, to stop her from turning her car in front of the driver who’s looking down at a phone. She dies instantly after her car is hit broadside at forty-five miles an hour. Her soul stays standing where the impact occurred, although her car is clear across the street, sandwiched between a cement light pole and the car that hit her. Emergency vehicles have not yet arrived, and an eerie silence hangs in the air in the moment before people get out of their cars and rush to her aid.

She’s looking around rather frantically as I make my approach. I simply reach out my hand, saying nothing. As she looks at me, I smile. She half smiles back, more out of courtesy than genuine intent, before looking back at the wreckage of her car.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she asks as she brushes at a stray piece of her red hair. She’s dressed in a black pencil skirt and a white pinstriped blouse. She was on her way to work.

“I’m Michaela. I’m here to take you home.” I extend my hand a little further, hoping she’ll take it this time.

She points over my shoulder instead. “Who are they?”

When I turn and look, I see about five ghosts gathered around the scene of the accident. A few of them have seen me, and they start walking toward us. Silvery gray and quite a bit more opaque than this new spirit beside me, they range in age from early twenties all the way up to a hunched-over old man.

“Come. We need to go.” I try to take her hand, but she pulls away.

“Who are they?” she asks, her voice full of fear as she backs away from them.

“You will become one of them if you don’t come with me.”

She glances back and forth as the ghosts come closer, and then clutches my hand.

It’s not the casual walk to which I’m accustomed. We’re running. Actually, I am running, and I’m dragging my assignment with me. The ghosts are right at our heels, and they’re grabbing at us. They don’t understand. I can’t take them with me now. Their time came and went.

Their behavior strikes me as odd. Normally, ghosts don’t give me the time of day. Most of them have chosen to stay. Even those who haven’t stayed by choice seem to instinctually know I’m not their ticket home. Once a spirit is rooted to the Earth, a Reaper can’t change that for them, no matter how much they are drawn to me.

But these ghosts accept nothing. They didn’t choose this, and they’re not taking it lying down. They’ve found me, and they want to go with me.

More than once, my assignment looks back as I drag her into the mists. I keep running, long after there’s a need, and her memories fly by us. I don’t pay attention to them or even let her take comfort in them. By the time I finally come to a stop, she is shaken. She tries to pull her hand away from me, but I hold firm.

“Just let me get my bearings,” she says, but I don’t let go.

“No. If I release you in the mists, you’ll become one of them—an unmoored spirit. You must wait until you are home.”

She frowns at me. “Where is home?”

“We will find out.”

“You don’t even know where you’re taking me?”

“I know it will be one of two places,” I say honestly.

“Jesus. I better not end up in hell. I might not have lived long, but I had a good life… I had such plans, Michaela.” She smiles in spite of our circumstances, but she chooses not to elaborate. Her thoughts must have turned back to the ghosts because her face turns serious.

“What happened to them? Why were they chasing us?”

I look back over my shoulder, but there’s only mist as far as the eye can see. “I imagine they want to go home too.”

Horror fills her face. “Why would we leave them behind? Let’s go back for them.” The urgency in her voice confirms what I already suspected—the black gate won’t be waiting for this one.

“Their chance to go home has come and gone. I can’t help them now. Earth has become their home.”

She frowns and turns away from me, naturally driven to walk forward. I walk half a step behind her, trying to give her as much space as my arm will allow. More memories play out while we walk, but she still doesn’t seem to pay them any mind. They’re all happy—birthdays, family gatherings, successes at work, and her favorite hobbies. I enjoy watching them, even if she doesn’t.

“Is it like that for you every time you take someone?” she asks, just before her final memory starts to play.

“No.”

“So I’m special?” The word catches me off guard.

“Of course you are special, but not in a bad way.” I take her hand in both of mine. “You were just unfortunate. In many ways, I’m afraid.”

She snorts. “Seems like I’m having a bad day.” Her final memory finishes playing, and I realize we both missed almost the entire thing. All I see before the mists start to clear is her blowing the seeds off a daffodil as a young child. The image makes me smile.

“You have a good heart,” I say as I lead her to the white gate. “I’m sorry you’ve started your journey into eternity this way, but I can guarantee you that things will only improve.” She follows me in total awe.

The gates of heaven open in greeting, and two angels are there waiting for her. They have golden hair and white gowns that billow welcomingly around them. They stand with their arms extended out, as if reaching for her, and their huge, white wings stretching behind. At the sight of them, I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. They will keep her safe. She will not end up in that horrible prison with the others.

“Audrey, welcome home.” They hold their arms out to her, and she rushes toward them without restraint. I watch her go, and the angels nod at me. Despite the fact that I know she’s safe with them, I still stand there watching her make her way to them until she is safely, well, under their wings.

Turning around, I scan the mists, searching for another Reaper. I want to know if the others are having this same problem, but no one is around at the moment. Not wanting to waste time dillydallying, I take a deep breath and head back to Earth.

The rest of my day only gets worse. My productivity is down to an all-time low. Everywhere I go, the ghosts are waiting for me, so I spent most of my day dodging them.

I try hanging back in the mists until the last possible moment, but that doesn’t work. It takes too long for my assignment to catch sight of me. I nearly lose him to the ghosts. I try hiding behind anything I can find—shrubs, cars, and desks—but that doesn’t work either. As soon as I introduce myself to my assignment, it’s over. The ghosts are all over me, as if grasping for their missed opportunity.

With each assignment, the number of ghosts seems to increase. A lot of souls had been left behind, I knew this, but I didn’t anticipate them flocking to me. I started with only a handful, but by the end of my workday, that number has doubled. There are at least ten waiting for me each time I touch down on Earth. Ten ghosts versus one Reaper. How do they know where I’ll be each time? The only thing I can reason out is that they’re drawn to dying people because they know a Reaper will come to collect them.

What’s even stranger is that they’re not the same ghosts. They’re different from one visit to the next. It’s staggering.

My day is almost over by the time I arrive at Alvin Welstein’s house in a small town near the coast of Alabama. Thankfully, the man I’m collecting has lived a long life, so he should be ready to go. His wife passed years ago, and he’s been lonely ever since. He’s dying in his own bed, surrounded by their children and grandchildren, in the home they shared for over fifty years. As I climb the steps to his room, I prepare myself for the ghosts I know will be waiting for me. I hear his family members in the dining room, talking quietly over a cup of tea. When I reach the bedroom door, I stop and say a silent prayer. I know what waits for me on the other side, and I can only hope I have the strength to get through it.

As I go through the door, I don’t make a sound. I glance nervously at the ghosts that surround my assignment before I speak to him. They aren’t looking at him—they’re keeping watch for someone. I know it’s me, but they haven’t spotted me yet.

I go to him as quickly as I can. “Come, Alvin. Aimee is waiting for you.” It’s not a technique I use often, as there’s no way of guaranteeing they will both go to the same place and see each other on the other side. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take given the fact that ten ghosts have locked in on me and are closing in around us.

“What’s happening?” Alvin asks as he firmly grips my hand. The tremble tells me he’s just as frightened as I am.

“They want to go home too.”

“Let’s bring them along. It might be fun,” he says, trying to keep a lighthearted tone, although I can hear fear in the quiver of his voice.

The ghosts approach us menacingly, reaching out with silvery arms, their stone-cold grey eyes staring us down.

“Wait!” they call out to us. “Please.” Their voices are as faint as the wind, and the sound shakes some of my terror loose. They don’t want to hurt us, at least not directly.

They want my help.

“There are children,” Alvin says, his voice horrified.

“I know.” My heart breaks. If only they were all old men who have lived long lives on Earth and stuck around to cause trouble for their grandkids. But two of them are kids. Kids who were meant to live in comfort for eternity, but who have instead been left behind to watch their families mourn them. Some will have to witness their families be ripped apart by the tragedy of losing them. And all because a few Reapers aren’t doing their jobs.

“We can’t leave them,” Alvin insists.

“But we must. We can’t help them,” I say calmly, trying not to let him see my anger and despair.

“I don’t accept that,” he says, turning away from me. He’s remarkably strong for an old man, and he jerks my arm when I refuse to release his hand. “I want to help you. Tell me how to help you,” he says to the spirits, but they ignore him. Their eyes are only for me.

He holds out his free arm to a nearby child. “Come with us,” he says to her. She’s small, maybe four, and one of her hands is balled in a transparent blanket while she sucks her thumb. She doesn’t make eye contact with Alvin. Tears spring to my eyes as I look at her. She just stares at me, her eyes filled with fear.

“Come,” I force myself to say to Alvin. “Your wife is waiting. If you stay here, you two will be apart for all of eternity.”

“Just like these folks are separated from their loved ones?” He keeps staring at the little girl, reaching out for her with desperation.

I don’t know what will happen if he touches her. The ghosts are all around us now, within arm’s reach of me. Of us. Even if Alvin doesn’t touch her, I have no idea how we’re going to get out of this.

They grab at me, but their hands just pass through me, sending a rush of sadness through me with each swipe. “I’m sorry,” I say through the tears that are now spilling freely from my eyes. “I can’t help you. And the longer you keep me here, the more souls will join you.”

But they don’t want to hear it. They know they don’t belong on Earth, and they long to break free.

“Why didn’t a Reaper take me home?”

“Why is he special?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

The questions come at me, one after another, each from a different voice, and I bring my hands to my ears, pressing the back of the old man’s hand to the side of my head, hoping I can block the sound.

But he pulls our joined hands down. “They deserve to know,” he says, but his expression is more sympathetic. “I’m no better than this child. Seems to me she’s more deserving of an escort. What’s happened?”

I shift my weight, not sure of what to say. There’s been no discussion on how to handle this. In fact, I’m not sure it was even an anticipated scenario. I have no idea what to tell these spirits. I have many of the same questions they do.

“If I told you the truth, it wouldn’t change your fates,” I finally say. “Earth is your home now. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do for you.” I hold out my hand to the nearest ghost, a teenage boy. He reaches for me, but his hand just passes through mine like all the others have. The sadness in his eyes breaks my heart more, causing me to collapse to the ground.

I look up at him. “Please know I’m working hard to prevent more victims from meeting the same fate.”

They are not comforted by this. As ghosts, all they care about is what happened to them. Rarely do I see ghosts congregate together, and even more infrequently do they pay any mind to other ghosts. Desperation has brought these spirits together. And I fear that same desperation will keep me here on Earth with them.

“I need to go. I must take Mr. Weltstein back. All I can say is that I’m sorry.” It’s not enough, and I know it. But I don’t think there’s anything I can do for them. I can only wish that things had happened differently.

I feel drained and shattered as I sit at the feet of the ghosts around me. They close the circle around us even tighter. I know I must summon the strength to pass through them, but I’m already so exhausted. The mists lie mere feet away, but I’m not sure I can take us to them. The ghosts have drained my energy and life force. They’re trying to get home, and they’ll do it any way they can. But they’re not working together, which means we still have a chance of getting out of here.

“Stop,” Alvin says to the ghosts. “You’re hurting her.” He holds out his hand, but they pay him no mind. They keep grasping at me, each of them taking a small piece of me for themselves.

I’m fading. I can feel it. All at once, I’m exhausted and scared. My fight-or-flight instinct is in full gear. I’m so tired; I just want to sit here and let it happen. But my heart is racing with fear.

Searching the ghosts’ faces as they claw at me, I notice one of them has stopped. He’s turned away from the rest. The others follow his gaze, and one by one, they turn to look at something.

Alvin’s voice is distant, a mere echo of what I know it should be. “Hang on. Help is here.”

Warmth encircles me, and I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation. I have no idea how long they stay closed, but when I open them again, a man I don’t recognize is looking deep into my eyes.

“Hello there,” he says, his voice as scruffy as his appearance. He has a short, scraggly gray beard to match his thin, gray hair. His untucked flannel shirt and loose-fitting jeans make him look like half lumberjack and half homeless. Upon further examination, I notice he’s far too clean to be homeless, so I settle on lumberjack.

His pale blue eyes are kind, and I can tell they see far more than they should. I sit up in a panic.

“Who are you? Why can you see me?” I say as I scoot away from him.

“Name’s Wyatt.” He kneels down and holds out a hand to me. I shrink back from it, and Alvin puts his arms around me.

“But you let go of my hand, Alvin! How are you not a ghost? What’s happening?” I say, panicking. I glance around frantically, taking in the scene around me. I’m on the floor in Alvin’s bedroom. The ghosts are gone, but the mists remain. Alvin still has a shot at joining his wife.

“It’s all right,” Alvin says, nodding. “He’s saved you, you know. As far as the ghost thing, I don’t know. Time seemed to stop for a moment there, I guess to give you a chance to recover.”

I blink at the rough-around-the-edges man in front of me. “You saved me? How?”

“Just by doing my thing,” he says simply, as if that’s supposed to explain everything. Then he gives me a quizzical look. “What’s the deal with the influx? Haven’t seen this many ghosties wandering around since, well…” He scratches at his beard while he considers the question. “Ever.”

“I—” I start to explain, but he hasn’t answered any of my questions. His smug grin isn’t hidden by his ill-groomed beard.

As my energy starts to return, I sit up straighter and fold my arms over my chest. “Answer my questions first if you want me to answer yours.”

Alvin chuckles behind me. “You’ve got your hands full with this one, Wyatt.”

Wyatt’s eyes sparkle, and he winks at me. “You drive a hard bargain, missy. But fine. I’ll tell you who I am.” He sits back and folds his legs, getting comfortable on the floor of the old man’s room. It gives me the impression it’s going to be a long story. Alvin stays behind me, and I’m glad for it. He’s a comforting presence, and the hand he claps onto my shoulder imparts warmth.

“I’m a medium. I can see ghosts, talk to them, comfort them, calm them if possible, and relocate them if not.” He shrugs. “That’s it.”

Opening my mouth, I close it again. I expected more, but what he’s said explains everything. “I didn’t know mediums were a real thing.”

“Most aren’t.”

We sit in a stalemate for a few moments before the rest of my questions fill the empty space in the room.

“And Alvin’s family just let you in here alone with their dying father?” I say skeptically.

“No, I used my ladder and climbed in through the window. They don’t know I’m here. I’ll go out the same way, so they don’t suspect anything fishy.”

“Nice,” I say, wondering about the man who saved me. Who climbs into a window to be near a dead man?

“Hey, if you’ve got any better ideas, I’m all ears,” he says, knowing he’s got me.

We sit in silence for several moments while I try to get my head around everything and my thoughts circle back to the ghosts. “How did you distract the ghosts? And where did they go?” I scan the room for any sign of the ghosts and come up empty. We’re alone.

“Nope. I answered one for you. Now you answer one for me. What’s happening, Reaper? Why so many ghosts?”

He knows what I am. Not only can he see me, but he also knows me. How? But I can tell from his stern but kind expression that he won’t answer me until I reciprocate. I lean closer to him, and he does the same, as if we’re a couple of kids sharing secrets with each other.

“Something’s very wrong.”

“I gathered that.”

I straighten. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

He chuckles and nods. “My apologies.”

“It started with the surprises—people who weren’t supposed to be taken to their final homes for decades. Suddenly, their names were on our lists to be taken now. It added to the workload, and we struggled to keep up. Soon after, a Reaper disappeared. Some Reapers have refused to work because of the ‘danger,’ resulting in an influx of ‘ghosties,’ as you call them.” I can’t help glancing around again, searching for them. It’s only then I notice Alvin hasn’t changed a single thing about the room since I came to collect his wife. I remember all the humans I’ve helped. The number is tremendous, but they’re all special in some way. Aimee is no exception.

The same floral-print quilt is on the bed, the same pictures hang from the walls, the same trinkets are on the dresser, and her makeup still rests untouched on the antique vanity in the corner. The thought of his love for her warms me, as does the fact that he still has a chance to be reunited with her.

But I still have questions for this medium. “How do you know who I am?”

“Well, I don’t know that I know who you are. I know what you are.”

“How?” I press, a small amount of irritation seeping into my voice.

“Honey, I’ve been doing this a long time. When you spend this much time around the dead, you learn things. I know about Reapers. A few of the spirits who chose not to go with you told me about you folks long ago. That fella behind you is a bit too normal to be a Reaper, so I figured you were the one workin’ today.”

Alvin smiles. “I’ve always liked being normal.”

It’s too much for me. A medium who knows what I am…? Does he know anything else?

“What else do you know?”

He shrugged. “What specifically are you lookin’ for?”

“Nothing, I guess. And everything. This is unprecedented. I have no idea how to proceed.”

He smiled. “I imagine you ought to take Mr. Alvin here home and be done with it. Especially if you’re behind on your work. Best not be sitting here on your laurels,” he says, barely holding back a laugh.

He’s teasing me. In spite of myself, I smile at him. “Where did the ghosts go?”

“They were attracted to your heavenly energy. So I gave them something else to go after. When they get frenzied like that, they’re a bit like zombies. Single-minded, simple beings. I just had to give them something else to focus on. A different, stronger source of energy.”

It seems simple, but I know it isn’t. “Easy as that?”

“Easy as that.”

I stare at him, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles again and lifts his hands in surrender. “Fine. They’re in the van, over that way.” He nods over my shoulder, and I go to the window. Sure enough, there’s an unmarked white van with a trailer attached to the back.

“You fit ten ghosts into that van?”

“Well, some are in the trailer. Ghosts are surprisingly compact,” he adds with a shrug. “Ghosties can pass through just about anything, but the van is specially equipped to hold them. Think of an electromagnetic field. It’s not exactly the same, but you get the idea. As long as the field is active, they’ll be contained inside.”

I shake my head, not sure what to do with all this information.

“Well, I hope your friends come back to work soon, missy.”

“Michaela,” I say, offering my name to him as an olive branch.

“Michaela,” he says. “There’s only one of me, and I can’t be everywhere. I was lucky to come across poor Alvin here.”

“How did you find us?” Alvin asks.

“I was out drivin’ and suddenly had the urge to take a look at some of these old houses. Not sure where that came from. Then I came across this place. I knew something was up when I sensed the size of the gathering. Ghosts are selfish creatures. They don’t listen to each other at all… Honestly, I’m not convinced they can even see each other, which makes for a lonely existence if you think about it. But that’s why they don’t have much of a reason to congregate. I knew something had drawn them all together, and whatever it was would lose the fight. So I pulled over and found you two.”

Did the hand of God steer him here, or was it mere coincidence? But if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that coincidences are unlikely at best.

Wyatt thought for a moment before asking me, “Has the missing Reaper been found?”

I shake my head, and he frowns. “Something fishy is going on, mi…” He stops and corrects himself. “Michaela. And like I said, I’m only one guy. What’re the odds you’ll need to pick someone up in my neck of the woods again? What will you do next time?”

I frown. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t trap the ghosts forever. It’s hard on them. They’ll dissipate if I just keep them contained. I don’t want to be responsible for that, even if they’re unhappy with their current situation.”

“I don’t have any other solutions for you right now, Wyatt. But believe me, if we learn something, you’ll be the first person I tell,” I say, glad to have an ally on this side.

He stands to leave, reaching out his hand for me. I stand too and shake it. “Michaela. Best of luck to you.”

“You too, Wyatt. Until we meet again.” I feel certain this isn’t the last time our paths will cross.

He nods and walks to the door.

“Wyatt?” He turns to me. “Thank you.”

“Any time, missy.” He smiles out of one side of his mouth and leaves Alvin and me to our business.

“Well, shall we go see your wife?” I ask him.

“I’d like that,” he says as we begin walking into the mists.

Alvin was my last for the day. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve worked through the night to make up for our losses, but we have to save Webber. We can’t leave him in hell for another day. Who knows what will become of him in there. Even if we succeed in rescuing him, he may not recover from the torture if he’s left there too long.

I shuffle back to the naming room, where the dissenters are lounging around a circular table with their feet propped up. They’re laughing and carrying on. A sudden rush of anger gives me energy and makes me stand up a little straighter. I storm over to them.

“You nearly cost me my life today,” I say, gracing them all with my most withering stare.

One or two of them look up with a surprised expression, but Heth steadfastly ignores me.

“I was attacked by ghosts today, and it was all because of your selfish behavior. The only danger out there is the one you’ve created.”

Heth smiles condescendingly at me, but the others look a little uncomfortable.

“What were you doing around ghosts in the first place? Sounds to me like you endangered yourself,” Heth says while examining his fingernails.

“They sought me out. They knew they weren’t supposed to be there. At first, there were only a handful of them, but as the day went on, more and more gathered around each of the souls I was supposed to collect. They wanted to know why the people on my list were more special than they were. Why someone didn’t come for them. And the way the children looked at me—” I stop. A hand squeezes my shoulder.

I recognize the small fingers as Miette’s. Turning, I hug her, so relieved to see that she’s returned in one piece. Given her gentle nature, I was most worried about her.

“You’re okay,” I breathe.

“Barely.” She turns to face the group. “It was the same for me. Is anyone else back yet?”

One of the dissenters shakes his head with a grave expression on his face. But the rest of the Reapers do eventually return. By some miracle, the ghosts haven’t succeeded in claiming any of us today. Once we’re all gathered, Ryker walks silently to the platform to address us.

“Today was a needlessly dangerous day. I’m sorry. I’m working on defenses for you. Unfortunately, due to complications and a lack of participation…” He eyes the dissenters. Only Heth is still smiling. The others are hanging their heads. “17,632 ghosts have been created in the last two days. That’s almost twenty thousand ghosts who are going to try to absorb your life force and use it to go home. Be on your guard.”

This news causes us all to shift uncomfortably, even the dissenters. A few clear their throats. We look away from Ryker and exchange uneasy glances.

I clear my throat. “I was saved by a human today.”

Silence reigns in the room, and Ryker looks closely at me. “A human?”

“A medium. Or so he called himself. He could see the ghosts. Just happened to be driving by when I was collecting my last soul for the day.” I eye Ryker, wondering if he sent Wyatt, or if the order came from higher up. “He saved me.”

“He can control them?” Ryker narrows his gaze at me.

“For a time, anyway. Not indefinitely.”

Ryker nods. “Valuable information. Thank you, Michaela.”

The room is silent for a few beats while they absorb what I’ve just revealed.

“There’s more,” he says, and we brace ourselves for what’s to come. I can guess the news from his grim expression, and my stomach rolls. I’m not sure I can handle this today.

“A new name has appeared on the list for tomorrow. Another surprise.”

A collective gasp tears through the group. Even the dissenters are upset by the news.

“Michaela, I need you to retrieve this one.” I nod. Despite the fact that I collected the last surprise, I feel it’s my duty to make sure this one makes it to his or her final destination.

I wait patiently for the name, and it hits me like a freight train.

Lily Moynagh. A child.

8

“No.” I breathe. “This can’t be right. Not a child,” I plead with Ryker.

But I can tell from his stiff posture there’s nothing he can do, and he’s as unhappy about this news as I am. “The name was clear when it appeared, although I don’t disagree that there’s been a mistake.”

“But she’s a child. None of the other surprises were this young.”

“I know,” he says as he climbs down from the platform. I follow him desperately, like some sad puppy looking for reassurance.

“Do you? This can’t be happening, sir. Not a child. Not like this. The parents…” It doesn’t matter that I don’t know who they are. I can’t shake the image of them clinging to their daughter as I steal her from them before her time. It fuels the anger building in me.

“It’s needless,” I insist. “How is this any different from what Penn was banished for? It’s an unnecessary loss of life,” I say, and all motion and chatter ceases around me.

Ryker turns to me. “It’s not. And whoever is responsible will not be given the luxury of banishment. That I can assure you of.”

“Is Nathair doing this?” someone in the back of the crowd asks.

“We don’t know. All we know for sure is that a new name popped up today after several days of silence.” He pauses and looks at each of our faces in turn. “Now, more than ever, I need you all to join together to help us fight what’s happening. Selfishness will no longer be tolerated.”

“What does that mean?” Heth demands, clearly irritated by the threat.

Ryker crosses the room and approaches him until the two men are nearly nose to nose—or they would be if Ryker weren’t so much bigger. “It means make your choice now, before my forgiveness is outside of your reach.” With that, he turns abruptly and leaves.

When the glass doors close, I feel like they’re closing on my heart. A child.

“A child,” Miette whispered behind me. “How will you bring yourself to do it? I’m not sure I could.”

“I must. Or she will become one of the ghosts.” The thought fans the flames of my anger. “Unless…”

I walk away, increasing my pace with each step. One man could stop all of this with a single word. And that little girl’s name is all the motivation I need to ask Him. Maybe He has a plan, but how can it include the early death of a child who was supposed to live a long, full life? How can that possibly be good and perfect? With my world unraveling around me, I feel like I can no longer depend on His plan. In fact, for the first time, I find myself doubting it.

Miette jogs to keep up with me. “Where are you going?”

“To see someone who can put a stop to this, once and for all,” I say, leaving her behind me as I race to see God.

I pound on the solid white door rather unceremoniously. It opens so suddenly that my fist is left hanging in the air. Although this is my first visit to God’s office, we all know where it is. We’re shown during training, and it’s assumed we won’t come here unless summoned. But today, I don’t care about assumptions. I care about getting answers.

His office is rather barren, and the white-on-white décor doesn’t help. Maybe He’s going for a minimalist approach.

I march through the door and approach His desk. He’s sitting there, writing something down, his glasses perched neatly at the end of his nose. “Please, sit down if you’d like, Michaela.” He doesn’t look up when he speaks. The deep, soothing voice of God does nothing to calm me, though perhaps that’s because I’m too wrapped up in my own problems to let that happen.

“I would prefer to stand,” I say, much too fired up to settle into the plush white armchair across from Him.

“That’s fine. I’ll just be a moment,” he says. In all honesty, I didn’t really expect Him to see me at all. He’s obviously very busy—he is, after all, God—and I just stormed into his office. He has no obligation to hear my rant. These thoughts are enough to give me foresight to wait—not so patiently—until He’s ready for me.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few moments, he finally puts down his pen and removes his glasses. Resting them on the desk in front of him, he looks up at me. “What can I do for you, my dear Reaper?” he asks. His voice is soothing, but I resist its effect on my nerves, clinging to my anger like a lifeboat. One I want to use to save Lily.

“A child?” I demand.

“Can you be more specific?” he says. “There are lots of children on Earth at the moment.”

“I know You know who I mean. The newest surprise?”

“Ah. Yes. That child.”

Suddenly, my rage turns to sorrow, and I sink down into the armchair in tears. “How can You allow this? I can’t possibly take a child before her time. Don’t you know how devastated her parents will be? They won’t even fully grasp the senselessness of her death. It’s the worst possible crime against humanity, and I’m supposed to perpetrate it?” The tears are flowing freely by now, and God rises from his seat and comes around his desk to kneel in front of me. That takes me aback—God is kneeling in front of me.

The sheer averageness of his appearance strikes me in that moment. Short, brown hair, brown eyes, a blue button-up shirt, and khaki pants. He looks so totally… well, normal. He could be anyone. And maybe that’s the point. He is everyone.

He covers my hands with His, and I look into his eyes. They are filled with compassion and pain, as if my tears are His own. “Michaela, my dear. Of course I understand. I feel their pain even more than you do, if you can believe it.” Pulling me from my seat, He leads me to the back of his office. He pushes a spot that looks no different from any other in the white wall, but a hidden door opens, revealing a beautiful garden beyond it.

There are tall, willowy trees behind rows of short, flowering bushes in colors I’ve never seen on Earth. They are such a contrast to the white office that it’s a bit jarring at first. The trees stretch above us and form a beautiful canopy, and the slight breeze carries the scent of lavender. We walk hand in hand through the garden, not speaking until I can’t stand it anymore.

“Is this the Garden of Eden?”

He chuckles a little, but it’s not condescending at all. “No. This place is just for me. The Garden existed only on Earth.”

I nod, feeling a little stupid, although I know that wasn’t His intention. It’s just so lovely. I know intuitively that this level of beauty exists nowhere else, neither in the heavens, nor on Earth.

While we are walking, we pass a dark forest. It’s such a contrast to the bright garden that the question is pulled out of me of its own accord. “What’s that?” I nod toward the dark woods.

“That’s the Forest of Confusion. The humans have many questions. Many injustices they don’t understand. Many things they simply can’t wrap their heads around. Some think I don’t hear their demands for answers, but I do. They make up that forest.”

“Do You ever go in there? It looks frightening.”

He’s smiling as he looks down at me. “Dealing with the humans can be scary business, can’t it?” Thinking back on my encounters with the ghosts, I nod.

He says nothing more on the topic, and we continue our walk through His corner of heaven. I’ve lost all concept of time in this beautiful place. In some ways it feels like I’ve spent my whole life here, walking down the path at my feet, and yet it also feels like only a few moments have passed. Soon, we come upon a creek. We follow it as we walk, and it gradually opens to a river before dumping into a huge ocean.

“This ocean is made of the tears of my humans. So many tears,” God says, and the sadness in His voice makes me drop to my knees. I sink into the sugary white sand, feeling an overwhelming urge to walk out into the ocean and never surface again. What is the point of so much suffering? The waves from this ocean of tears lap at my knees, and I am powerless to hold them back. In fact, my own tears flow freely, adding to the ocean’s depths.

“I feel the pain of the humans as if it’s my own,” He says as He looks out across the waters. No land is in sight. All I see is vast, open ocean.

I feel stupid. Of course He understands. I was ignorant to even suggest He didn’t. How could He not understand what His creations are going through?

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

He says nothing. Simply stares out into the ocean.

“What if I refuse to collect her? She may be spared a worse fate,” I say. The thought of such a young girl being trapped in the prison of souls makes me cringe. But neither can I stomach the thought of her lingering behind to torture not only herself, but also her poor family. “The souls in the prison are dying. Fading away to nothingness. I can’t let that happen to a child.”

“Diligence,” He says quietly. “You must be diligent. I need you now more than ever, Michaela. I know you can get to the bottom of what’s happening. And I need you to do it so I can hold someone accountable for these crimes. Your fight isn’t over.” He turns away from the ocean of tears and looks at me.

“Regardless of what you choose to do for Lily, your fight hasn’t even started yet.”

A chill runs down my spine and I rub my arms, trying to banish it. He reaches out His hand to help me up, and I take it. Together, we walk away from the ocean of tears.

“Be strong now, Michaela,” he says. “Be the creation I made you to be.” Then everything dissolves away and I am left alone just outside his office, with no concept of how long I was in God’s corner of heaven.

9

The transition is so jarring that it steals my breath for a moment. I lean a hand against the nearby wall and take a moment to catch my breath. Never in my entire existence have I seen that kind of beauty. Being back in the heavens seems dull in comparison, even though I know it’s not.

Be strong now. Be the creation I made you to be. I wasn’t made to be a Reaper. I was made for something more. His words echo in my mind as I try to steel myself for the night ahead. “My fight isn’t over,” I say to myself out loud in the empty hallway. I must rally all my strength and move forward.

But when I think about everything that must be done, it threatens to overwhelm me. Small bites, I remind myself. Take it in small bites. What’s the first thing that needs to be done? Webber. We have to go back to hell and get Webber.

Dread fills my stomach until I think it will spill out of my mouth. But instead of shrinking back from this task, I straighten and march toward my quarters where we arranged to meet. It’s the only way I can help ensure a better future, one where this isn’t happening, one where children are no longer in danger of losing their existence.

They’re waiting for me again in my room. Their expressions tell me they can sense something’s happened.

Galenia rushes over to me. “What’s wrong?” she asks as she puts her arm around me and ushers me into my room.

I decide to start at the beginning. “I was attacked by ghosts today,” I state. As if it were no big thing. As if I weren’t in danger of losing my very existence.

“You what?” Penn asks, rushing up to me too.

“The ghosts are piling up on Earth, making my job a bit… challenging.” I smile at Galenia, trying to assure her I’m fine.

“Is that why you’re late?” Horatia eyes me, as if she instinctually knows there’s more to the story than I’m letting on.

“Not entirely, no,” I say carefully as I make my way to the couch and sit down.

I shouldn’t have done it. The weight of the ghosts, of Lily, of the garden and the ocean of tears, of Webber, of… everything presses me down into the cushions. I want to stay there forever.

“So, why are you late?” Penn asks cautiously as he watches me.

The tears threaten again as I look at him, but I manage to hold them back. “A new name popped up today. Another surprise.”

They’re all frowning, and I haven’t even told them the worst of it.

“Well, we’ll just have to work quickly tonight. Maybe we’ll figure this situation out tonight. If we’re lucky, you won’t have to collect them tomorrow,” Horatia says with confidence, as if she knows without a shadow of a doubt that it’s as simple as that.

They’re standing around me, ready to take action. As if the human behind the name isn’t important. And to them, it’s not. They don’t know her. I don’t even know her yet.

“Who is it?” Penn asks reluctantly, his voice heavy with dread.

“It’s a child.”

“What?” Galenia asks, clearly shattered by the news. She sinks down into the couch next to me and stares off ahead of us, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“What about the guards at the weaving room? How did someone get past them?” Penn demands. “Maybe it’s the Weaver…” I can tell his mind is working a thousand miles a minute, searching for a solution, a way out of this mess.

It’s so difficult to get out the next words, but they need to be said. “I’m supposed to collect her first thing tomorrow.” I look over at Penn, who seems to be filled with a combination of rage and sorrow.

“What can we do?” Horatia asks.

“Save Webber. Free the souls in the prison. Hope that’s enough to stop whatever’s happening,” I say. I have no other ideas, so I can only pray it’s enough.

Penn gives voice to my darkest fears. “What if it isn’t enough? What if whoever’s doing this doesn’t even know about the prison? They’re just cutting threads, happy as can be, with no concept of the consequences? If that’s the case, the prison will keep filling up until we find the culprit.”

“Guards were posted at the weaving room not two days ago, Penn. I wouldn’t want to trifle with those Archangels. This goes deeper than someone just cutting threads,” Horatia offers.

“Well, it seems like someone trifled with them and got away with it,” he says. I can tell he’s not convinced.

He looks to me earnestly. “You can’t take a child before her time. Before she’s even had the smallest chance to fulfill her fate, whatever it is. Her parent’s fates are surely intertwined with hers. The cascading consequences are absolutely dire. You must see that you can’t do this.” He says it as if it’s a truth. One I must abide.

“I can’t leave her, either,” I say. “She will die tomorrow whether I come for her or not. If I leave her, she’ll become a ghost, and she’ll torture her poor family until they all die. Then she’ll be left on Earth alone. Is that what she deserves?”

He frowns. “Those can’t be our only choices.”

“For now, they are. If we don’t fix this, the names will keep coming, and the situation will only get worse,” I say, sounding more confident than I am. I reach for his hand, and he lets me take it despite his outrage at the situation. As I stand up, I feel energized and slightly more ready to face the night ahead. Maybe, just maybe, we can handle this. “There’s work to be done,” I say.

The Fates all look back at me with grave expressions. I say a silent prayer that we will succeed tonight as we file quietly out of my room and off to the gates of hell once more.

Once we’re on the other side of the gate, we don’t speak. There’s nothing to discuss. We’re all focused on our mission. We have to succeed.

Part of me feels a little bitter. We shouldn’t be here. Not again. Not so soon. But I know that’s just hell taking its toll on me, feeding on my emotions. Diligence, God said. That’s what I need. Not wallowing. Diligence. I repeat it in my head as we walk through the outskirts of hell, and the mantra makes me stronger.

Our cover story is the same as it was before—I’m bringing the others on another tour of hell. We can only hope we won’t run into the same demon we saw yesterday. The odds are slim, and I’m willing to bet on them. If we do see him, we’ll demand the release of our friend. No cloak-and-dagger stuff—just let him go and we’ll be on our way. Of course, we’ll still plan on making a short detour to the prison, but he doesn’t need to know that part.

Either way, it’s a problem for my future self. My current goal is to get to Webber, and I can only hope there’s a minimum amount of complications. But I know it’s a foolish thought; hope doesn’t exist here in the depths of hell.

As we wander the dark caverns, Penn finally breaks our silence. “How come this prison couldn’t be on the outskirts of heaven? We could be wandering in a much more pleasant place. And Webber would be living it up! He wouldn’t even want us to come back for him,” he says. I think he means it as a joke, but no one laughs. It feels impossible to laugh here.

I lead them through another turn and down a dank corridor, trying to find my way to the hall of black doors where we left Webber, but I’m quickly realizing I don’t recognize this area. I stop and glance over my shoulder. It all looks the same to me. We were all so upset when we left Webber here last night. My feet led the way to the door seemingly of their own accord. Now, it seems like an eternity has passed since we were last here. My soul is stretched too thin. I’m tired, and it’s showing.

As I glance back and forth, I come to a terrible conclusion. I’m lost in the depths of hell with everyone I hold most dear.

10

Penn picks up on my distress right away. “Okay,” he whispers to me. “Let’s not panic. The holding area was on the outskirts of hell, not that far from the prison. I think we went too far. Let’s go back a bit.” He turns, and pushes through the girls. They turn and follow him. I go to the back of the group, following a Spinner through the depths of hell. It feels so wrong on so many levels.

I should’ve gone straight to the prison and made my way from there. I could never forget the location of that horrible place. Moments into this mission, I’ve already forgotten my main directive. Diligence.

While I try not to despair, Penn manages to guide us back to recognizable territory. Before long, I know exactly where we are.

“I recognize this skull.” Although there are many skulls buried in the walls of the caves of hell, this one stands out to me. It’s missing teeth—one tooth on top and one on the bottom, making its grin grotesquely comical. Almost like a jack-o-lantern.

It rests at the crest of a fork in the caverns. When we pop out from the tunnel, we’re left with two options. One leads to the prison, so I can infer that the other leads to Webber.

“We should stick together until we find Webber. Then we’ll go from there, okay?” I say, hoping I sound authoritative enough that they won’t question me. Penn isn’t convinced.

“Why don’t you and one of the girls go get Webber, and someone can come with me to the prison?”

Galenia looks back and forth between us. “I think we should stick together. At least until Webber is safe.”

Horatia agrees. “I’m sorry, Penn, but unfortunately, Webber is our main objective right now.”

“He got himself in that mess,” Penn grumbles. “As far as I’m concerned, we have bigger fish to fry.” He keeps the anger in his voice just below the surface, and I’m glad for that. Fear, anger, aggression, these emotions are like beacons to the demons, so it’s important that we all keep ourselves in check.

“We do have bigger fish to fry. Once he’s safe,” I say. We need Penn’s single-minded focus to help us accomplish our mission, but we can’t very well leave Webber behind.

Galenia steps in. “What happened to coming back for him?” she asks, looking at him with pleading eyes.

Reluctantly, he relents. We go—one of us rather begrudgingly—down the hall to the sorting rooms where we last saw Webber. I count the doors as I go, hoping beyond hope that I’m counting right. Everything is so foggy from yesterday, and it all happened so fast. I try hard to play the moment over in my mind. “It was the fifth door on the right, right?” I ask. No one answers.

“Let’s try it and see.” I take a breath and open the door. None of the doors in hell are locked. There’s nowhere for the souls to go, and most don’t even try to escape. They don’t even see it as an option. Demons and Reapers are the only ones who know the doors aren’t locked. Surely Webber thinks he’s trapped, just as the souls do.

The cell is dark, making it impossible to see very far inside. The red glow from the hallway spills inside some, making the darkness retreat to the very back of the cell. This leaves a small area where he could be hiding. “Webber?” I whisper into the darkness. No reply.

“If you’re in here, now’s not the time for caution.” Silence. I sigh and glance back at the others, who are keeping watch in the hall. We haven’t seen any demons so far, but I doubt our luck will hold. Taking a risk, I decide to walk the perimeter of the room. I don’t want to move on without him if he’s right under my nose. But we don’t have time to search every cell this way. We still have the prison to address. I pick up my pace as I walk, feeling my way along the wall when I reach the total darkness in the back. I try not to think about what I’m touching as my hand runs over cold, smooth bumps.

I can’t accept the fact that he’s not here, that they’ve moved him deeper into hell. My hope to find him fast and move on is withering in the face of the growing idea that we might not find him at all.

As I shuffle forward in the darkness, no one speaks. Slowly, I circle back around to the door, having found the cell empty.

“Maybe I picked the wrong cell,” I say, hoping that’s true. But here in hell, truths are hard to come by.

No one says anything as Penn and Horatia take the door to the left and Galenia and I take the door to the right. Theirs is another empty space, but mine has someone inside. Unfortunately, it’s not our quarry.

“Who are you?” the soul asks, his voice quivering.

I frown sadly at him. I can’t help him. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” I say before shutting the door.

He runs to it and pounds hard, making a tremendous amount of noise. “Please! Don’t leave me here! You have to help me!”

Soon, we hear the telltale shuffling of demons approaching. With nowhere else to go, we all duck into Webber’s empty cell.

A demon bangs on the cell next door. “Hey,” he hollers. His loud voice echoes through the halls. The man immediately stops pounding and goes quiet.

“Don’t make me come in there,” the demon threatens.

We listen to his steps recede, and even after he’s long gone, we sit in the silence and darkness, not quite sure of what to do next.

“We could ask a demon where he went. Tell them we’re trainees, and we’re curious to know what happened to the soul we brought in yesterday,” Horatia suggests.

Although it’s not a bad suggestion, I’d rather not seek out the attention of demons. It seems like we’d just be asking for trouble. On the other hand, what better place to hide than out in the open? I waffle for a moment before I land on a decision. “I think we should at least try to find him on our own. Asking a demon can be our last resort,” I say.

“The demon yesterday said Webber thought he was better than others. That might narrow down where they brought him. If they decided that was his punishable crime. If they chose something else…” I take a deep breath. “He could be anywhere.” My mind spins with the possibilities. Hell is broken into many different areas, each focused on punishing a particular set of crimes. We’ll never cover all of hell in one night. The search could take more than a lifetime. That’s just the nature of hell. You’re not meant to leave.

“We shouldn’t have left him here,” Galenia says.

“We had no choice,” Penn says in the darkness. “We had to go or be trapped here right along with him.”

“We can’t afford to dwell on shouldas and couldas. We need to focus on what we can do now,” I say as I squeak the door open, letting a sliver of light into the cell. Poking my head out, I scan the hall in both directions. No one is out there wandering, so I ease my way out and lead the others deeper into hell.

At the end of the corridor, the holding cells taper off, and the walkway opens to an expansive stone room that maintains the same creepy, red glow. The smell of sulfur is even worse as we move deeper into hell, and I fear I may never get it out of my nose, let alone my hair. There’s a tall but seemingly controlled flame in front of us. It travels the length of the room, extending at least three feet above my head.

“What is this?” Horatia asks.

“It’s the maze,” I say. “It’s where those who’ve misled others for one reason or another are trapped. They’re doomed to go round and round inside for all eternity, never finding their way out.”

“That’s terrible,” Galenia says.

“It’s meant to mirror what they’ve done in life to others.” I say, my tone matter of fact. As Reapers, we’re taught not to dwell on the punishments. They are carefully crafted, calculated, and assigned. The punishments assigned to human souls are earned through a misspent lifetime on Earth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Do you think he could be in there?” Horatia asks.

“Not really. But if he’s there and we don’t look for him, we’ll always regret it,” I say.

“He did sort of mislead us about his skills as a Spinner. He always said he’d be a better Spinner than Penn, and we all know how that turned out,” Horatia says. Webber always coveted Penn’s job, saying he’d do a superior job to the best Spinner in history. Well, when Penn was banished, he finally got what he wanted. But it turns out he was much better suited to life as a weaver, although I’m not sure he would admit that. Not even now.

Even if we manage to rescue him from hell, I have no idea what his future will hold. We all know he’ll be replaced as the Spinner as soon as a suitable candidate can be found. And someone has already replaced him as Weaver. So he can’t go back to his previous job either. It’s a problem for a day when our problems are more superficial than they are today. First, we have to get him out of this dreadful place.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” I say, gazing at the wall of fire.

“You’re going in there?” Galenia asks, clearly horrified.

I laugh. The sound feels out of place, and it echoes throughout the caverns. Clapping my mouth shut, I listen for the footsteps of demons running toward the odd noise in their home.

When I feel safe—well, as safe as I can feel in hell—I shake my head. “No, I’m not going in there. But if Horatia stands on Penn’s shoulders, she should be able to get a good view of who’s inside. Just try to be discreet. If any of the souls see you, they’ll want help.”

Horatia and Penn are the two tallest members of our group. The fire is taller than I am, but their combined height should allow them to see past it.

As she’s climbing up onto Penn’s shoulders, Horatia says, “There’s so much fire, but there’s no smoke or heat.”

“These are the flames of hell,” I explain. “They will only burn or choke those they’re meant to burn and choke. The souls inside have probably long since moved away from them. The fire is only on the outermost edge, to discourage escape. The souls who travel through it think they’ve gained refuge in the corridors of the maze, but things only get worse for them the further they go. Spikes jut out at them from all angles so they can’t sit down, horrific creatures crawl on them, people chase them… basically anything that keeps the soul moving constantly, without rest.”

No one says anything. It’s a terrible fate, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it, so Penn hoists Horatia up.

They tumble on the first try. “This dress is a bit… cumbersome, Michaela,” Horatia says. “How do you get anything done in it?”

I smile. “Carefully.”

She snorts and tries again, hoisting herself up on Penn’s shoulders. “Helpful.” She’s quiet for a long moment as she searches the maze. Finally, she whispers, “I see someone close by, but it’s not Webber.”

Before she can climb down, I implore her to keep looking. “Do you see anyone else?”

“Yes. There are so many souls inside…” Her voice is low, and her face has lost its color. She’s despairing. One by one, that toxic emotion will take all of us if I let it.

“Don’t lose hope now. We will find him,” I say, desperately trying to give her some hope in this hopeless place.

“How? There are too many to count, let alone identify.”

“Should we call out to him?” Penn asks as he holds onto Horatia’s ankles.

Galenia wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think we should draw attention to ourselves. If we’re discovered here, we’ll be no good to him.”

“What do you think, Michaela?” Penn asks as he shifts his weight, balancing Horatia carefully.

“I don’t think he’s in there. And if he is… he’s as good as lost to us anyway,” I say darkly. There’s no way we could save him from the maze. There’s one way in, but there’s no way out. Truthfully, though I don’t tell them as much, we needn’t have looked. If we found him in there, we’d only be able to say goodbye. He wouldn’t have heard us, but at least we would have had closure.

We’re all silent for a moment while Horatia climbs down.

“What now?” she asks once her feet are firmly back on the ground.

“We go deeper into hell.”

11

We walk the perimeter of the maze for what feels like an eternity, and I start to worry about how much time we have left. We can’t be caught here during work hours. If we are, Lily will be left behind to become one of Earth’s lonely shades, and the Reapers will be short another hand. Not to mention the fact that all the Fates will be lost. The creation of human life will come to a complete and total standstill.

Of course, trying to calculate what time it is in hell is nearly impossible. It’s designed to feel infinite and excruciating.

“We need to watch the time,” I say as we finally make it to the other end of the maze. The room starts to narrow in, leading to another corridor. I’m not looking forward to going back to the cramped caverns, but at least it’ll lead us away from the maze.

I pause in the entryway to the next section, listening hard for wandering demons. When I hear nothing, I press forward. It’s an odd area, and the group has a hard time processing what we’re seeing.

The long hallway we’re walking down is lined with cells on either side. The cells all have old-fashioned wooden doors, embedded with small windows covered by iron bars. It’s reminiscent of an old dungeon, save for the red glow that bathes everything in demonic light.

Taking a divide-and-conquer approach, we each choose a cell and peer inside. There are tremendous amounts of people in each. But on further inspection, there is only one solid soul in each of them. The others are a bit transparent. The soul at the center of the mass I’m watching is holding his ears. He’s being verbally assaulted by the others. They’re asking questions, placing demands, telling stories, and jabbering continuously. It’s an unceasing hum of sound.

The reflections are tugging at him, pulling his hands away from his ears, demanding to be heard, to be heeded, but not necessarily to be answered. When he relents and brings his hands down, the reflections only press in harder and speak louder.

Despite the fact that we’ve delved further into hell than most heavenly beings ever do, each new form of torture is difficult to absorb. We stand at those first cells and watch the souls trapped inside, helpless to save them. I remember seeing this section of hell centuries ago on my tour, but I haven’t been back since. Still, the memory is fresh. The sight of those tortured souls isn’t easily forgotten.

“What is the larger message here?” Galenia asks. “Those in the maze were left to wander after misleading folks their whole lives. What have these people done?”

Penn speaks up before I can, which surprises me. “I read about this in the Keepers’ books. This punishment is for those who thrived on attention, demanding things from everyone around them, talking constantly about themselves and their own needs without ever expecting a response. These were the souls who always ensured the focus was constantly on them.” He says it without taking his eyes off the soul inside the cell he’s peering into.

“It’s not necessarily their only crime,” I add. “Just the one the demons deemed most effective to punish.”

“What does that mean?” Horatia asks.

“Each human is unique, and so is their punishment,” I try to explain as we walk, peeking into each cell, searching for our lost Spinner. “Some humans who were violent toward others, murderers, rapists, things like that, aren’t necessarily hurt by violence themselves. In fact, they enjoy it. So the demons must find another way to torture them. Perhaps a man like that sought validation from his mother as a child and never got it? He might be trapped with a reflection of her, only to be ignored for all eternity. Although there are general areas of hell where many souls are receiving the same treatment, the demons will assure you each punishment is specially tailored to the soul. They take great pride in the care that goes into the soul’s time here.”

I pause as I stand on my tiptoes and peek into the next cell. Not him. “Honestly, they devote just as much time to the souls here in hell as they do in heaven. The care is just… different.”

“Different is one way to put it,” Horatia says as she checks the cell next to me.

In the distance, I hear footsteps and a thunderous sound that can only be a pair of demons laughing. They’re coming straight for us. With nowhere to go, we each duck into our respective cells. After all, they’re not locked. It doesn’t seem like the best plan, but we’re out of options.

After soundlessly shutting the door, I sink down to the floor just below the window. Should the demon look inside, I don’t want to be seen. I wish I could tell the others to do the same, but I can only hope they’re smart enough to stay hidden.

The demons wander past the cells, dragging something along the doors, making a terribly loud banging noise. It’s that sound that draws the attention of the soul inside the cell I’ve snuck into.

He locks eyes with me, and it’s obvious he knows I’m not a reflection. Somehow, he understands I don’t belong here. He pushes through the crowd of reflections, and they follow him, bringing their racket with them. Louder and louder and louder they come.

Automatically, my hands rise to my ears, and I can no longer hear anything from outside. I have no idea where the demons are, let alone if they’ve moved on.

“Please,” the soul pleads with me. He’s a businessman in appearance—middle aged and clean cut—except for his loosened tie and disheveled hair, which I can only assume are results of his imprisonment.

I don’t respond to him, figuring it’s best not to engage. Risking a glance up at the window, I start to stand for a better view, but the very distinct smell of rotting flesh makes me sink slowly back down.

“Hey,” the demon in the hallway shouts as he bangs on the door with some kind of object. “Keep it down in there. Get back away from the door.”

“But there’s someone in here with me,” the spirit says, throwing caution to the wind.

“Yes. There are a lot of people in there with you, I imagine. Get back away from the door,” he insists.

Faintly, I can hear the other demon having a similar conversation at another cell. I can only hope the soul in there is cowed into silence.

My heart pounds so loudly I fear it may give me away.

The soul crouches down in front of me, and the ghosts pile on top of him, screaming their incessant demands. “Please. Show yourself to him. Maybe you can get us both out of here,” he shouts.

The demon bangs on the door again, silencing the ghosts for just an instant. “Don’t make me come in there. Get away from the door.”

The other demon joins him. I’m sunk, I think. They’re sure to find me in here. I try to come up with an excuse for why I’m inside, but I know my ideas are all thin… The best story I can think of is that I’m conducting some sort of inspection.

The door swings inward, pushing me between it and the wall.

“I’m not screwing around here, bub. Get away from the damned door,” the demon says. His partner must be leaning against the door, because it’s absolutely crushing me. I can barely take a breath, and suddenly, I’m glad I was crouching. At least I have more padding. I try to wiggle my arms up to cushion my head a bit better, but they’re totally pinned. After I catch a glimpse of the back of the demon’s partner, I freeze in place. It’s a Warden. Dressed in jeans and a freshly pressed button-down shirt, he looks oddly human in this world of monsters. But that’s the Warden’s appeal. They often buddy up with the souls inside these cells, giving them false hope—something that will only torture them more in the long run. The Wardens are managers of a sort. If this one finds me, I will never see the mists again. Forgiveness and second chances are not phrases that exist in hell.

The soul inside the cell isn’t deterred by the Warden. The reflections have disappeared for the moment. He scoots away from the door, but he points right at me and looks me in the eye. I silently plead with him for discretion, but he ignores it. Or maybe he’s beyond understanding. “She’s there.”

That single heartbeat drags on for an eternity. The trapped man sits, leaning back on one hand, his other hand extended toward me in an accusing gesture. The first demon towers over him, burned flesh hanging from his body, huge black wings extending from his back. If he turns and sees me, it’s over.

Your fight isn’t over yet. I hear God’s words echoing in my mind. Don’t give up so easily, I chide myself. It’s not the end until you decide to stop fighting. I try to take a deep, cleansing breath, but it’s enough to remind me of my situation. I’m pinned behind the door, just inches from a demon. A short, silent gasp will have to do.

“I think it’s time for a transfer,” the demon says as he looks over his right shoulder at his friend, the Warden. I freeze, hoping neither of them can see me. I feel like the fear coursing through me is a lighthouse drawing the demons’ red gaze, but I can’t seem to calm my pounding heart.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the Warden agrees. He must have moved away from the door, because the pressure eases a little, revealing more of me. Together, they pull the man’s spirit from the cell. He fights them, giving me time to gather the bottom of my dress and cover myself in the darkness behind the door, using it as a makeshift shield to blend into the wall. Or that’s my hope, anyway

I don’t risk peeking out at them. I’m completely wrapped in the skirt of my dress, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself by doing something as stupid as moving…or even breathing.

I hold my breath as I listen to the nearby struggle. The two demons seem to be teasing the soul, laughing at his attempts to get away from them.

“I don’t see anyone at all. Do you?” the Warden asks.

This is it. The moment of truth. I can tell from the clarity of their voices that they’re facing me. The door isn’t concealing me at all anymore. It opened enough in my scramble that I’m totally exposed, save for the cover of my gown.

“Nope. All I see is a damned fool,” the demon says.

They laugh again as they open the door a little wider, slamming it against me, and carry the poor soul out of the cell. They close it behind them, thank God. The soul puts up quite a fight judging from the sound of the scuffle, and eventually, the demons get tired of it. I hear a thump, followed by the soul’s silence. His presence in the hall is now covered up by the incessant murmuring of voices coming from all sides of the hallway.

“Finally,” the Warden says.

“Aw, but I was having fun with him.”

“I was getting tired of his struggling. He has no fear of us. That needs to be corrected immediately.” The dark tone of his voice makes me wince. I’ve caused this soul further pain, further torture.

Their footsteps and voices fade as they carry the man down the hall away from us.

I’m frozen by fear and left in total silence inside the cell. That’s twice in one day I’ve come close to losing my existence, and it’s more than I can take. The shaking sets in first. It becomes so violent that my gown cocoon falls away on its own accord. My breathing comes in short bursts, never fully filling my lungs. Panic sets in with the realization that I’m not getting enough air.

My eyes dart around as the door to the cell slowly opens.

I freeze, knowing this will be my end. I can take no more.

“Michaela?” Penn whispers.

But I am paralyzed. I can’t answer him. I can only watch him come into the cell, the girls trailing close behind him.

“Michaela,” he says more urgently. It’s still a whisper, but it sounds more like an impatient hiss this time. He doesn’t see me yet, and his tone does nothing to spur me into movement. My friends walk further into the cell, letting the door close softly behind them. It’s dark without the light from the hallway, but they’re close enough to the window I can still see them, and if they turn around, they will see me.

Galenia is the one who notices me first. She rushes over and crouches down beside me. “Penn.” It’s nothing more than an echo of a whisper to me. I register the concern in her eyes, but I’m struggling to comprehend it. It’s hard to care.

Penn kneels in front of me and takes my face in his hands, while Galenia puts a comforting arm around me.

“We thought you were gone,” Penn whispers.

I can’t answer him. Maybe I am gone. I’ve lost control of myself. It’s as if I’m trapped in a frozen body.

Noticing how shaken I am, he wraps his arms around me, and Galenia tightens her half embrace. Horatia stands guard by the door, glancing nervously between the outside and us.

“Michaela, come back to me,” Penn whispers in my ear. “I feel like I’ve already lost so much to this place. I can’t lose you too. Come back to me.” It doesn’t help. I’m too far gone. And I’m starting to find comfort in this lack of being. I’m drifting. Their voices are too far away to reach me.

Galenia’s expression turns grave, and she pushes Penn away from me. “Michaela. Remember the waterfalls on Earth.” It’s not a question; it’s a command. “The mountains. The rolling hills and the white sand beaches. Remember the look on a child’s face when you lead him or her into heaven.”

Penn realizes what she’s doing and cuts in. “Remember the man you told me about. How much he loved his wife despite their differences. How they sat on that bench after a fight, and each reached out to the other.” It was something I’d shared with him when I brought him back to the heavens. I told him that story of hope after he asked me which of my experiences as a Reaper had moved me most. Although that couple’s relationship wasn’t perfect, far from it in fact, they never let go of hope, and so they always held on to each other.

Galenia smiled. “Remember the good.” I notice her voice isn’t echoing anymore. It’s just above a whisper, but it’s crystal clear.

The shaking slowly stops, and I take a deep breath and blink a few times, as if seeing my friends through new eyes. “We need to find Webber, free Kismet and the others, and get the heck out of here,” I say. “I’m sick of this place.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Penn says, taking my arm and helping me up. I’m still a bit wobbly on my feet, but at least we’re all here. At least we can move forward again.

Galenia holds onto one of my hands as we walk down the hallway, as if she’s worried I’ll succumb to panic again and be lost to them forever. I squeeze her hand, letting her know how much I appreciate her support.

The hallway ends and we are forced to choose, left or right. Or, more accurately, right or wrong. Or perhaps wrong or wrong if we’re not even in the right part of hell. I have no idea where Webber could be at this point. So our choice is no more educated than if we were to flip a coin and let, well, fate decide.

“What do you think?” Penn asks.

It’s then that I spot something lying off to the side of the hall. Curious, I release Galenia’s hand and go to it. “It’s a shoe,” I declare. But not just any shoe. It’s the black dress shoe of a male Reaper.

“Webber,” I breathe, not wanting to scare away the hope that this single shoe has given me.

12

We follow the corridor until new doors appear. They’re the same as the doors from the previous chambers—ancient splintered wood embedded with small, barred windows.

After glancing back and forth, searching for an errant demon, I glance inside the window of the first door. The man inside is surrounded by piles and piles of food—decadent sweets, luxurious cuts of steak, broiled lobsters, everything a foodie could possibly want. But he sits in a corner, crying as the food continues to appear in front of him. If he shifts by a matter of inches, more food piles up around him. The odor from the piles and piles of food pours out into the hall. The scents don’t complement each other very well, so the stench makes me wrinkle my nose. Fresh-cooked fish and the sweet smell of homemade waffle cones. It must be overwhelming inside.

“Did that man have an eating disorder?” Galenia asks as she looks over my shoulder.

I shrug as we move to the next cell. This soul is surrounded by gorgeous women of all shapes, colors, and sizes. They’re all demanding attention from him, but he’s crying and trying to get away from them. They follow him when he retreats to the corner of the room, pawing at him as he goes. Some of them start taking off their clothes and brushing their bare skin against him. It makes him run to another corner. But with only four corners in his room, the cycle quickly starts again.

“Was he a hermit? Why are there only women? I don’t understand this area, Michaela. What’s happening to these souls?” Galenia asks as we walk on to the next cell.

Penn turns sober. “I read about this when I was sneaking around as a Keeper. This is where people who lusted after others’ things finally get what they wanted. But it doesn’t make them happy, and it never will. The food isn’t to their taste. Or those who have money in their cells…” He nods toward the next cell. The woman inside is sitting on a pile of gold—gold bars, goblets, plates, coins. The room looks like Scrooge McDuck’s vault. But she’s just sitting there with a dazed look on her face. “Gold is worthless in hell. She finally has what she wanted, what she lusted after her whole life, and now she can’t do a single thing with it.” I can hear the sadness in his voice as we keep walking.

The corridor is long, and there’s a prisoner in each cell. As we near the end, I start to lose some of the excitement I felt upon finding that shoe. “If we don’t find him, we need to consider what we want to do.”

“You mean leave him here again?” Galenia asks, clearly opposed to the suggestion.

“We have to get out before the demons’ workday starts, or we’ll be trapped here right along with him.”

Her frown tells me what she thinks of that, and Penn adds, “We’re not leaving here without Kismet again.”

“Penn, we may not have a choice. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in here. By the time we make our way back to the gate, we may be out of time.”

Horatia, whose function as a Fate is, after all, to count off the days owed to each new soul, comes to my rescue. “We have time, Michaela. I will tell you when we need to go back. For now, we have time.”

I nod. Although I don’t fully understand how she can keep track of the passage of minutes and hours in hell, I trust her all the same.

“I found him,” Galenia says as she stands outside a cell a few doors up. The phrase cuts to my very core, and I’m torn between excitement and dread. What have they done to him?

We gather quickly around the window. The man inside the cell sits near a mound of wool. He’s trying to make fabric or something out of it, but it’s designed to be an impossible task. A spinning wheel sits off in the corner, but he can’t seem to successfully get a handful of the wool. When he finally does, he pricks his finger on the needle several times while trying to get it onto the machine. He kicks the wheel over, throws the wool, spits on it, and then starts over, because he has nothing else to do. We watch him cycle through these actions several times, entranced by his torture.

Finally, he screams… and it snaps us all out of our trance.

“Webber,” I whisper. “We’re here for you.”

13

“They know who he is,” Penn says as we stand outside the door watching him work the wool.

“No. They can’t,” I say. “Knowingly trapping a Reaper is one thing, but a Fate? They wouldn’t cross that line.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true, no matter how badly I want to believe them. The demons do what they want inside these walls. As far as they’re concerned, anyone stupid enough to wander into their lair deserves what they get.

This punishment—Webber working the wool, trying to make something—is clearly intended to mock him. But do they really know who he is, or are they simply trying to humiliate him to teach him the respect they think he needs?

We may never know the answer to that.

Tired of wondering, I pull the creaky door open and slip inside. The others follow close behind me, and they’re careful to shut the door, giving us a small amount of privacy in case a demon should walk by.

“Webber,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle him. But he ignores me. Or maybe he didn’t hear.

I go closer to him and raise my voice a little. I don’t want a demon to hear me shouting at him, but I need him to hear me. “Webber, come on. It’s time to go.” He ignores me again. We’re only a few feet from each other, so this time, I know he had to hear me.

“What’s happening?” Galenia quietly asks. At the sound of her voice, Webber flinches, but he refuses to look over at us. He simply continues his trek back and forth between the pile of wool and the wheel.

“Maybe he’s not real,” Penn says. “Maybe this is a trap for us.” He looks around the dim room, as if readying himself for an attack.

Panic settles into my stomach, and I go back to the door, but it opens easily. “No. This isn’t a trap for us,” I say, watching Webber closely as he makes a few more trips from the pile of wool to the wheel.

I reach out and grab his shoulder. “Webber,” I murmur.

“That’s enough!” he cries out, slapping my hand away. “How much more do you need to torture me?” Tears stream freely down his cheeks now. He pushes past me so forcefully that I almost fall down.

Penn’s eyes fill with anger as he helps me up. He looks about ready to punch Webber, and part of me wants to let him do it. Maybe it would snap him out of this. But no, that isn’t my way.

I go over to him again. This time, I hold out my hand rather than touch him, hoping he’ll come to me. Finally, he looks at me, really looks at me. The pain in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It breaks my already broken heart into a thousand more pieces. But I still hold out my hand, a lifesaver in this sea of torture, if only he’ll take it.

For a long time, we just stand there looking at each other. He looks tired. His bleach-blond hair that is normally perfectly combed to one side is incredibly disheveled. His dark gray eyes have lost their confidence. No longer do they hold any kind of challenge. The light has gone out of them.

After one day in hell, his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for a week. The once form-fitting white shirt that fades to grey at the bottom is torn in several places and hangs off him, and his grey-to-black colored pants are dirty and covered in some kind of gray filth.

But I’m sure I don’t look like the prettiest picture in the world after all we’ve been through. We’ve literally been to hell and back for him, and I’m sure he can see it on my face.

I hold steady, my hand extended to Webber, knowing he’ll take it when he’s ready.

After a little while longer, his face starts to soften, as if he’s really starting to see me.

“What do you have to lose?” I ask.

He reaches out and takes my hand.

14

Before we can leave his cell, we have to come up with a plan. “I should’ve known it was you and not some cheap imitation. Your lack of an escape plan gives you away,” Webber says with a hint of judgment in his voice, almost as if he’s back to his old self.

“You’re in a very precarious position to be so opinionated on the matter,” Penn warns. Webber doesn’t respond.

“I’ll go on to the prison. The rest of you can get him out,” Penn volunteers.

“You can’t do that by yourself, Penn,” I say. “Even if I gave you clear instructions on how to get there, you’d need someone else to help you free them. Honestly, I’m not sure what we should do. The last time I was there, I tried to break their chains and nothing worked. We’ll need to work together.”

Penn frowns, but I can tell he’s relenting. “Fine. Horatia and Galenia, you can take Webber home. Michaela and I will go to the prison. If we’re not back by the start of the workday, improvise. Webber can go back to work as the Spinner, and Michaela… well, maybe they won’t notice she’s gone with everything else that’s going on.”

I snort. “Right. And maybe the one who’s responsible for all this will just bump into us on our way out and surrender.”

He shrugs. “It could happen.”

I know a shorter way out than the way we came in. But it involves going slightly deeper into hell, which the others aren’t crazy about, particularly Webber.

“Look, once they discover you’re gone, it’s gonna be chaotic,” I say. “We need to get you out as fast as possible. And wandering back through the chambers and caverns isn’t ideal,” I say.

Penn nods, although the other Fates look skeptical. “Fine. Lead the way.”

I take them down to the end of the corridor, which opens to a pit of lava.

“Michaela, this is a dead end,” Galenia points out, but her tone is more despondent than accusing.

Rather than respond, I point in the distance. There’s a narrow stone bridge that traverses the lava.

“We’ll be sitting ducks on that thing, Michaela,” Penn says. “I think we should go back.”

I frown. I’m convinced going back that way would be akin to suicide. I can already hear some scrambling echoing down the corridor behind us. “We can’t go back by Webber’s cell. It’ll be crawling with demons very soon, if it isn’t already. They’ve never had a successful break out before, and there are reasons for that. The Hunters are good at what they do, and they’ll be after us before long. We need a quick getaway. The outskirts of hell are just on the other side of this bridge. If we can make it, we’re home free.”

Horatia swallows hard. “If we can make it,” she chokes out.

“We knew this wouldn’t be easy. This is the way out. I promise,” I say, imploring them to make haste. “The longer we stand here and debate it, the greater the danger of being caught. We don’t know what they’ll do to us if we’re caught, but not knowing might be the worst torture of all.”

Webber laughs darkly at that. A maniacal look spreads across his face as he says, “You have no idea.”

Galenia is the first one to take a step forward. “You’ve gotten us this far,” she says as she walks toward the bridge without looking back. Webber needs some encouraging, so Penn jerks him along. His resistance ends when a roar splits the air. It’s easy to guess what’s happened—his empty cell has been discovered.

We skirt the narrow ledge that runs along the edge of the pool and leads to the bridge. It’s tricky in a few places, with fallen boulders to go around and cracks to jump over. I watch my footing carefully, but Webber isn’t so surefooted, nor is he watching where he’s going. He’s too busy looking over his shoulder with wild eyes.

It’s not surprising when Webber loses his balance and grabs the closest person, who happens to be Horatia. She goes over the edge, but not before Penn leaps forward and grabs her arm. Webber hangs from the hem of her dress, and I can hear it tearing.

“Webber, grab my leg. It won’t hold,” she begs, referring to her dress.

“Stop kicking,” he yells, the desperation in his voice echoing off the cavern walls.

“Quiet… both of you,” I whisper, worried this slip up will draw attention to us.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you dangling above a pool of lava?” Webber snaps.

“No, but that’s because I was watching where I was going,” I say, and I immediately clap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, Webber, I don’t know where that came from.” But I do. This journey is grating on me, and his attitude isn’t helping. We’ve stuck our necks out an awful long way for him, particularly since he hasn’t even thanked us.

A very dark thought creeps into my head just then. If he fell, we could easily pull Horatia up and move on.

Just as soon as I think it, I chide myself. I’ve been in hell too long; it’s starting to affect me. We need to get out of here, and we need to get out now.

Meanwhile, Penn is sweating bullets, struggling to hold them both as he lies on his stomach, hanging halfway over the ledge. “I’d love to hear the rest of this terribly interesting conversation, but I’d appreciate it if you’d all shut up and give me a hand.”

Galenia and I rush to his aid; I lay flat on the thin ledge, letting a small part of my body hang over, while Galenia crouches behind me and holds on to my legs. Once I’m in position, I grab Horatia’s arm. With more leverage, Penn and I are able to pull Horatia up, but she can’t clamber onto the ledge because Webber is weighing her down. Penn tries to get Webber to grab the ledge and let go of Horatia, but he can’t get their movements coordinated. Webber is thrashing around, trying to get purchase on the wall with his foot, but it’s not helping, and it’s making it hard to keep my grip on Horatia.

“Webber, you fool. You’re going to kill us both,” Horatia shouts at him. I cringe as their voices echo off the stone walls around us. Hopefully, the demons are making too much of a commotion to hear us. But I know it’s only a matter of time before the Hunters are set loose, and we’re not exactly keeping a low profile.

“Come on, let’s pull them up together,” I tell Penn. We tug Horatia’s arms with all our might, and I can only imagine that with Webber pulling her down and us pulling her up, she must feel like she’s being torn apart. She bites down on her bottom lip, and I appreciate her effort to keep the noise down.

Penn grunts as we heft Horatia halfway onto the ledge. Her entire upper body is safe, but Webber is still dangling. I hold her in place while Penn reaches over and tries to retrieve Webber. Despite the fact that Webber is panicking, Penn grabs hold of his shirt with one hand and his arm with the other, and muscles him onto the ledge.

There’s a moment where he’s free of Horatia, and I’m not sure Penn will get him up onto the ledge we’re all so precariously piled up on, so I squeeze my eyes shut and hope for the best while I hold on for dear life to Horatia.

When I’m finally brave enough to open my eyes again, I see Webber in a heap against the wall, and Penn looking like he’s about to beat the living daylights out of him. “Penn. Not now. Help me with Horatia,” I warn.

“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice low and menacing, matching the terrifying tone of our surroundings. I’m starting to worry about Penn. He’s not himself. This place has sunk its claws in him—it’s affecting him more than it is the rest of us, and I can only imagine it has something to do with his affinity toward humanity. I can hardly fault him for that.

But to my relief, Penn leaves Webber panting in a heap by the wall and comes to my rescue. Working together, it’s easy for Penn and me to hoist Horatia up onto the ledge. We hug her when she’s safely on the closest thing to solid ground we have at the moment.

Penn goes back to Webber. “That’s twice you’ve nearly killed us all. If you think for a second I was on board with coming back here and saving you, you’re wrong. Next time you pull something like that, it will be your last. Mark my words, Webber.”

We all spend a tense moment shifting our weight on the edge of a pit of lava, waiting to see if Webber will respond.

When he doesn’t say anything, Horatia speaks up. “Who’s for Webber walking in front from now on?”

We all look back at him, still lying on his side up against the wall, staring into the lava pit with terrified eyes.

It’s in that moment that I’m reminded of our larger purpose… and the fact that we’re losing our chance at achieving it the longer we delay. “Webber, either you make your way to the front, or we move on without you,” I say, hating myself for saying it, hating him for putting me in such a terrible position.

He looks up at me with that lost, wild look in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare,” he says, but he’s scared, not defiant.

“Don’t force my hand,” I say, standing up straight. He slowly stands, and we press ourselves against the wall, making it easier for him to climb over us.

First, he must get past Penn. It’s a tense moment for all of us. I fear he will throw Webber into the pit, and frankly, I wouldn’t entirely blame him for it. But though Penn glares at Webber in hatred and balls his hands in fists, he allows Webber to stumble past him without hitting him. The rest of us try not to touch him either, and we certainly don’t let him grab onto us as he makes his clumsy way to the front. I, for one, don’t want a repeat of what just happened. I’ve always known him to be a bit of a weasel, but I’ve lost what little trust I had for him. So when he tries to grab my hand for balance, I twist away.

“No. Don’t touch me,” I coldly say. Hell is getting to me too. I think it’s getting to all of us.

Once he’s at the front, I position myself behind him. The three other Fates, with Penn in the rear, follow. Finally, we make it to the base of the bridge.

“We will be very exposed on the bridge. It’s important that we get across as quickly as possible.”

The bridge is nothing more than a stone walkway. No rails, no ledges, nothing to protect us from falling into the lava. Our only lucky break is that it’s wider than the ledge we just walked across. Two of us could walk shoulder to shoulder without any problem, although it’s safer to walk one by one.

I push Webber out onto the walkway first, following close behind. “Run,” I command.

But as soon as we step on to the bridge, fire rains down on us from above. “It’s a trap. Go!” I urge, but Webber is frozen in place. “You’ll get burned if you stay here. Go!” I yell, pushing him more forcefully.

Finally, he starts to put one foot in front of another, but not before a fiery piece of ash falls in my hair, setting it alight. Galenia beats at it furiously, putting out the flames with her bare hands.

“We have to get out of here,” she yells above the roar of rushing fire all around us.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, pushing Webber along, urging him to pick up the pace. Finally, an ember lands on his shoulder, burning through his clothing and contacting his skin.

He cries out in pain, and then flat-out runs toward the other end of the bridge. We breach the halfway point, and we’re far enough for me to see the opening to the corridor that leads to the outskirts of hell. We’re so close…

Then I hear an ominous voice from behind me.

“Reaper,” it calls, and I screech to a halt. It’s as if my feet obey his commands rather than my own. The others crash into me, but Webber keeps running on ahead. That’s for the best.

“Go,” I command the others. “Go. I will handle this. I’ll be right behind you,” I promise, and they reluctantly step around me. Penn is the last to move past me, and he squeezes my hand in passing.

“Michaela,” he says, but I silence him. I don’t know if this is goodbye. If so, I don’t have time to process that. I only know that I need to save them so they can save Kismet and the others. And I can give them the time to do that.

“Go! I’ll meet you at the gate.” Penn frowns and reluctantly follows the others.

The hunter is at least three times my size. Fiery light shines through the cracks in his black skin and waves of heat pour from his eyes and mouth. Black horns curve around his face, connecting with a line of fire. He holds a stone ax of some kind, though I’m not well versed enough in demon weaponry to identify it. All I know is it’s bigger than my body, rectangular and worse than deadly. With it, I know he can erase me from this world. He growls at me and the sound blends with the fire roaring all around me, amplifying the racket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. I can physically feel the heat from his words, and it blows my hair back around me, making me stand up a little straighter.

“The right thing,” I say. I’m scrambling for ideas as he steps out onto the bridge. I can’t just stall him and expect to survive. I have to either stop him or get him to go in another direction without me. But how?

That’s when it occurs to me. The souls. Will they protect me here in hell? The ghosts tried to hurt me, but they owe nothing to anyone here in hell. But it feels like it’s worth a shot now that I'm standing in front of the Hunter. Anything is worth a shot at this point.

I raise my arms as the Hunter’s fierce growl sends ripples through my dress and warms my face.

“Souls of hell. You are needed. Come to me now,” I say as calmly as possible, looking up toward my raised arms. When nothing happens, I start to feel foolish.

The Hunter laughs—a terrible sound that makes rocks fall from the walls and crash into the lava below. It splashes up onto the bridge, taking chunks of the structure along with it as it seeps back into the depths. “You’re a fool. The souls of hell know there’s no redemption for them. You are alone, Reaper.” I turn to look behind me, and he’s right. My friends are gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. Hopefully, they’re safe, for now.

Continuing to hold my hands up above my head, I say again, louder this time, “Souls of hell. You are needed. Come to me now!” I clap my hands together, making a sound like thunder. The Hunter stops advancing on me as a ball of light appears between my raised hands. A soul appears out of nowhere in front of me. Wordlessly, he turns to face the Hunter. Suddenly, there are more and more souls, until there is a wall of them separating me from the Hunter.

There is an angry roar that shakes the very foundation of hell, but I don’t feel the heat from it. The souls are completely blocking him from me. The bridge starts to collapse under the Hunter’s rage, and the souls start chanting.

“Go.” They say the single word over and over again, as if they are one soul, not thousands. It’s a haunting and sad sound, making it difficult for me to leave them. But I know what I must do. This will probably be the end of them, but at least they will have redeemed themselves by helping another soul.

The Hunter is breathing fire at them, melting them out of existence one by one. They’re advancing on him, trying to overwhelm him. I honestly can’t tell who will win. Part of me wants to stay and watch, but their relentless chanting finally spurs me into movement.

“Thank you,” I say before I turn and run.

I find myself alone on the outskirts of hell. Demons are rushing everywhere, but none of them seem to take notice of me. I can only hope it stays that way. Sneaking from one hiding place to the next, I make my way toward the gate, looking for any sign of my friends.

Finally, I emerge from the darkness and see the four of them huddling near the gate. Horatia and Galenia are hugging Penn while Webber stands alone off to the side.

As I make my way toward them, I spot an errant demon out of the corner of my eye. He’s rushing at them with wild eyes. Webber sees him first and runs out of the gate without looking back. Galenia sees him next, but she can’t do anything because she’s mid-hug with Penn. Stepping out in front of them, Horatia holds out her hands to stop him.

“Stop, demon,” I say authoritatively. I must still be running on adrenaline from my encounter with the Hunter, because I sure don’t feel as powerful as I sound.

He screeches to a halt, close enough to touch Horatia. Her lip is curled against the scent of his rotting flesh, but she doesn’t move even an inch.

“How dare you attempt to lay hands on a Reaper,” I say, surprising myself by how confident I sound. “We’re just finishing a tour. It shouldn’t surprise you that we would seek to comfort each other after seeing the horrors in your home,” I say, shocked by how easily the lies roll off my tongue. I shouldn’t be able to lie. Heavenly beings can’t do it. Perhaps the rules are different here in hell. Or perhaps I’ve lost a part of myself to the darkness. I don’t get much time to dwell on it before the demon is firing back at me.

“That’s a lie and you know it, Reaper,” he snarls at me. I resist the urge to cringe away from him.

“Do not try to manipulate me. You’re wasting my precious time. Be gone,” I command.

He hesitates, and it’s enough for me to realize that I can win this fight. He backs up automatically as I take several steps toward him. “Don’t make me tell you again,” I insist.

“But there’s been an escape. I’m afraid I must keep you here.” Although his voice is still shrill, it’s lost its menacing quality. It’s now disgustingly humble. Almost sniveling. Almost apologetic.

“Demons do not command me,” I say, advancing on him further, totally unsure of what I will do if he stops backing up and I actually reach him.

“But… my superiors. We’ve been instructed not to let anyone come or go.”

“That is not my concern. It seems to me you have a serious management problem here in hell. I’m sure my superior will be very interested to hear that.” I stand straight and firm, challenging him to test me.

“No. Please. Just go. I’ll say there was no one here. Just go,” he says, continuing to back up.

“You first,” I say. He does a strange little half bow, revealing his tiny, black wings, and turns to run back the way he came.

The group collectively exhales, and they rush over to me, all of them speaking at once as they hug me and clap me on the back.

Finally, Penn’s voice breaks through. “How did you escape?”

“That’s a story for another time,” I say, looking at the other Fates. “Go. You must get Webber home. Penn and I will meet up with you as soon as we can.”

Horatia hesitates. “As far as I’m concerned, Webber can take care of himself. I want to stay with you.”

Galenia glances at us, and then over her shoulder toward the gate.

Penn wraps his arms around their shoulders. “I want you to go home. I don’t want to worry about you in the depths of hell anymore. There are demons swarming everywhere. Go home—make sure Webber is okay. And cover for us if we take too long. I need you in heaven now. I promise that we’ll see you again soon.”

The girls hold back tears as the three Fates embrace. I dab the moisture away from my own eyes and glance around, checking for more wandering demons.

“I don’t want to rush you, but you should go if you’re going to leave. We can’t linger here any longer,” I say.

Galenia and Horatia look at me and make their approach. “Thank you, Michaela,” Galenia says. “We both knew you were an amazing soul, but this journey has shown us just how much. You’re like a sister to us. Be sure and come back.”

“You have some precious cargo with you,” Horatia says as she nods at Penn. He smiles in return. “You don’t have much time left, half the night is gone. So please hurry home.”

My only response is to hug them both. “Good luck,” I say as they walk back through the gate, leaving Penn and me alone in hell.

15

By the time we make our way back into the outskirts of hell, the demons are crawling everywhere. There’s no way we’re going to get to the prison without being seen.

We backtrack, debating what to do. There’s only one way in and out of the prison, but there are a few different paths leading to it. We hide in the shadows of a large rock as a demon rushes past us, moving too fast to notice.

“We’re close to a tunnel that might get us there,” I whisper, thinking out loud.

“How?” Penn asks, looking around at the stone walls that loom all around us.

“It’s deeper underground. It’s almost like a sewer drain on Earth. But it’s not for sewage. To be honest, I don’t know why it’s there.”

Penn looks at me, a wary expression on his face. “Where does the sewer drain lead?”

“I think it pops out near the entrance to the prison. If I’m remembering correctly. It’s been a while since I studied the maps during my training, but I remember seeing a grate near the prison door.”

“This from the Reaper who got us lost trying to find Webber,” he says, needling me.

“You got any better ideas, hotshot?” I ask, grateful to have him with me to keep my mood light.

“No, but I wish I did. I’d rather not trudge through some unknown sewer in the depths of hell. But hey, since we’re already here, why not?” he adds with a smirk.

I smile back and nod. “Let’s go.” The opening to the tunnel is down the corridor and around a few turns. We have to do some fancy maneuvering to avoid being seen, and I know if we don’t get below deck, we’ll be discovered sooner rather than later.

Finally, we’re within striking range of the opening. We wait for a lull in the flow of demons and then dart over to it. I crouch down to open the iron grate on the floor. It’s not as heavy as I anticipated, and it jolts open and nearly bounces back down before I manage to catch it.

The darkness under it is all consuming, but we’ll have to worry about light later.

Or not. Penn grabs a torch off the wall while I frantically try to prop open the grate. I take one last look left and right before slipping down into the darkness. He follows me and pulls the grate down behind him. I can only hope that the clang is obscured by the commotion of the demons as they rush around, searching for the escaped soul.

I push Penn away from the opening in the low ceiling as a pair of demons passes over the top of us. Thankfully, they’re too absorbed in their task to notice us.

“Did you hear about the Hunter?” one says. Its jagged voice echoes slightly in the tunnel.

“Yes. This is obviously not an average soul that’s escaped.”

“It wasn’t a soul that eliminated the Hunter.”

Eliminated? I think. So the ghosts overcame him. I smile to myself, feeling pride in those lost souls who came to my rescue.

“Like I said, this isn’t an average soul. Obviously, the Reapers want him for something.”

“I heard he was a Reaper.”

“What? No. That can’t be right. A Reaper would never be trapped down here. Maybe it’s just a soul one of the Reapers misplaced. But once a soul’s in here, he belongs to us.”

They’re walking away, so the response is hard to make out, but I do hear the last part. “They’ll all pay for their mistake.”

The dark promise is enough to give me a chill in this hot, fiery place. But we’re committed to our cause now, so Penn and I just exchange a look and start walking toward the prison.

Our footsteps seem to echo off the close walls, and we walk slowly, cautiously, through the darkness to try to lessen the sound. The red glow is disconcerting, and we can’t see more than a few feet in front of us. We don’t speak as we follow the tunnel.

Unexpectedly, it forks off, and we’re forced to make a decision about where we need to go. Rather than guess, I backtrack to the last place we spotted a grate. Penn agrees to hoist me up so I can get an idea of where we are.

After resting the red torch against the wall, he makes a cradle for my foot with his hand. Just as he hoists me over his head, I spot huge, glowing red eyes in the distance behind him, down the center fork.

“Penn,” I whisper, fear making my voice ragged.

“What?”

I hastily climb down and point. He turns, grabs the torch and my hand, and we run full speed down the left fork. There is no sound of the creature. No wind from its breath. Nothing. So I chance a glance over my shoulder. Those glowing eyes are the same distance from us as they were before. They’re definitely following us.

“The eyes of hell. They’ll know we’re here. We have to blind them,” I say.

“The eyes of hell? I didn’t see anything about that in the Keeper’s literature.”

“Must’ve missed that section. They help the Hunters find any escapees. They’re stationed at intervals throughout hell, and they record what they see for the demons. Apparently, we found one.”

“Great,” he says as we run. “How do we blind it?”

There is so much fire in hell—the eyes themselves resemble twin flames—so the answer seems inevitable. “We need water.”

We pass under another grate, and the demons are scrambling above our heads. “They’re in the tunnels,” I hear one of them shout.

“The tears of the damned,” I say, barely above a whisper, fearing the words even as I say them. I know all too well what I’m calling down on us.

The tears are a last-resort weapon created for the Reapers, although I’m sure they’ve never been used before. We all know how to execute them in theory. If a Reaper gets into big trouble in hell, and this certainly qualifies, the tears can be summoned one time, and one time only, to extinguish all nearby flames. The flames that live within the demons are also susceptible to the tears, which is why they are such a dangerous weapon. But I have trouble sympathizing with the demons that are currently hunting us.

The tears are a sign that we are never alone or forgotten. Even in the depths of hell.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hear the roaring.

“What did you do?” Penn asks.

“I may have just drowned us in an effort to save us.”

“Can we drown?” Penn asks. I honestly don’t know, but I’m not willing to risk it. As the water comes rushing toward us, we both instinctively run. I see a small crevice in the wall and duck into it, pulling Penn in beside me. With any luck, the speed of the water rushing by us will be enough to keep us safe from it. The space is just wide enough for us to wedge into it sideways. Even my head is turned, so I can watch the wall of water pass us. It would be strangely beautiful if the sound wasn’t so terrifying, and I didn’t know that the water had been borne of the suffering in hell.

As the water slows down, I start to worry this will be our doom. It seeps into our crevice quickly, but it never gets very deep. Most of it has washed away.

But our gratitude is temporary. Demons drop down from the grate nearest us and begin to search the tunnel.

“Find them,” a deep voice says, and we hear several sets of footsteps going off in all directions.

Penn’s torch is gone, lost to the wave of water. We don’t speak to each other, for fear of drawing attention to ourselves. All we can do is wait.

It seems like an eternity in the tunnel, but it probably isn’t more than a few moments. We’re both anxious to move on, collect the souls, and get the hell out of hell.

The demons finally split up to search for us, but they leave one behind to patrol the tunnel, and he takes the torch with him.

At first, he stays close to us—pacing back and forth, looking all over—but we pull back into the crevice until we’re crammed shoulder to shoulder, as far out of sight as possible.

To my relief, the demon finally wanders far enough down the tunnel that we can sneak out of our spot and continue down the path. The demon’s not trying to be quiet as he paces back and forth, splashing in the puddles left behind by the tears, and his sounds cover ours as we sneak out of our safe haven. We take deliberate steps, as fast as we can go, but we’re not flat-out running. The last thing we want to do is attract the notice of any more demons.

Without the light of the torch, our progress forward is difficult. We stick to the walls, feeling our way along. But I have no idea where we are at this point. In our frantic dash to get away from the wall of water, I lost track of our position. I need to get out and reassess.

Penn realizes the same thing, and we stop wordlessly below the next grate we reach. We both know this could be suicide. The second I pop my head up, anyone who’s in the corridor will see me. But I can think of no other or better solution. We can’t wander the dark tunnel forever. Eventually, we have to go topside. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.

Penn cradles his hands for me yet again. Before I put my foot into them, I look over his shoulder for the eyes that started this whole misstep. But there’s nothing but darkness all around us. The only light comes from the grate.

He hoists me up carefully, so as not to hit my head on the grate. Before I push it open, I take a moment to listen for any noise. It’s oddly quiet. I strain to see something through the grate, but the only thing I can see well is the ceiling above the grate.

I carefully push the grate open enough to peer out. It’s an empty hallway. I’m relieved, but at the same time, I was hoping for some markings, something to give an indication of where we are. As I shove the grate all the way open, Penn launches me through it.

Now we’re faced with a different problem. How am I going to get Penn out? Demons all have wings and can fly in and out of places like this, so there’s no easy way out. The grate is too small to use as a ladder. If I lay flat, he can reach up and grab my arms, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull him out.

An idea suddenly occurs to me, and I grab the grate and drag it away from the hole. Then I stretch out on my stomach and muscle the grate over my legs, hoping the added weight will be enough to anchor the two of us. The grate is pressing down on my legs hard, cutting off circulation to my feet, but this just might work.

I reach down into the hole, praying no demons come across us in such a vulnerable situation.

“But,” Penn protests.

“I don’t have any better ideas. Just try it. If you pull me in there with you, we’ll try something else.”

Nodding, he hesitantly reaches for me. He just barely manages to reach the tips of my fingers, so he jumps up a little to give himself some leverage. It works great until he comes back down and jerks hard on my hands.

I slip toward him, but the grate digs my knees into the stone, ripping my dress as it goes. It holds, and I don’t go over. I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming out in pain.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly says.

“Just get out of that hole.” I say through gritted teeth.

Penn tries to swing himself up, but the hole isn’t big enough for him to get a grip with his feet on the other side. Instead, he ends up hitting the top of the tunnel with his butt.

“Nice payback,” he says, grimacing.

I can’t help but smile through my pain. My arms and legs are on fire, and my knees feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder. I’m ready to move on, but he’s still hanging from my hands, no further along than he was before.

Finally, he transfers all his weight to one of my arms. “You’re going to dislocate my arm,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not if I can do this quickly.”

Grabbing at him with my free hand, I try to relieve some of the weight. I don’t really succeed, but it feels better to be doing something. He climbs up my arm hand over hand, like I’m some kind of rope. When he gets to my shoulder, he grabs the edge of the hole and hoists himself out, relieving me entirely of his weight. He settles down on his back next to my legs and pushes the heavy grate off me. I roll toward him, so we’re both staring up at the stone ceiling.

“Awfully quiet back here. Where are we?”

I drape my arm over my eyes. “I don’t know. Right now, I really don’t care.” I’m visualizing that peaceful garden God took me to. I would do almost anything to be back there. But then I think about God’s ocean of tears, and I remember what I’m doing in hell in the first place.

Sighing, I sit up and assess the damage to my knees. Blood seeps out of the road burn left by the stone floor. Blowing on them, I try to relieve some of the stinging. I pull my dress away from them, hoping it doesn’t dry to the blood and stick. Something from the corner of my eye captures my attention as I do this, something that reminds me of who stands with us.

This isn’t just any unmarked, unoccupied corridor of hell.

Penn follows my gaze. “The prison.”

16

The door is barely perceptible, save for the symbol carved into the stone and a light outline. Though we still have the hardest part of our mission ahead of us—getting those poor captured souls out—I know beyond a shadow of a doubt we’re in the right place, and it feels like a win.

“How did you get inside?” Penn asks.

I shrug. “It wasn’t locked when I was here. I just pushed the door open.”

Penn hesitantly holds his hand out to the door as I scan the area for demons. When I look back, he’s still holding his hand just shy of the stone.

“What are you waiting for?” I whisper.

“What’s beyond this door is my personal hell. I know that. Seeing the suffering of Kismet and Andrew and the other souls I’ve spun. I… I intended so much more for them. Once I open this door, it’ll all become real… Frankly, now that I’m here, I don’t really want to go inside.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Neither do I, and I’ve already seen what’s in there.” I’m not sure my sentiment counts as encouragement, but he puts his hand on the door nevertheless. Despite the appearance of the heavy stone, it pushes inward without resistance.

He’s right. What’s inside is horrible. Pure souls, ones that don’t belong in hell, are chained to the walls, crying and moaning. Some are not moving at all.

I carefully push the stone most of the way back into its original position. I don’t know if it’s possible to seal us inside, so I can’t bring myself to close it completely, but I also don’t want to make it obvious we’re in here.

When I turn around, I witness the moment Penn sees Kismet. Her hair is a knotted mess, and her bright green eyes have lost their sparkle. She was the most beautiful, shining thread he ever created. Even I could spot her brilliance among the millions of threads in the tapestry. She just stood out. But now her sparkle is gone, and she’s literally wasting away.

“Kismet,” he breathes out as he falls to the floor at her side. She barely sees him. She’s looking at Andrew, who is much worse off than she is. Her true love, made by Penn to complement her perfectly in every way, is already becoming transparent in places. He literally looks ghoulish.

After a quick scan of the room, I notice one soul is missing. “Nysa. Where is Nysa?”

Andrew picks up his head at the sound of my voice. But his gaze lands on Penn, not me. His once blue eyes have taken on a sickly gray tone. There’s no spark in them anymore, and his gaze sends a chill down my spine.

“Penn, is that you?” Andrew weakly says. “It’s good to see you.”

Penn manages a genuine smile and claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder. I wince, not sure if it will pass through or not, but by some miracle, Penn’s hand lands firmly on Andrew’s spirit.

“This wasn’t how I envisioned our next meeting.”

Andrew scoffs, which ends up sounding like nothing more than a short exhale of breath. It’s almost imperceptible, but there’s a half smile on his face. “Yes, well, you always were getting me into trouble.”

“Hey now, this isn’t my fault.”

Kismet interrupts their banter. “Penn. You have to help him.”

She looks at him with her faded green eyes, a shadow of their former beauty, and I can see his heart breaking before me. But he smiles at her anyway.

“That’s why we’re here.”

I hate to interrupt their reunion, but we need to get out of here. “Nysa, Andrew. Where is Nysa?” I ask again.

“She faded away.” His voice is no more than a whisper. I know he’s not far behind her. But as I assess the others, I realize there are a few worse off than him.

“She faded away?” Penn asks, clearly not accepting this is even a possibility for the souls inside. That would mean failure.

As his message sinks in, my legs go out from under me, and I collapse near Andrew. “She ceased to exist,” I whisper, as if saying it quietly won’t make it true.

“She what?” Penn looks to me for an explanation, comfort, something.

But I’m afraid I will fall short. “Extinction is a kind of release for a soul who belongs in hell. It’s an escape from the eternal torture. But souls who are heaven bound should never face extinction. It’s the worst possible outcome. It’s what will happen to you if you’re discovered,” I say to Penn.

He swallows and turns back to face Kismet. “I won’t let that happen to you.” But she still doesn’t look at him. He turns to look at the other sad souls chained to the prison. “Any of you.”

Nysa spent the most time in the prison. Perhaps that’s why she was the first to dissipate. “Who did this to you?” I ask, hoping one of them will have an answer. “Who brought you here?”

Andrew is the one who speaks. “I didn’t recognize her. Nysa seemed to know her, when she was still coherent.”

“So it’s the same person? And she’s a woman? She’s not working with anyone else?”

“From what we’ve been able to piece together…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, shifting his weight as if he’s terribly uncomfortable. Of course, he must be. A human year has passed while he’s in this position—arms chained above his head, a hard stone floor underneath him. He coughs a little before continuing. “She started out on her own, but she’s gained an accomplice. Someone like you, I think. He’s the one who brought me here. He was dressed just like you, Penn. Black and white.” He gestured with his head to Penn’s uniform.

The missing Reaper. It has to be him. But is he helping her willingly? Still, we need to get them out. Now. That’s a question for another day.

“What else do you know about this woman?” I ask, digging for clues that will help us find and stop her.

“Like I said, Nysa seemed to know her. Said she’d met her at work. But the rest of us didn’t recognize her. I’m not sure Kismet even saw her.”

Kismet shakes her head. “Just the one like you,” she chokes out. “He promised to take me to the right place after you left me at the gate of heaven, and I trusted him.”

The last phrase cuts me to the bone.

“I’m sorry,” I say to her, hoping she knows how deeply I mean it. But her soul seems incapable of receiving apologies just now. She’s returned to staring at Andrew, concern rolling off her like fog off a lake.

And then something Andrew said makes me pause. “Nysa knew her from work?” I ask, but don’t wait for an answer. “Is she human?”

“I assumed she was,” Andrew says, almost phrasing it like a question. He clearly knows Penn and I are different…and he knows the one who brought them here is different, but I’m not sure he comprehends what it means.

I lean back against the wall next to Andrew. Human. It’s not something I ever considered. How can it be true? Humans don’t know about our world—let alone how to navigate it. One of us must be responsible…

But if it’s true… It means a human has breeched our world in every way possible. It means she knows about the tapestry, and she’s learned how to cut threads. It means she’s either kidnapped or somehow gained alliance with a Reaper, and then reopened the prison of souls to keep her victims. These seem like herculean tasks for a simple human. There has to be more to her than that.

“A name. Do you have a name?” I ask, but Andrew is done talking to me. His breathing is labored, and he’s hanging his head more and more. I look at Penn, concerned, but he’s watching Kismet.

“Mara,” she says in a small voice. “Nysa repeated it often.”

“Penn? Is she really human?” I ask.

Penn scratches his head. “I don’t know. I need to think about it. I didn’t make her recently, that’s for sure.”

“Was she an old woman?” I ask the room.

“Middle aged, older than any of us,” a soul against the opposite wall answers. He’s even thinner than Andrew is, and I’m surprised he can speak at all.

After a few beats of silence, Kismet finally looks up at Penn. “Have you come to save us?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

But before he can free her, I hear a couple of demons approaching just outside the door.

I motion for Penn to position himself as a prisoner, and I stand beside him. Both of us take care not to lock the shackles we’re pretending to use.

The demon pushes the door open so hard it slams against the back wall, making a thunderous sound. Standing as still as possible, I say a silent prayer of thanks that no one was imprisoned behind the door. With any luck, he won’t look closely at my Reaper clothes—or Penn’s, for that matter. To be honest, after all our travels, my dress is torn to bits, and the colors are so dulled by dirt and dust, a cursory glance may not reveal us as Reapers.

Hope is my only companion as the demon lingers in the room. From the way he’s looking back and forth, it’s clear he’s searching for someone, but whether it’s Penn, me, Webber, or the other Fates, I can’t be sure. Maybe all of the above.

Penn has strategically positioned himself between two souls, using them to hide most of his body from the doorway. The demon would have to walk right in front of him to see what he’s wearing or see his face.

I’m all alone on my side of the prison, but before the demon opened the door, I tucked the skirt of my dress behind me, making it appear shorter, masking the distinctive coloring. I hang my head, only peeking out occasionally.

After what feels like an eternity, the demon snorts and moves on, pulling the door closed behind him. As it slams shut, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“We need to get out of here. Now,” I say. But it suddenly occurs to me that most of them probably can’t walk. In fact, I think Kismet is the only one who’d be capable of it at this point. Maybe one other soul. But that leaves four of them for us to carry out of hell, including Andrew.

I look at Penn, whose stricken expression tells me that he’s reached the same conclusion.

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think we can get them all.” Suddenly, I regret suggesting that the other Fates leave with Webber. If we had them, we could probably manage. Probably.

Of course, there’s also the problem of how we’ll get them free of their restraints and out of this place. I make my way to the soul who seems the worst off. He’s so transparent, it seems like I could put my hand straight through him.

He must be Jeff, the second soul who was taken. He’s hanging limply, barely conscious. He’s so thin that I wonder how the shackles are even holding him up.

The keyhole on his shackles is small. His bindings are iron, so I search the room for a small iron key.

“Penn, we need a key,” I say. He’s already fiddling with Kismet’s shackles, trying to release them.

Kismet’s expression is forlorn. “It’s hanging next to the door.”

Whirling around, I easily spot the tiny object hanging from a hook just to the left of the now-closed door. The way this woman has tortured these souls turns my stomach—so much so that I need to hold it with my hand for a moment as I retrieve the key.

I curse myself for not seeing it the last time I was here. It’s small and unobtrusive, just above my own eye level. I have to reach up to get it. But still, if I’d seen it then, I could’ve saved Nysa. Maybe. Probably. I debate the possibilities in my mind as I take the key back to Jeff, who’s barely visible by the time I crouch down in front of him.

The key gets stuck in his lock almost as soon as I put it in. The iron is old, and the two don’t fit together as they once did. But after some jimmying, I feel it click, and the lock springs open. I pull it out and swing the bar off his wrists.

His arms fall lifelessly to his sides, and he looks up at me for a quick moment before he fades away right before my eyes.

I feel like melting away with him. I’ve let another one slip through my fingers. The despair threatens to crush me as I sit back in front of the empty space the soul occupied moments before.

“Michaela, we need to save the ones we can,” Penn says, trying to bring me out of my despair.

But in that moment, I’m too horrified to move.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the emptiness in front of me.

An alarm sounds before I can finish the sentence. It pierces my ears, and both Penn and I double over and cover our ears. The shrieking makes it difficult to think.

I immediately know what it means. And judging from the look on Penn’s face, he does too. I imagine my own expression mirrors the terror he’s feeling. We say in unison, “The Cleanse,” although I can’t hear him over the shrieking.

It must have been triggered when I unlocked the first prisoner’s shackles. And now, we’re sitting ducks. The Cleanse eliminates all intruders. It’s fast moving, and nearly impossible to escape. There are no first-hand reports of how it works, since no one has ever survived it, but I have a pretty good idea that it’s not something I want to witness. It has only been used two, maybe three, times in recorded memory. It’s a last-resort weapon, used only when the demons are most desperate to regain control of their home.

“Penn, we need to go. Now.” He’s too busy fumbling with Kismet’s shackles to listen, but I have the key. His plight is fruitless.

Quickly, I move on to the next prisoner, unlock her shackles with record speed, move to the next, and then toss the key to Penn so he can free the most tattered souls from the other side of the prison. The key clangs to the ground as I start hoisting the souls onto my shoulders. They’re not heavy, but it will still be a burden to carry them through hell fast enough to escape the Cleanse.

As we free them, the souls seem to breathe a sigh of relief, as if simply releasing them eases their torture. One even manages a half smile.

“Penn!” I yell. He grabs the key and starts to work on Kismet. “Not her! Get one of the others. We’ll come back for her.”

The look he gives me tells me how much I’ve crushed him, but I’m not kidding. “Save someone from extinction, Penn. She isn’t even close. She’ll be safe here.”

“No, you can’t leave us here,” Kismet pleads, breaking my heart even more.

As the fire roaring outside becomes so loud I can barely hear his words, Andrew summons energy from somewhere and calms her. He is exactly what she needs, even now. “Kismet, we will be fine. They won’t leave us here. Our time here is limited now. Take strength from that. They will die if they stay here for us,” he soothes as huge tears pool in her dull, green eyes.

Penn nods to his friend, a silent thank you, reluctantly snatching up the key and unlocking a soul a few spots down from Andrew. The key clangs to the ground.

In that moment, I almost think we could take them. We worked so quickly, maybe we could do it. Then, I see the orange glow forming around the outer edge of the door.

Anxiously, I adjust the souls on my shoulder. “We need to go. Now,” I shout above the flames licking at the door of the prison.

It’s torture to leave Andrew and Kismet behind, but we have no choice. The Cleanse is coming for us. Penn takes one of my souls to lighten my load. I nod toward the door, but he glances back at Kismet. Hoping my exit will spur him to follow me, I run out the door with a soul slung haphazardly over my shoulder, bouncing along as I go. I can only hope I’m not causing her more pain. The temperature in the hall is noticeably hotter than it was when we went in.

“Trial by fire,” I say to myself, but I can’t even hear my own voice over the alarm.

I turn in the direction of the exit, but just as I’m about to start all-out running, Penn runs past me at an inhuman speed with a soul bent over each shoulder. I’m scrambling to keep up with him as a roar sounds over my free shoulder, making me look behind.

A wall of fire licks at our heels and catches my dress. I resist the urge to stop and put it out. The flames kiss my legs, making them move faster toward the exit as Penn runs ahead of me.

He turns and shouts something at me, but I can’t hear him over the roar of the flames.

Just as I think the pain is too intense for me to continue, I finally see the gate. Only a little bit farther, I think to myself. I clutch the soul I freed, taking comfort from her, knowing I have to survive this, not only for me, but also for her. The entire bottom of my dress is gone, and I use my free hand to slap at it in a vain attempt to stop the flames from climbing higher.

We don’t encounter any demons on the way out. They know the flames will destroy any intruders, so they’re not worried. Although a part of me is surprised they’re not here to watch us burn for sport…

Perhaps the flames are too hot, even for the demons of hell.

Penn throws his body into the gate, and it gives beneath his weight. We tumble out into the clouds and he kicks it shut behind us with his foot, sealing the Cleanse behind the huge black gate of hell.

The flames extinguish as soon as my body hits the clouds, and for a few moments, we all just lay where we are, breathing in huge gulps of air. Pain radiates throughout my body.

I try to move, but I find it too difficult. I want to make sure the souls we carried out with us are okay, but I can’t bring myself to even turn my head.

“Michaela,” Penn says, but his voice sounds distant. I try to answer him, but it comes out as a moan.

He scoops me up, prompting even more pain, and I cry out.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Stay with me. I’ll get you to a healer.”

“The souls.”

“They are fine. They’re safe. We did it.”

We must’ve looked like quite the spectacle as he ran with my half-naked body through the heavens. I don’t remember much of the trip to the healers.

When I wake up, my body feels completely refreshed in a way I haven’t experienced in weeks. But my mind is still in too much of a fog for me to put the pieces together.

Galenia is in my room. Why isn’t she working? Horatia is there too. And Penn. And Webber. They found him. He’s okay.

Despite the way Webber’s avoiding eye contact and crossing his arms over his chest, I feel like I could hug him.

“Webber. You’re safe,” I croak out. The sound of my voice surprises me. It’s rough from disuse.

He reluctantly turns to me and nods, a grim expression on his face.

It brings all the memories screaming back to me. The prison. The Cleanse. Lily.

Suddenly frantic, I sit up in bed. “How much time has passed? Did they take Lily?”

“No. They’re still expecting you to do it. You were supposed to take her yesterday, but you weren’t really prepared to do that,” Penn explains. “They’ve pulled some strings and the girl is in a coma, waiting for you. Your boss came to see you, and the healers assured him you would be healthy enough to work in the morning.”

“Ryker was here?” Panic sets in as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and get up. “Did he see you, Penn?” I ask as I pace the room. “Does he know what we did?”

“He did see me. But he didn’t seem to recognize me. Or if he did, he looked the other way. He does know you took an unauthorized trip into hell, but I’m not convinced he knows why. Once we got them out of hell, the souls were kept very secret, under lock and key. But I do believe he intends to speak with you about the whole thing later,” Penn answered.

My eyes dart back and forth as I stare at the ground of the healing room, as if I might find answers to all my questions written there.

“But he still wants me to collect Lily?”

“Yes. That much was clear,” Galenia said. “I was here when he came to visit. He was explicit on that point.”

“I wonder why.”

“I think he trusts you more than the other Reapers,” she offered.

I walk to the window, considering everything that had happened—all we’d accomplished and all we hadn’t. The galaxies outside the floor-to-ceiling windows are an awe-inspiring view for me to watch, complete with shooting stars streaking past us.

“The souls,” I say into the window, wondering what happened to them. Were they too far gone, or did they make it to heaven?

“They spent some time here with the healers, and the one you carried out is still here. She was in pretty bad condition. They said if we hadn’t gotten her out right then, she would’ve disappeared like the others. She’ll join the other two in heaven today, I think.”

“Are the Archangels going to take her there themselves? I don’t want them to end up in that… in that place again.” My questions come out in rapid-fire succession. Penn walks up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me. I turn, falling into his open arms.

“They’re okay. They let Galenia and Horatia watch them go to heaven.”

“It was beautiful,” Galenia says through shining eyes. “A host of angels welcomed them, singing joyful songs.”

I take a deep breath. They are safe. After a few beats, I pull back from him. “We survived the Cleanse, Penn.”

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t intend to cease existing in that place.”

“When I saw you trying to free Kismet, I wasn’t so sure.”

He frowns and looks away.

“I’m sorry,” I say, immediately regretting I’ve reminded him that she’s still in there. “We will get her out. I promise.”

“Why are you so sure she’s still in there? Wouldn’t the Cleanse kill her?” He seems despondent, and now I know why. He thinks we’ve failed them.

“No. Penn, oh my gosh, no. The Cleanse only burns intruders. They would’ve been left untouched. If they aren’t there by the time we get back, it’s because we took too long, not because they burned in the Cleanse. We will get her and Andrew out of there.”

“Or die trying,” he said quietly.

“Hell hasn’t killed me yet.”

There’s a look of such desperation and vulnerability on his face. Before I know it, he’s scooped me back into his arms and is holding me so tightly that I can’t breathe.

Galenia and Horatia walk over to join us, and soon, their warm arms are wrapped around us too. Webber just looks on, maintaining his uncomfortable stance and watching us from the corner of his eye.

“We won’t fail them. They’re your greatest creations,” I say quietly, reassuring myself as much as the others.

Penn brings his hand up to my head and smooths my hair. “We only fail if we give up.”

17

The next day, I’m released first thing. As I get out of bed to meet with Ryker before starting my day, I can’t help but hear Penn’s words in my head. We only fail if we give up. He’s right. Even if we only save one of them in the end, it’s better than abandoning them all to their fate, right?

Ryker’s office is situated between the naming room and the gate leading outside. I walk to it cautiously, not sure what to expect. What can I say to him? I have no apologies to make for my actions last night, particularly since God seemed to encourage me.

I knock tentatively on his door, and he responds immediately. “Come in.” Even through the door, his deep voice rings loud and clear.

“You wanted to see me?” I smooth my brand-new dress as I walk into his office. The healers did amazing work; there aren’t any scratches on my knees and my burns are completely healed. The only wounds that remain are the ones on my heart.

He gestures toward the plush black velvet armchair across from his white desk. The entire office is decorated in black and white. The cupboards are black, the flooring is white, the art on the wall is black and white, and even his accessories match the décor. It doesn’t surprise me. The entire wing is decorated like that.

“You’re looking better.”

“Thank you.” I deliberately keep my answer short, not sure where he’s going with this.

“First, I want to talk business with you. Just so you know, we’ll be relocating any dissenters who continue to refuse to work.”

I frown. I’ve been expecting this. The only reason the punishment didn’t come sooner is because there was a group of them, and we are so short handed. Still, I’m surprised by the leniency of the punishment.

“Relocation?” I pry.

“Yes. Until we can agree on a consequence for their actions, we can’t have them idly sitting around the heavens. We need workers. And there is some disagreement as to an appropriate punishment. When the vote is unanimous, sentences will be served. If necessary, God will lay down the final vote, but we’ve been given some time to resolve the issue on our own,” he explains.

I nod. Division among the heavens must mean some of the heavenly beings in charge want the dissenters eliminated, and some don’t. It seems harsh, but after what I’ve seen and been through, I get it.

“I understand,” is all I can think to say.

He looks at me with a kindness he doesn’t often reveal. “I’m sure you do.” As he clears his throat, his stern expression returns. “We’ve managed to get a handful of new recruits from higher up, but it wasn’t easy. Now, we’re working hard to get them on the fast track, but for the time being, it’ll be tight.”

My frown deepens as I consider how long it takes to get recruits—we only get a new Reaper maybe twice a decade to help with the rate of population growth on Earth and account for the occasional retirement—so serious exceptions have been made for us. Even so, it takes considerable time to train recruits. There are manuals to study, tests to pass, tours to take, and mentoring. I haven’t even been assigned a recruit as far as I know. There’s no possible way they’ll be ready for the field any time soon.

“In fact, I think you’ll be happy to learn that I’ve put Miette in charge of training them. She has a good heart. I think it will be a good experience for her.”

I smile, in spite of the circumstances. My shy friend will have to come out of her shell now.

“There’s something else. We’ve devised a way for the Reapers in the field to shield themselves from the ghosts.”

“The others have been told about this?”

“Yes.”

He goes through the details with me, and it seems pretty simple. Think of your assignment, and only your assignment. Surround yourself with the soul’s energy. Additionally, we’ll be given more information about each assignment to read over, and short clips of their life will play as we walk through the mists to retrieve them. It will take longer to do each job, but it’ll be safer. And I like the idea of learning more about the people we take home. It will help us make a deeper connection with them.

“You know, this approach might actually be helpful in other ways. They might come with us faster if they’re more comfortable.”

He smiles at me; it’s a tired smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “And that’s why I like you. You take these changes in stride, always looking for the positive. Michaela, I rely heavily on you. You are one of my most trusted Reapers, perhaps my most valuable.” He leans forward on his desk, resting his elbows on the top, and intertwines his fingers. “In short, I need your help.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.” I shift uncomfortably, waiting for what’s to come.

“I have a feeling the incident in hell had something to do with the surprises. Although you’re usually a follower of the rules, I also know you’re not the type to sit by idly as the world falls to pieces around you. You know more than you’re letting on.”

Clearing my throat, I avoid eye contact with him.

“Yes, well. I just wanted to tell you to be careful. We’d be lost without you.”

His deep brown eyes are clouded with concern when I finally meet them. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t form, so I close it again and lean back in the chair, totally at a loss. It’s the furthest thing from what I expected him to say. The reprimand I was expecting ended up taking the form of praise.

“Thank you, sir,” I manage to squeak out while I look at a particularly interesting hangnail on my index finger.

“Thank you and…” He waits for me to fill in the blank, but I’m not sure what he wants. I can’t promise him anything.

He sighs heavily. “And you’ll be careful?” he finally adds.

I nod quickly. “I will be careful. I am being careful.”

“If those burns were a result of you being careful, I’d hate to see you being reckless.”

A smile cracks my face in what feels like the first time in days. It feels good. “Me too, sir. Me too.”

“You’ll be easing back into your workday with just the one name. As we did yesterday while you were recovering, we divvied your daily allotment of 2,500 souls among the remaining reapers. Those who’ve stayed with us have been very devout and pulling long hours into the night to make up the work. They’re all pulling for you, Michaela. None of us want you overdoing it today.” He looks hard at me, and I nod, letting him know I understand. “Now, get to work,” he says as he leans back in his chair and shifts his attention to the holographic screen off to the side. To me, it displays a beautiful tropical beach, but I’m sure he sees something else entirely. Security in the heavens isn’t top of the line for nothing. And yet, evil has still found its way in.

I stand to go, but he stops me before I’m out the door. “Michaela, one more thing.”

As I turn to face him, standing half in and half out of his office, he says, “Good luck today. I know this won’t be easy.”

I nod. “Thank you,” I say. And then I close the door behind me.

I walk to the door without stopping in the naming room. I have my name. It’s all I hope to accomplish today. I don’t need to get riled by the other Reapers, the dissenters who refuse to work. I don’t need to see the terrified faces of the ones who are still working, knowing what we’re walking into, despite the supposed safety measures in place. We’re the ones testing those measures after all. No. I don’t need to think about all that. All I need is Lily.

So I walk back into the mists, thinking only of her.

The safety measures Ryker and his team developed work brilliantly. The ghosts don’t come near me. It’s as if I’ve created a bubble made of thoughts of Lily and her family, based on all the memories I watched in the mists as I made my approach. I watched her grow from a bright-eyed, curly-haired little spitfire to a total teenaged handful. But it’s clear her parents love her, and she loves them back. Ryker was right. This won’t be easy.

Then I spot Wyatt leaning against the wall in the hallway outside Lily’s hospital room. He smiles, although I can’t see it through his shaggy beard.

I want to hug him, but I know our worlds can’t collide that way.

He walks over, hands in his pockets, and nods at me.

“Wyatt. So nice to see you. What are you doing here in New York?”

“Had a visit yesterday from a fella named Ryker.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“Scared the dickens outta me to be honest. Thought he was comin’ for me.”

I laugh. It feels good. I need this before I take this child’s soul.

“He told me you might need some extra help today. That this girl’s special.”

“She is.” I glance at the door to her room, behind which I can hear the soft murmurs of her family. Her time is soon, and the thought fills me with sadness.

“Ryker flew me out here at a moment’s notice, just to make sure you were able to get your job done.” We share a silent moment as I process what he’s saying. It’s a measure of cooperation the likes of which the heavens and Earth have never seen before. It’s both exciting and sad. But really, we should be working together to stop this, especially since we now know the criminal is likely human.

Wyatt clears his throat. “It’s not all bad. That one over there isn’t terrible to look at.” He nods toward the waiting area. Fia is sitting in a chair, nursing a cup of coffee. I recognize the striking, grey-eyed woman as Aida, from Penn’s description of her. The man sitting next to her can only be Cody, and Eve is sitting between them, totally distraught. I recognize her from Lily’s memories. The girls were friends. They are friends. I frown and shake my head before retuning my attention to Fia and Wyatt.

“You should talk to her. I think you’d like her.”

“You know her?” he asks, a bit of hope in his voice.

“She’s a very old friend.”

He doesn’t ask any more questions, and I know Lily’s time is growing short. I frown as I take in the friends and family gathered around this well-loved girl. This isn’t right, and yet, here I am, doing it anyway.

Wyatt senses my despair. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” It’s good to see him. It gives me the strength to face what’s to come.

I round the corner and stand in front of the girl’s closed door. In that moment, I turn and catch the eye of the old Fate. She’s staring right at me, a look of deep concern on her face. The other people in the waiting room are totally unaware of what’s going on around them—they’re all silently looking at their phones, talking about what to get for lunch, or simply sitting and staring. None of them notice when Fia stands and walks toward the girl’s room, keeping her eyes on me.

Long before Fia can reach me, I cross the threshold into her room. It’s time. Fia stops dead and goes to Eve, watching me silently. She knows. I frown and nod at her. She mouths something to me—it looks like, “Stop this,” but I can’t be sure.

I nod, hoping I caught the old Fate’s meaning.

Passing through the closed door, I find Lily’s parents sitting on either side of her bed, holding her hands. Her mother, who looks almost exactly like her, reads from a card someone sent to the sick girl. The father is listening as he brushes the hair off his daughter’s face.

Later, they will say Lily had a stroke. Something that was lying in wait for the perfect storm of conditions before unleashing itself on her fragile, teenage body.

Her soul looks confused after it detaches.

“Lily,” I say to her, hoping to offer some comfort. “I’m here to help.”

She glances at me briefly before returning her gaze to her body on the bed. Her parents are staring in horror at the heart monitor as a nurse rushes into the room. Two other nurses pull them away as they get to work on her body. Of course, it’s a lost cause—the proof is standing right across from me.

“Lily, come. You don’t want to watch this.”

Her parents are weeping now, and the look on Lily’s face is so beyond desolated when she turns to look at me again.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing I can’t save you from.” I say, hoping beyond hope that’s true.

Lily is reluctant to come with me, and I don’t blame her. Nurses and doctors rush into the room. Her parents cling to each other as the monitors scream and alarms wail.

“Why is this happening?” Lily asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

“This isn’t right, is it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

We are silent for a few moments more before she turns to me. Her gray eyes pierce my very existence, breaking my heart more than ever. “Now what?” The statement is heartbreaking in its simplicity. She knows she’s lost her life on Earth and can’t reclaim it. She’s more accepting and mature than most adults I escort to the other side, let alone any of the surprises I’ve taken up until now.

“Now, I take you home.”

“This is my home.” She looks back at her family with longing in her eyes.

“This was your home. Now, I take you to your new home.”

“Without them?”

My breath hitches in my throat as I try to control my emotions. “Without them.” It’s little more than a whisper, but she nods in acknowledgment.

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either.”

She looks away from her family and back to me, surprise on her face. “You don’t like your job?”

“Sometimes I don’t.”

She frowns. “So why do it?”

“Because if I don’t, you’ll become one of them.” I nod toward a ghost who happens to be wandering past her room. The doctors threw her door open in their rush to save her, and now we can clearly see him wandering back and forth. He’s wailing in grief, but we’re the only ones who can hear him. The others in the hall will only feel a slight chill, maybe a prickle on the back of their necks. But they’ll never know why.

“He doesn’t seem very happy.”

“No. He’s not. I want you to be happy.”

“Then let me stay here… like I was before.” Somehow, she knows to make the distinction between staying on Earth as a ghost and staying on Earth as a human. I marvel at this young girl’s wisdom.

“It’s not that easy,” I say sadly. “You’ve been called home.”

She nods, but there’s a frown on her face. “So I don’t have a choice?”

“There is always a choice. But if you choose to stay, you stay as one of them. If you come with me, your family will join you when the time comes.”

Her frown grows deeper as she watches the doorway, as if hoping for another glimpse of the ghost. I know Wyatt is out there, keeping him distracted, so I’m not worried. Still, the ghost seems restless.

“Why is he here?” She asks.

“He’s here for me. For us. He thinks I can help him get home.”

“But you can’t?”

“No. If they stay by choice or are left behind, they’re here forever.”

“That’s sad, don’t you think?” she asks.

Again, I struggle to control my emotions. “Yes. It is sad.”

Sighing heavily, she walks closer to her mom. I stay behind, giving her a moment. She places a hand on her mom’s back and bends over to whisper in her ear. “I’ll miss you.”

Her mother lets out a tortured wail, and her dad hugs her close. Lily pulls back in horror. “I can’t stay,” she says as she backs away from them.

“No. It’s not a good idea in most cases.”

“Let’s go then,” she says, turning away from them.

I grab her hand and lead her into the mists. As it closes in around us, I glance over my shoulder one last time at this family that has been shattered by the human who’s wreaking such havoc on both of our worlds. How many other lives has she ruined?

“I promise to get to the bottom of this, Lily,” I say, knowing she won’t fully understand, but needing to say it anyway.

“I believe you.” She doesn’t demand further explanation, offering simple acceptance instead.

Her memories are all happy and filled with love. Like the memories I saw in the mists on my way to collect Lily, one or two of the memories even feature Eve.

We walk in silence as memories of birthdays, trips to Disney, boys, and more family time play before us. She’s had a short life, but there’s no denying it’s been a good one.

Her final memory is bittersweet. She’s about eight, sitting in front of her teacher, listening to her read Matilda. It strikes a chord with her, and I can tell she wants to reach people the way Dahl is reaching her. She wants to be a writer. It lights a passion in her that will never come to fruition. It’s a little bittersweet for me, knowing that she was meant to become one of the greats, and now she never will.

She frowns and clears her throat, as if trying not to cry. “Will I see anyone I know? It would be nice to see a familiar face.”

“You have lots of familiar faces waiting for you, Lily, including your grandparents. They will welcome you with open arms, sweet child.”

The gate of heaven appears before us as the mists clear completely and I walk her to it. We don’t speak as we close the distance to her final destination.

“Will you leave me here?” she asks, a hint of fear in her voice. I think of Kismet and Andrew, still trapped in that horrible prison. I won’t let that happen to her.

“No. I’ll go in with you to make sure you make it home safely.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t pick up on the ominous nature of my comment, and we walk hand in hand through the gate. To my surprise and gratitude, there are two Archangels waiting for us. They’re a bit intimidating, and Lily stops short of them. Their white robes flow behind them, and their enormous white wings cast a shadow over us. But their welcoming smiles and open arms belie their fierce beauty. Lily and I take a step toward them. Then something inexplicable happens. Someone puts a hand on each of the angels’ shoulders, and their smiles fade as they disappear right before our eyes.

In their wake, a perfectly average-looking, middle-aged woman appears before us.

A human.

18

“Michaela. What a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says. Her voice is grating; her tone is snarky.

“In order to meet, we both have to know who the other is. That requires you to introduce yourself,” I say, positioning myself between her and Lily. I try not to sound as shaken as I feel after watching her… Well, I don’t know what she just did, to be honest.

She smiles at me. “That’s cute. Almost as cute as you thinking you can save all the souls from my prison.” The hate in her voice doesn’t belong here at the gates of heaven. How did she do it? “You think you can protect her?”

She snaps her fingers, and when I turn around, Nathair is behind me, still dressed in the Reaper’s uniform, although it feels like a mockery of his former position. The smile that stretches across his face as he grabs Lily tells me he enjoys this work. It makes me think he wasn’t kidnapped after all. Or if he was, he’s certainly working with this person, this Mara, willingly now.

“Michaela! Help!”

“I’m trying! Don’t panic. Everything will be okay,” I assure her… and myself. I glance back and forth between my two adversaries, defensively holding my hands out. I have never seen an Archangel defeated before, but I struggle to keep my fears of this woman at bay. Lily needs me.

“Yes. Everything will be okay,” the human says. “For my son, Shiloh.”

I’m feeling like I’m twenty steps behind her, and I’ll never catch up. “What?”

“My name is Mara.” But of course, I already know that. “You’re going to help me save him. Whether you want to help or not.”

She raises her hands, and the world around me goes black as I feel myself collapsing to the ground.

Names (The Reaper)

Aida: Helper. Cody’s wife and brother to Cedric.
Alvin: Wise. Old man Michaela takes.
Amiee: Beloved. The wife of the old man who Michaela takes.

Andrew: Warrior or strength. Kismet’s true love.
Ariel: Angel of protection. Reaper that Michaela idly chats with before their morning meeting.
Audrey: Strength. Woman Michaela takes.
Cody: Helpful. Aida’s husband, who helps Penn out of the swamp.
Daevas: Demon. One of the demons who nearly finds Michaela.
Dempsey: Proud. The first man Michaela takes in the book.
Eve: Lively or life. Cody and Aida’s oldest (and first) daughter.

Fia: Weaver. The woman that Penn replaced as Spinner.
Galenia: Small and intelligent. The third Fate who decides how a life will end.
Heth: Trembling fear. Michaela’s enemy, instigator among the Reapers.
Horatia: Timekeeper. The second Fate who decides how long a life will be.
Irene: Peaceful. Woman Michaela takes.
Jeff: Divinely peaceful. Second name on the list of surprises.
Kismet: Destiny. Andrew’s true love.
Lily: Pure. Child Michaela is assigned to take, and the last surprise.
Mara: Bitter. The human.
Michaela: Feminine of Michael, the angel of death. The Reaper.

Miette: Small sweet thing. Michaela’s reaper friend.
Morfran: Celtic word for a mythical and particularly ugly demon. One of the demons they encounter in hell.

Nathair: Snake. Reaper who’s on leave/missing.

Nysa: New beginning. The first surprise name, the first to have her thread cut short.

Penn: Masculine form of Penelope, meaning Weaver. First of the three Fates, the Spinner.

Ryker: Strength. Reaper’s boss.
Shiloh: Shiloh was where a critical battle took place during the American Civil War. Additionally, the Hebrew translation of this word is ‘the one to whom it belongs.’ Shiloh is the human’s—Mara’s—child.

Sophia: Wisdom. Reaper who asks how they know for sure they’re not in danger.

Wyatt: Guide. Ghost hunter who saves Michaela.
Webber: Weaver. Penn’s rival who’s promoted to Spinner when Penn is banished.

*Meanings found using basic Google searches and MeaningofNames.com*

Acknowledgements (The Reaper)

This book was certainly a labor of love, weighing heavily on the labor part. Ha! Even after eight books, I still fight with them sometimes. Because of that, I am so grateful for everyone in my life who supports me as I pursue my passion.

First of all, all thanks go to God. Every book I write, I am amazed by my blessings, and this book is no different. I am eternally grateful for the time and finances to be able to do what I love.

My husband was a huge player in this one, helping me decide the best path for not only this book, but also The Human (book 3 in this series). He is the logic to my emotion, and it was just what I needed to see this project through to the end.

Special thanks to my amazing team this time. My cover designer, Robert, is doing awesome things with these books, and I’m so proud to have him with us! Angela, man, did we work hard on this one! Thank you so much for sticking with me through my indecision about it. And Cynthia, what can I say? You know exactly how to make a great book Amazing with a capital A. It’s because of you I have readers coming to me saying they love my books because they never find errors in them.

Of course, my parents are always staunch supporters, and thank you seems inadequate for them. They’re always there when I feel like I have to give up, start over, or try something else. They never tell me what to do—okay, that’s a lie. They always tell me what to do, but if I don’t listen, they respect my decisions. It’s an amazing quality I hope I can show my own daughter when the time comes.

My friends, Mary, Dannie, and Christian. You guys are what amazing is made of. Without you, I wouldn’t know what true friendship looked like, and for that, I thank you.

And finally, you dear reader. I know how much time it takes to read a book. I know you’ve chosen to spend that time with me instead of your family, or working, or exercising, or any other hundreds of tasks on your to-do list. And I’m so glad you did. I can’t wait to see you again in June. Until then,

—S

The Human

By: Stephanie Erickson

Nothing escapes the will of God. Not even evil.

One

“It takes a special kind of person to control her own destiny. There are things beyond your reach, dear Mara. But you are a force to be reckoned with, and I know you will give the powers that be a run for their money.” — Mara’s grandmother’s goodbye note to her

Penn

Where is she?

Michaela had one assignment. One soul to collect. Reapers usually bring a few thousand souls home from Earth each day. But Michaela and I had been to hell and back, literally, so her boss decided to give her a much-deserved break.

Still, hours and hours have passed, and there’s no sign of her.

Michaela isn’t one to dillydally; she’s compassionate, diligent, and ever a rule follower. Of course, the assignment she was given wasn’t easy. The soul she was sent to collect was the latest of the surprises.

Reapers are rarely surprised. The Fates determine each human’s lifespan, and when a person’s allotted time runs out, their name appears on one of the Reaper’s lists. The Reaper goes to Earth to collect the soul and brings them to their final resting place. Nothing to it, right? Recently, though, surprise names started popping up on the Reapers’ lists—souls that shouldn’t have been collected for decades. This most recent surprise was a child, which meant Michaela had to take a little girl from her parent’s arms. It wasn’t something she was terribly keen on doing, but her only alternative was to let the girl wander the Earth as a ghost for all eternity. Rock, meet hard place.

But with only one soul to collect—and a child’s soul, no less—she should’ve been back in no time flat. It shouldn’t have taken her all day.

I try to convince myself it’s okay—that she’s just taking her time with the girl. Letting her have a few extra moments with her family. But that thought only reassures me for a few hours.

So, I consider a different possibility in a vain attempt to soothe myself. Maybe she’s just in a meeting with Ryker or the other Reapers. Maybe she went straight from the gates of heaven to Ryker’s office. At any rate, if she’s in a debriefing, she should be done any second.

I’ve been pacing Michaela’s quarters for hours now, waiting for her to come back. There’s little here to distract me, and the only thing that halts my nervous movement is when the projection on the far wall changes to an image of New York City at night, in all its glittering beauty. Michaela has her projections set to display her favorite places on Earth. This image of New York is a new addition. Truth be told, it makes me miss my life on Earth. I enjoyed my time there, and as a banished soul and former Fate, I feel a bit out of place here in the heavens. Michaela is the one who brought me back to help solve the mystery of the surprises. And without her, I’m not sure I can.

I resume my pacing when the image fades to a waterfall surrounded by lush greenery. My thoughts spiral downward into one worst-case scenario after another.

Horatia and Galenia, my sister Fates, slip into the room so quietly I almost don’t notice them.

“She’s not here.” Galenia makes the observation in her soft voice as she scans the room with clear blue eyes.

“Yes, she is. We’re just playing a rousing game of hide and seek. Care to join us?” I say, continuing my pacing.

“Now, now,” Horatia says as she goes to her sister’s side. “We’re all a little worried.”

My head jerks up, and I give my sisters a closer look. Horatia is striking with her dark hair spilling around her shoulders and down her back. Her arms are wrapped around Galenia, who’s smaller and more fragile looking, but no less lovely. Both of their faces are etched with concern.

“We felt certain she would be back by now. I didn’t even consider an alternative,” Horatia offers.

“Me neither. But I’ve been stewing in here for so long, I’ve come up with some doozies,” I say as I turn away from them.

“Maybe it’s not time to panic yet. She might just be taking her time with this one. She was sent to collect a child, and that requires a certain amount of delicacy,” Galenia offers.

“All day?” I ask.

They don’t answer right away.

“Maybe she’s debriefing with Ryker,” Horatia offers.

“I’ve thought of that,” I say with a nod. “But if she is, she should come through that door any minute.”

The three of us are silent for a few moments while we stare at the door. None of us wants to admit she isn’t coming through it any time soon.

Eventually, I sigh and turn away. “Where’s Webber? Still sitting at the cauldron, trying to make up for lost time?” Webber replaced me after I was banished to Earth. Once I was the greatest Fate the heavens had ever seen. My sisters and I were quite a team—while I spun the threads of life, Horatia cut them, and Galenia decided how they ended. Webber had angled for my job for years, but fate, as it happens, wasn’t kind to him. He’s not the Spinner he once claimed he’d be.

Horatia shrugs. “He said he wanted some time alone to recoup.”

“I don’t blame him for that,” I say, trying not to think about my banishment, my human friends’ untimely deaths, my unsanctioned return to the heavens, and our two trips to hell. We had to leave Webber there the first time, but we managed to rescue him and most of the souls in the prison of souls. Of course, the two who were left behind are very important to me. Kismet and Andrew, my friends. My best creations.

“I’m a little worried about Webber to be honest,” Galenia says.

“Of course you are, you’re basically the only one who cares about him at all,” I say, not meaning to hurt anyone, just stating what I consider to be a simple fact. Webber is hard to like, even for someone like Galenia, who can find something to like about everyone. He’s rude, pompous, and he tries too hard. Frankly, I could do without him in my life.

Horatia nods, but I’m not sure which one of us she’s agreeing with. “Things didn’t go well today at all, Penn. I’m not sure if it’s because of his time in hell, or because he knows he’s on his way out. Maybe both? But it was a bad day.”

“How bad?”

“Our worst yet. Less than a hundred new souls were made.”

I stagger back onto the stark white couch lining the side wall. “That won’t keep up with the death rate, especially when you factor in the surprises. It will be a compounding problem.” At our peak, the girls and I could create around two million souls per day. Granted, a day here in heaven is much longer than its equivalent on Earth, but that makes Webber’s number even more staggeringly low.

They don’t answer me. They already know this, and they’re the ones who will have to deal with the situation now that I’ve lost my rank.

“How long until his replacement is ready?” I ask.

“We don’t know. We don’t even know if they’ve picked someone out for the job. Everyone is a little distracted right now,” Horatia answers.

“Fair enough. But this can’t go ignored forever. The population will suffer. The humans will notice the problem.”

“I don’t think it will go on for much longer,” Galenia says quietly as she stands in front of the projection, looking as if she wants to touch the vibrant hummingbird painted on the wall before her.

“What do you mean?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.

“This level of stress and failure can’t be maintained. The situation will come to a head. Soon,” she says, keeping her eyes on the bright green bird as she tucks a strand of her long, brown hair behind an ear.

I want to say something light, funny, and hopeful. But I’m all out of quips. I’m also at a loss. Is she talking about the end of everything? Can that be possible? The end of the Earth has long been predicted, but when that happens, a new creation is meant to take its place. And production on that has not even started. Did I prematurely trigger the end of the world with my mistake? The question weighs heavily on me as I sink back into Michaela’s couch.

We sit in silence together, my sisters flanking me on either side, as the minutes tick past.

Michaela still doesn’t return.

Two

Michaela

It’s darker than anything I’ve ever experienced before, and I’ve been to hell and back. Recently. I blink my eyes, making sure they’re not closed.

The air is cold and damp in the darkness, and a shiver rolls through me, making me very aware of the fact that my arms are tied behind my back around some kind of square post. The corners dig into the insides of my arms. My legs are splayed straight out in front of me, and the ground I’m sitting on is cold and hard. I move my leg a little bit, searching for something, anything. The surface beneath me is smooth, not like a tile floor would be. As my dress bunches and the bottom part of my calf is exposed, I can feel grit rolling beneath it. It’s almost like I’m sitting on bare cement.

I turn my head left and right, searching for a source of light, but I find nothing. I’m blinking rapidly, if only to assure myself that my eyes are indeed open.

What happened?

Scanning my mind, I search for the last thing I remember. The girl. Lily. The gates of heaven. The Archangels. “Oh, God,” I whisper, but He doesn’t answer me.

They just disappeared in front of me. She simply reached out and grabbed their shoulders. I can still see the confused looks on their faces as they disintegrated. I’ve never seen anything like that happen to such powerful beings. Frankly, I hope to never see it again.

I remember Nathair, and the girl crying out for me to save her. And Mara… Who could forget her? The angry human responsible for savaging the tapestry of life. She severed several of the carefully spun threads of life, ending the humans’ lives decades too soon, and then trapped their souls in that horrible prison in hell.

Tears form in my eyes. I’ve failed. Again. Despite all the precautions I took, the child’s soul did not go to heaven where she belongs. Children are not unheard of in hell. Some are just black threads. But they are rare to say the least. And it is an absolute crime against humanity for a child who was meant for heaven to be condemned to even a moment in hell. Guilt washes over me—I promised to save her, but I didn’t.

To my surprise, Nathair breaks my despair. He opens a small, rectangular slit—a window?—in what appears to be a door. The sound of scraping metal makes me want to press my hands to my ears, but I’m quickly reminded of my bound hands.

The light streaming in through the hole is absurdly bright, but I struggle to keep my eyes open, wanting to get a feel for my surroundings while I can. But the light is blinding, so I turn my face away from it, looking instead at the walls around me. It’s a square room with no windows besides the one in the door. It’s the world’s smallest basement. There’s nothing in here but the post and me. No shelving for storage, no canned goods, boxes of mementos, nothing. Just the post, me, and now Nathair on the other side of the door.

“Nathair! What’s going on? Why are you helping her? We were made to protect the humans—to bring them home—not to destroy them,” I plead with him. He scans the room silently before his dark eyes fall on me.

I see the tops of his shoulders bob above the bottom of the window in a shrug. “I just came to check on you, not debate good and evil.”

“Nathair. Please,” I beg, but his blank eyes tell me nothing. He slams the window shut, plunging me back into darkness. Once again, I’m rendered blind. But at least I have my bearings now. I know there’s a door in front and bare walls to either side of me. If I can ever get free of my restraints, I will know where to start walking.

I’ve never cared much for darkness. Although Webber once made a strong argument that without it, it would be impossible to appreciate and recognize the light, now that I’m submerged in it, I can’t help but relate to Penn’s desire to minimize it within the world.

Something tells me that I’m not in hell. For one thing, the basement lacks that distinctive sulfuric odor. In fact, it’s almost…earthy.

“They have me on Earth,” I say to the darkness. The room is so damp that it swallows my words without leaving an echo behind.

Why trap me on Earth? They must know I can come and go as I please from here. If Mara doesn’t understand that, certainly Nathair—as a fellow…well, former Reaper—would have explained our duties and privileges to her.

The quickest way out would be to call the mists and disappear into them. But no matter how much I relax, no matter how much I need them, they don’t come. Normally, all I have to do to get them to appear is visualize them. The fact that it’s not working makes my heart race. It also makes me feel incredibly vulnerable, which isn’t an emotion I’m used to feeling. I can certainly empathize with the human souls I collect, but I’m a heavenly being. I’m not susceptible to any real threats. Until the Fates and I went to hell to retrieve those souls, I had never known real danger. But at least I had them. This horrible isolation is so much worse.

“I’m alone,” I whisper, and my words are once again swallowed by the damp darkness.

Time stretches before me like some horrible unknown. With no sun or moon, no workday, nothing to give me any indication of how long I’ve been down here. Despair is my constant companion.

I think about Mara’s last words to me—she’d told me I would help her, like it or not. But how? Surely keeping me tied up in this dank basement can’t be the entirety of her plan. There’s more to this situation than meets the eye, and it makes me wary.

Left to my own devices, I replay the memory of losing Lily again and again. Of course, I don’t know what really happened to her—I don’t remember anything after Nathair grabbed me—but I don’t trust that this woman, Mara, would do right by her. After all, why else would she have been lying in wait?

How is she even doing this? Is she the one blocking the mists, or is Nathair helping her? She’s human; her aged face attests to that. But that doesn’t mean she’s not powerful. When I think about the way those Archangels vanished… Well, it’s obvious our foe is much more formidable than we originally anticipated.

The thing is, humans aren’t supposed to know about our world.

But she does, and she vanquished two huge Archangels with no more than a touch.

I shiver again against the thought. Diligence, I remind myself. Just yesterday—in heavenly terms, at least, I met with God in his own personal Garden of Eden. He’d told me that my work was only just beginning. Diligence was the only way I’d see it through to the end.

The thought gives me strength. After all, diligence doesn’t leave room for despair. I wiggle my wrists. They’re tied together so tightly they’re starting to ache. The coarse rope is making my skin itch, and my squirming only makes it worse. My shoulders are sore from the awkward position. I’m ready to be free—I need to be free—but my wiggling doesn’t gain me an inch. Still, I have nothing but time stretched out ahead of me for what seems like an eternity. So I keep working. Keep squirming.

It’s not quick, and it’s not easy. It feels like a week passes as I struggle with my bonds, but it’s probably only a few hours. The more I struggle, the weaker the rope gets. I just have to keep working at it. Diligence.

Eventually, I manage to wiggle my right hand just enough to give myself some leverage. I’m not out completely, but I know I’ll be home free soon. But my shoulders are screaming, and each movement makes it worse. Still, I know I can’t stay here. I can’t give up. My work isn’t done. I have souls to save and a human to stop.

One arm comes free first, and I slowly bring it around to the front of my body. I can almost hear the creaking in my shoulder. The urge to groan is almost impossible to resist, but I have no concept of the rest of the building, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. The last thing I need is for Nathair to come check on me. I’d be right back where I started if that happened. Or worse.

I have no idea what they’d do to me. The worst-case scenario ends with me joining the Archangels she made disappear, wherever they went. I shudder at the thought, determined not to let that happen.

I sit for a moment and revel in my almost freedom, but my left hand is still tied to the pole. Sighing, I extend my free arm back behind me to help untie my other hand, pushing past the pain in my shoulder.

It only takes a few moments, but it’s a few too long for my aching body. Once both hands are free, I rub my wrists and bend over, bringing my knees up so I have a place to rest my head.

Now what?

My unseeing eyes search the darkness. The way out is just a few paces in front of me. But this isn’t hell, where all the doors are open. Most who are brought there truly have no hope of escape—the apparent freedom is yet another form of torture—so I probably can’t just open it and walk out of here. On second thought, I suppose this is what it feels like for the prisoners in hell. The doors may be open, sure, but what’s on the other side might be more frightening than what is inside. After seeing what Mara did to the Archangels, I’m very aware that I’m not invincible. Frankly, I’d like to avoid her if I can.

But then I scold myself. I can’t avoid her forever. I need to get her to stop this madness. But I can’t face her alone either.

Making up my mind, I nod. I need to escape and get reinforcements. Just like I did after I discovered the prison of souls in hell.

It’s comforting to have a plan of action, and it gives me the boost I need to rise to my feet. I dust off my long, black-and-white dress on impulse. I can’t actually see it, but I just feel dirty after sitting on the gritty floor for so long.

Taking slow, measured steps, I approach the door with my arms outstretched in front of me.

After a few short steps, I make contact with what I think is the door. It’s cold and smooth. I feel around, running my hands all over it, finding its outline among the cinderblocks.

There’s not even a handle on this side. But I push the rising despair back down. Keep moving. Keep working. Stay focused. Diligence. It’s my mantra as I feel for the slot in the door, hoping I can pry it open.

Hope is all I have in the darkness, and it’s lighting my way as my fingers find purchase in the door.

Three

Penn

The night drips on with a slowness that is painful, like trying to fill a gallon jug with a leaky faucet. It fills the three of us with dread because Michaela still hasn’t returned. By now, we know she isn’t in a meeting with Ryker. She isn’t taking her time with her quarry. She didn’t stop to admire a particular waterfall on Earth. She’s in trouble.

“We have to do something,” I say, standing so abruptly from my seat between my sisters that Galenia lets out a small gasp.

“What do you propose?” Horatia asks.

“I think we should go to the Reaper’s wing and start asking questions. Someone must have heard something.”

Galenia eyes me. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if you’re recognized?”

“I can’t sit still any longer,” I say. “We all know something went wrong.”

“Why don’t Horatia and I go?”

But the thought of waiting alone in Michaela’s room makes me panic a little. Okay, more than a little. It fills me with a sense of dread so cold I physically shiver. “No. I’m coming too.”

“How are two Fates and a Keeper going to avoid suspicion?” Galenia asks, clearly skeptical of my demand.

“It’s late. There probably aren’t too many people wandering around anyway,” Horatia points out.

“Galenia raises a good point,” I say. “It would be more inconspicuous if only one of us went. And since you two are joined at the hip, I should be the one to go.”

“Since when do you care about being inconspicuous?” Horatia asks.

Before I can put together a solid argument, Galenia says, “No. We go together or we wait and see. No in between. We’ve been to hell and back together, we can certainly manage the Reapers’ wing.” There’s a fire in Galenia’s eyes I wasn’t expecting. It assures me I’ve lost this battle. They’re coming with me.

As we make our way toward the naming room, the place where the Reapers gather before setting out each morning, I struggle to maintain my composure. The gravity of what her disappearance might mean makes my feet feel like lead and my breath huff out in short gasps. I can’t lose her. I can’t add her to the list of losses I’ve incurred since this all began. My job. My home. Andrew. Kismet. No, I can’t lose Michaela too.

It’s eerily quiet in the corridors. Soon, we find out why. All the Reapers are packed into the naming room.

“Is it normal for them to be gathered at this time of night?” Horatia asks, but from her concerned tone, I can tell she already knows the answer. We all do.

Through the glass doors, I can see them gathered in front of the podium as Ryker addresses them from on high. But I can’t hear what he’s saying. I search the crowd for Michaela. None of the Reapers are facing us, but it doesn’t matter. None of them share her long, blonde hair, her medium stature, or her glowing smile.

Relief wraps around me like a warm blanket when my eyes land on a Reaper with hair similar to Michaela’s. I will her to turn around. It has to be her. Who else could it be? I’m smiling, planning what I’m going to say to guilt-trip her for worrying us, when the woman turns. Her face is sharp, coming to a point at her chin, with deep brown eyes and skin darker than Michaela’s. Disappointment doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that washes over me.

Ryker is still talking. His facial expressions reveal nothing. He’s a stern man with a hard exterior, which means we’re not going to learn anything from watching him speak. We need to hear what he’s saying. But if one of them recognizes me, I’m done for. As a banished soul, if I’m discovered back in heaven, the punishment will be annihilation. Besides, if they spot the two Fates, they’re bound to ask questions. It’s lose-lose as far as I can see.

I sigh. I’m tired of living in a state of constant fear. It’s exhausting. But even though I want to live, I’m not willing to live like this. Anyway, Michaela stuck out her neck to bring me back here. The least I can do is stick my own out for her.

Throwing caution to the wind, I slip into the naming room, with the Fates right on my heels. With any luck, the Reapers won’t notice. But I’ve been in here before in my Keeper’s uniform. Perhaps, if pressured, I can concoct a similar story about collecting information for the Keepers’ records. Maybe even ask about the whereabouts of the latest missing Reaper. Nathair still hasn’t been found, and the thought makes me shiver as I wonder if he and Michaela met with a similar fate.

That doesn’t explain the two Fates’ presence, but I’ll deal with that if I have to.

We linger near the door in case we need to make a fast getaway, but Ryker’s booming voice carries to the far corners of this room. He certainly is an intimidating presence, but I know Michaela has a soft spot for him, so there must be more to him. Then again, she has a soft spot for everyone, Webber included.

“Two Archangels have gone missing as well.” His statement rings through to the back of the room, striking me right through the heart.

Archangels? They are supposed to be the strongest of all of us. If someone managed to best them, the entire world as we know it is in danger. Galenia’s right. This situation is coming to a head. Now.

I swallow hard, trying to hold back a rising sense of panic. Panic isn’t my thing, and besides, it won’t help at all.

Ryker’s voice brings me back to the naming room. “Their disappearance is believed to be connected with Michaela’s. We’re doing everything we can to locate her, and we’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available.”

The Reapers erupt with questions—their voices a dull roar in the back of my mind. Or maybe that is just the blood rushing to my head. Michaela’s disappearance.

As if of its own accord, my hand reaches past Galenia and finds purchase against the glass, bracing myself against the news.

She’s really gone.

Four

Michaela

I hold still for a few moments, listening hard for any kind of sound on the other side of the door. My fingers grip the slat in the metal as if it’s my only lifeline. I hear nothing at all, only the heavy sound of my own breathing. But I have no idea if that’s because the door is soundproof, or if it means there’s no one on the other side. Would they leave me unguarded? There’s only one way to find out.

Worming the pads of my fingers into the small space between the slat and the door, I ease the small window open, millimeter by millimeter, until I have a firm hold. I pause, listening again, but there’s still nothing. I try to ease it open as quietly as possible, but it makes that same screeching metal-on-metal sound, and the slower I move, the longer it drags out. Acting on impulse, I push it open hard. The sound echoes as if bouncing off walls that are too close together. I can only hope no one else heard it.

Blinking, I peer out the window, but the darkness outside is as absolute as it is in the room. When Nathair checked on me, there was light streaming in. Why is it so dark now?

I can only hope this isn’t simply a smaller interior room in a larger basement that’s guarded by another locked door. Before I can slump over with despair, I shake my head. No. I can’t harp on everything that might go wrong. This is my opportunity to act.

Moving carefully, with tentative movements, I stick my arm out of the opening, hoping that if I can’t see anything outside the door, then a potential guard can’t see me either.

Pushing myself all the way to the edge of the window, I stretch my arm out as far as it will go, reaching for the edge of the door. Trying to find some sort of handle. When I don’t find anything, I move to the other side. My hand finds purchase, and I almost buckle with relief. There’s a knob on some kind of slider, and above it, a deadbolt. That’s as far as my arm will reach, so if there’s another lock under the knob, I won’t know until I try to push the door open.

First, I try to undo the deadbolt, but it protests. It feels unused, not to mention displeased with the movement. It cries out with another scraping metal sound as it slams home. Trying to keep panic at bay, I feel for the other lock with a shaking hand.

Holding my breath, I brace my body against the inside of the door and pull the slider toward me. At first, it doesn’t budge, and I fear it’s rusted shut. How long have I been down here? Is it over? Has the world been destroyed and condemned to eternal darkness? I channel my panic into the lock, pulling as hard as I can.

Just as my darkest thoughts start vying to take over my mind, I feel the slider budge. A little. Then a little more. Until it too screams in protest as it slides free of its hold.

The door isn’t rusted like the locks were, and it comes open more easily than I would have expected. Before I know it, I find myself in a heap on the floor. Outside the room. My hands go to the sides of the doorframe, and I pull myself up on shaky legs.

The glee I felt after escaping the hand restraints was nothing compared with this feeling.

But the darkness—so absolute it makes me feel blind—is eerie.

Pausing to assess my situation, I use my other senses. The wall beyond the door is cement cinder blocks, just like the walls in my cell. I trace the grooves between the blocks in a straight line ahead of me as I shuffle forward. The air out here isn’t much different than it was inside my room—another indication that I haven’t escaped much of anything quite yet.

Each small step I take forward brings me closer to the certainty that Nathair will find me. That Mara will appear out of nowhere. That I will be trapped once more. But I’m not caught yet, and that thought is enough to keep me moving.

My foot abruptly connects with something, and I stumble forward before landing hard on a staircase. It feels bare beneath my hands, the wood splintered in places. Lucky for me, it leads upward, not deeper into the darkness. On hands and knees, I climb slowly, making a tremendous amount of noise. Each step creaks under my weight, and I get tangled in my dress more than once. It’s harder than you might think to crawl up the stairs in a long dress in total darkness. Dignity and grace are definitely not my companions, but at least I’m moving forward. Toward what, I don’t know, but it has to be better than going back into that dark prison, right?

Thankfully, the staircase is closed in on both sides by cinderblock walls, so it’s not possible to topple off the edge. Using my hands to guide me, I make my way up the stairs until I can go no further. Another door.

I slowly pull myself up and brush off my no doubt filthy dress. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for what’s to come. I’ve tried not to think of it, but there’s a very real possibility that this door may be locked.

My hand hits the door hard, making a thump as I reach out for a doorknob. I’ve never felt such a compulsion to swear. But swearing is for humans and Fates who’ve spent too much time on Earth. I smile, thinking of my dear friend, Penn, take a deep breath, and slowly feel for the doorknob. My fingers crawl across the surface until I find a lever—long, slender, and cold. Wrapping my hand tightly around it, I hold on for dear life.

I bring my other hand up to the doorframe and brace myself as I push the lever down slowly, waiting to feel resistance that never comes. This door must be newer than the one downstairs; it doesn’t make a sound as I push it all the way down. All that’s left to do is push it open and seize my freedom. Or so I hope.

With agonizing care, I push the door open, and the light that streams through the tiniest little slit I’ve made in the doorway blinds me.

Five

Penn

There’s movement. It takes a Herculean effort, but I raise my head in an attempt to process what’s happening around me. The Reapers are dispersing. Horatia and Galenia are pulling at me, forcing me into movement. I let them, and we slip out the door before a wave of Reapers descends on us.

We walk back toward Michaela’s quarters in silence. It follows us inside, hanging heavy in the air, making our movements slow and my thoughts slower.

I’m afraid to break the silence. She’s gone. If I say it out loud, it’s like I accept it. And I don’t.

I’m not sure why, but my panic is more absolute now than when I lost Kismet. Part of it is that Michaela is a heavenly being, so she should be immortal, infallible. Death is an integral part of human life, but not of ours. I shouldn’t have to worry about losing her; she’s an absolute. And yet, she’s gone.

At the same time, I know there’s more to it. Michaela has grown more important to me than I realized.

Horatia is our go-getter. Surely, she will have a plan. But she’s disturbingly quiet. It’s Galenia who finally breaks the silence.

“What can we do?” The despair in her voice makes something inside of me snap.

“We know who’s responsible for this…for everything that’s gone wrong lately. I say we find her and put an end to her interference. Now.”

They aren’t following me. “Who?” they ask in unison, bewildered expressions on their faces.

“Mara,” I shout, giving voice to the unspoken fear we’re all harboring. Someone may overhear me, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m done hiding. “The human.”

Galenia lets out a gasp. “How can you be sure?” she asks.

“Come on, Galenia. She’s the one who captured the surprises in the prison of lost souls. Andrew identified her by name. Michaela goes to collect the latest surprise and disappears herself? It’s not that much of a leap to conclude that Mara has her.”

“No.” It’s barely a whisper, but there’s a look of pure terror on Horatia’s face.

I’m not sorry for speaking uncomfortable truths, but I am sorry for scaring her.

Clasping Horatia’s hands in mine, I say, “This is not the time to despair. We need to take action.” Her expression doesn’t change, and I fear I’ve lost her, if only for this moment.

“All we’ve done is take action, Penn, and look where it’s gotten us.”

Galenia is at my side in an instant, and she adds her hands to mine. “Penn is right, Ratia.” She reaches up and gently wipes her sister’s tears away with her thumbs. “There is no place for despair here. Only devotion.”

Horatia takes a deep breath, and my relief is immense as I watch her despair harden into resolve. In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen her crack like that before.

“So, what do we do?”

“I need to get into the weaving room,” I say.

The two Archangels who stand in front of the weaving room door look intimidating, but we have no choice except to face them. When the damage to the tapestry was discovered, Archangels were stationed outside at all times. Although it hasn’t stopped the threads from being cut, it has strengthened the resolve of the guards. Getting past them won’t be easy. But, the night is waning, and Michaela might not have much time left.

We have no plan for dealing with the guards. We just boldly march up to them. I’m at a loss for what to say, but Galenia comes to the rescue.

“This Keeper has come to see the tapestry for his records. He needs to chronicle the damage.”

“Why didn’t he come during the day?” one of the Archangels asks. Ever the stereotypical angel, he’s huge and blond. He and his equally enormous partner are standing wingtip to wingtip, blocking the whole door.

“The Keepers asked me to come now so I won’t be underfoot while the Weaver works.”

The angels look skeptical, so I press my case. “They suggested I bring the two senior Fates to supervise.”

The angel on the right eyes me carefully. “You seem very familiar, Keeper. Have we met before?”

I shift my weight, resisting the urge to face him head on. If he keeps looking at me, there’s a good chance he’ll identify me. Given my status, it would be his right to eliminate me on the spot.

I start wishing we’d thought this through a little more.

“Please,” Horatia says, “we’re very behind, and we’d like to get started a little early this morning if possible. The quicker this Keeper gets in and out, the better off we’ll all be.”

To my relief, the angel shifts his attention to her.

Both of the guards sigh. “Fine,” the suspicious one says, “but if another thread is cut while you’re in there, we’ll know who to blame.”

The threat gives me goose bumps.

“Believe me. If we see him cutting threads, we’ll let you take care of him,” Horatia says, clapping a hand on the angel’s shoulder as we walk by.

I stifle a snort at the gesture and clear my throat, hiding my face behind the hood of my Keeper’s uniform.

Galenia shuts the door behind us, and I hope it will offer enough privacy. But she still speaks in a whisper as we cross the room together and come to a stop in front of the tapestry of life.

“What now?”

Rather than answer her, I head straight to the tapestry, edging so close my nose almost touches it. I remember spinning Mara’s thread not so long ago. The order for her was simple: Highly intelligent but morally wayward. I’ll never forget that. How do you spin such a soul? But I did my best, and, inevitably, her thread turned out grey.

I start at the edge of the tapestry and work my way back toward Kismet’s sparkling pink thread. It would’ve been before Kismet, but not too much before her. Eventually, I find Nysa’s frayed thread, and there’s my clue—Mara’s intersects with it not long before the cut.

“There you are, you little devil.” The sight of the thread fills me with a sense of dread. I wove it gray. I know that like I know my own name, but it has turned as black as the night. I trace it up the tapestry until it fades to the gray I created. In all my years as a Spinner, I’ve never seen anything like it.

“What happened to her?” Galenia asks.

“I don’t know. And I don’t need to know. We just need to find her.”

I start at the end.

Six

Michaela

Blinking in the light, I look around, waiting impatiently for my eyes to adjust, relying on my other senses to inform me of danger. But it’s strangely silent.

The door opened to a hallway painted yellow. It’s so warm and welcoming it’s hard to believe it’s connected to my prison. I choose to go left, toward what I can only assume is the back of the building.

Pictures line the walls of the hallway. Mara is in some of them, but a small boy is in all of them. He is young, only about six years old in the most recent picture, but based on how Mara looks in the photos, they’re all at least two years old. The human had lines around her eyes when I saw her at the gates of heaven, but in these photos, she does not. Both mother and son look happy, and Mara is even smiling in one or two of them. But she’s also watching the boy like a hawk, as if she’s waiting for something to doom him, as if she’s ready to stop it. The confidence behind her fierce gaze is puzzling. Most humans know they can’t hold back their future, whatever it may hold. But if I’ve learned one thing about our adversary, it’s that she can’t be described by the word normal.

Like the memories I share with the souls I lead through the mists to the heavens, these images are telling me a story. Of days at the beach, the park, Christmases, birthdays, Halloweens, time with friends, time alone, and everything in between. Despite the circumstances, they make me smile. At one time, this was a happy family, however small it was. As I think about the hateful woman who stood before me at the gates of heaven, I can’t help but wonder what happened to Mara.

A beeping sound interrupts my train of thought and stops me in my tracks. It’s both steady and unobtrusive. But the way it drones on reminds me of a hospital.

I follow the sound to a door in the hallway. It’s nothing special. Probably a bedroom or something on the other side.

My hand hovers over the doorknob as I look left and right down the hallway. I’m still alone. But am I inviting discovery by going inside? Shouldn’t I focus on leaving? But whether it’s a mistake or not, something about the beeping draws me to the room. I lower my hand onto the handle, gently push it down, and go inside.

A little boy lies on a bed along the far wall. He’s unmistakably an older version of the child in those photographs. His eyes are closed and a heart monitor beeps steadily at his side. The room clearly belongs to him. It’s painted blue with the Millennium Falcon emblazoned on the far wall. The dresser in the corner is topped with a television and the latest gaming console. But it’s dusty, as if it hasn’t been touched in a while. A window lets dappled sunlight in next to a large bookshelf, overflowing with books on every subject. He has The Boxcar Children, Origami Yoda, Percy Jackson, and Harry Potter. I smile at his collection as I walk around the room.

Finally, I turn to face the bed. I jump, startled, bringing my hand to my chest. There’s a plush armchair in the far corner of the room, directly next to the bed. And the boy is sitting in it, or at least a reflection of him. He isn’t a ghost. He’s not silvery enough for that. He’s like an opaque copy of himself. Realization hits me like a freight train. It’s his soul—not quite a ghost, but not at home either.

I’ve never seen a soul trapped this way. Either they’re ghosts on Earth or they’re in transit to their final homes. But this…it makes my breath catch in my throat. It’s wrong on so many levels. How long has he been like this? And how much longer can he last this way? Indefinitely? Hours? I can’t decide for sure which option is worse.

The boy in the chair gives me a sad smile from under brown hair that’s gotten long enough to cover his eyes. He tosses it back with a shake of his head and waves at me. But when he brings his hand up, I notice something thin attached to it. Following it with my eyes, I trace it all the way back to his body. I walk around the bed, my eyes glued to the shimmering thread, and the closer I get, the clearer it becomes.

Kneeling down in front of the boy, I study the surprises’ threads. They’re the ones Mara stole from the tapestry. Spotting Kismet’s sparkler isn’t hard. It’s right there, braided in with the rest. The rope—if you can call it that—is crude and frayed, but it’s doing its job. It’s keeping him here.

“I’m Shiloh,” the boy’s soul says to me. It startles me out of my trance, and I look up at him.

“Hi, Shiloh. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Michaela.”

Mara’s cryptic words echo in my mind. Everything will be okay, for my son Shiloh. You’re going to help me save him.

The pieces fall into place as I put it all together. Mara is stealing threads to save her son. He was probably meant to die a while ago, judging by the look of his soul.

The weight of it pushes me down onto the bed, and I sit facing this little boy’s soul.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Reapers don’t come here, except Nathair of course, but he didn’t come to take me home.”

His frankness startles me almost as much as the fact that he knows what I am. “Home? Isn’t this your home?” I ask, trying to avoid the elephant in the room.

“Well, no. Mom is keeping me here. I got sick a couple of years ago, but she figured out how to keep me here.” He shrugs quickly, and the second-nature gesture reminds me of his youth and innocence. “I don’t blame her. We had so much fun before I got sick. When Dad died, I think it was kinda hard on my mom. I was little, so I don’t really remember it. But she worked hard to make sure I had a happy life. And I did. We went everywhere together.” He smiles as he looks at a picture of the two of them on the nightstand. She has her arms around him, and they are both smiling. The wind is blowing her hair off to the side, and it’s rather remarkable to see their happiness captured so perfectly.

“I don’t understand why so many bad things have happened to her. Why is she being left behind?”

He looks up at me with huge blue eyes that demand answers, but I have nothing. So I tell him the truth. “I don’t know.”

He sighs heavily. “I didn’t think you would.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, and I ponder what to do. I can’t take him with me. He’s tied to his body, and besides, the mists refused to come to me in this place. But I can hardly leave him here. He doesn’t belong. He was supposed to die long ago, and he knows it. He’s out of place. In limbo. How could a mother do this to her own child? She obviously knows about our world, the mechanics of it at least. She must know he’s meant to go home. It is not a gift to keep him here this way.

After a time, he interrupts my thoughts. “She’s not all bad. You know that, right?” There’s a pleading note in his voice, as if I might have some role in deciding her fate. He seems to have a greater understanding of the ramifications of his mother’s actions than she does.

I don’t answer. I used to think I knew. What she did to Lily, to all those other souls, is unforgivable. But maybe he’s right; maybe her love for him means she’s not all bad. She doesn’t seem like that happy, loving mother in the hallway pictures anymore, but is that person still in there somewhere? Buried deep inside?

“She’s not strong enough to deal with another loss. With me going home.” His voice catches, and I reach out for his hand on impulse before pulling it back. I can’t take him anywhere, and I’m afraid if I make contact, I’ll doom him to being a ghost. But this little boy knows he’s stronger than his own mother, that she needs him more than he needs her, and the weight of that is breaking my heart. All I can do is sit back and listen to him.

“I wish she would let me go,” he whispers. “Is that horrible of me? Wanting to leave my own mother behind?”

If possible, the tiny pieces of my broken heart break even more for him. I kneel down on the floor in front of him, barely resisting the urge to put my hands on his knees. Looking up at him, I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes. This poor boy. He started it all, without even knowing it.

“No, my sweet boy. That doesn’t make you horrible. It makes you…well, human. You don’t belong here. You know it. I know it. It’s just taking your mom a little longer to figure that out.”

“She’s lost so much already.” He says it so quietly that I almost don’t hear him.

“Yes, she has,” I say, thinking of her very soul and the things she’s sacrificed for her chosen path. She’s lost more than he knows.

Before we can take the conversation further, I hear a sound in the house. The slamming of a screen door.

“You should go. You shouldn’t be here,” he says quickly. The sadness in his eyes is replaced by fear, making me wonder what he’s seen in this place.

“She will use you. Turn you into something you’re not. Think of Nathair. Go,” he urges.

Think of Nathair. Is that what she did to him? Did she somehow change him into something he wasn’t? Force him to join her? Does that possibility make me think more of Nathair or less of Mara? I’m not sure.

I can’t help reaching for him, but he pulls away. “Come with me,” I beg, knowing he won’t.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. The mists won’t come here.”

Before I can ask him how he knows that, the bedroom door abruptly opens. I stand, turning to block Shiloh’s soul with my body.

But it isn’t Mara standing in the doorframe. Nor is it Nathair.

Quietly, the man closes the door behind him and turns to face me.

The shock nearly keeps words from forming. But, eventually, I find my voice. “Webber. What are you doing here?”

Seven

Penn

I see her. The anger she feels is almost overwhelming. When you combine it with the grief and desperation, I’m almost taken in. Almost. Sympathy threatens to form in my mind, but I push it back. This woman is responsible for trapping eight innocent souls in hell. Eight. One wrongfully trapped soul is far too many. Eight is a tragedy that can’t be tolerated, not to mention the massive amount of ghosts on Earth this whole mess created.

I see her driving. Nathair sits next to her in an old pick-up truck. I think it was yellow at one time, but age and rust have made it hard to tell.

“Did you take care of the girl?” Mara asks. There’s no empathy in her cold voice. I can feel the love she holds for her own child. But it’s clear she holds no affection for this girl she’s talking about.

“I did.” Nathair shifts in his seat, as if he’s uncomfortable. “Mara,” he finally says, “why can’t we just let them go to heaven after we cut their threads?”

She slams on the brakes in the truck, and Nathair only stops himself from crashing into the dashboard by bracing his body with his long legs.

“You dare to question me? You know there was no we when I started this. There was only Shiloh. And if you’re not in this for the right reasons, I can do it without you.”

Shiloh. Her son. I’m slowly putting the pieces together. This is about Shiloh. I struggle to remember the boy. His thread was terribly short, but that’s all I can recall off the top of my head. Suddenly, I have the urge to break away and find Shiloh’s thread, but I need to know where they are.

“True, it was harder without you. It wasn’t easy to bend the Reapers to my will, but it got me to the heavens…and my memory-erasing spell ensured they were none the wiser. But it was a challenge I mastered as time went on. I can do this without you.”

Nathair sits quietly for a moment. But something is bugging him. I can tell from all the sidelong glances he’s making at her.

“But why the prison, Mara? They are suffering. You know what happened to Nysa. Isn’t there some way we could—?”

She cuts him off. “Nysa got what she deserved. She didn’t want to help my Shiloh. She had the audacity to tell me to let him go in peace.” She pauses as she makes a turn down a dirt road. “The others…are unfortunate.”

“But if we correct it, maybe we can save them.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He wants to save them. He’s not invested in this the same way she is.

“My, my, Nathair. You are a softie, aren’t you? In fact, I think your Reaper is showing.” She smiles playfully at him and puts her hand suggestively on his knee. “I like this soft side I’m seeing. But no, my sweet. There’s nothing I can do for them now. Their threads have been cut early so if they go on to heaven, their threads become…unviable. I found that out the hard way. So they must go to the prison.”

“But they’ll all just vanish.”

“A casualty of war, I’m afraid. A sacrifice I’m willing to make. Aren’t you?” She bats her eyelashes up at him and stares at him with her huge green eyes. I want to shout at him. She’s manipulating you, you idiot. Listen to your instincts! But he wouldn’t hear me. I am nothing more than an observer. Once we set a thread’s fate in motion, that soul is out of our hands. And Mara is so far out of reach, I fear we may never find her.

Instead of answering her, Nathair turns his attention out the window. I do the same, trying to see down the road. The thick forest makes it hard to grasp exactly where they are, but I can see a log cabin up ahead. A few more moments tells me that’s where she’s heading. And that must be where Michaela is hidden too.

I pull back from the tapestry abruptly. Shiloh. My eyes dart up Mara’s thread until I find where Shiloh’s branches off it. It’s actually hard to see. As it is expertly woven back into the tapestry, I have to work hard to free it. Once I do, I’m shocked at what has happened to it.

“Horatia. Look at this.”

I trace his thread with my finger. It’s unnaturally long. It changes from the vibrant blue to a myriad of colors, including what looks like a bit of a sparkler. Is that Kismet? I can’t tell for sure. It’s woven back into the tapestry, so I can’t quite see where it ends now.

“Do you remember this boy?” I ask.

She scrutinizes his thread. “Yes. His thread was shorter than this when I gave it to Webber.”

Galenia peers over my shoulder at it. “He was supposed to die from cancer ages ago.”

“Indeed.”

When I peer into his thread, the boy is lying in bed, inside the home. I can hear voices outside the door. One of them is female. The sound is muffled and hushed, but I recognize it in an instant. Michaela.

The urge to go to her is overwhelming. She’s so close, but I’m not really there. I try to silently send her strength and encouragement. I’m coming for you, I whisper. Yet in some ways, I’m as far from helping her as ever. After all, I can have no effect on the people or events I see through the tapestry.

It’s time for us to take our next step, whatever that is.

“I know where she is,” I say, pulling away again. Or, at least I think I do. No need to let the others in on my doubts. At least not yet.

“Where?” Horatia demands.

“In some isolated log cabin in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Be more specific. Do you have coordinates or anything?” she asks.

“No.” I’m starting to feel dumb.

Horatia folds her arms over her chest and looks me up and down. “So how do you plan to extricate her?”

Galenia puts a hand on her sister’s shoulder, and she relaxes a bit.

“Same way I figured out where she is. Follow my gut.”

Eight

Michaela

Webber is breathless as he sinks to the floor just inside of Shiloh’s room, leaning his back against the door.

“Who’s that?” Shiloh’s soul asks. He seems very intrigued by the new soul in his room. “I’ve never seen someone like him before.”

“That’s Webber. He’s a Spinner. One of the three Fates. He creates those threads that are…” I stop, instantly regretting that I’ve drawn attention to the very threads the boy’s mother is using to anchor him here. “He creates the threads of life.”

“Wow! Really? That is so cool! Can you show me?” he asks with the type of wonder only a small child can possess. His eyes are sparkling as he looks at Webber, and it’s obvious Webber isn’t quite sure what to do. He’s clearly not used to this level of admiration. Particularly not considering the way things are going.

He raises his knees and rests his arms on them. “I can’t show you right now, kid, but I tell you what, you get to heaven and you can come watch me spin any time you like.”

Of course, it’s an idle promise—the souls taken to heaven won’t ever see the Fates’ workroom, but it’s the gesture that counts. Shiloh gives him a huge grin. “Deal!” he says.

Webber looks at me, and I can see his confusion beyond the smile he’s put on for the boy. His eyes dart to the rope connecting the body on the bed to the soul in the chair, and his expression turns serious. When he realizes what they are, he abruptly rises to his feet.

“What’s happening here, Michaela? Who is this boy?” he demands, as if the boy’s soul weren’t right here in front of us.

“This is Shiloh. Mara’s son.”

“Mara?” he asks. “The human? The one responsible for trapping the souls?”

His eyes are focused on the crudely constructed rope, and it’s as if he’s forgotten the boy attached to either end. “She’s keeping him here? That’s what this is about? Saving her son? So many lives—”

I cut him off. Shiloh doesn’t need to hear about the ramifications of his mother’s actions. I suspect he already knows what she’s done, but the reminder will only hurt him. “Webber. What are you doing here?”

He finally takes his eyes away from the rope and looks at me. Smiling smugly, he shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to rescue you.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “I knew you were a gray thread, Webber.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I go to him and kiss him on the cheek. “It means you’re not all bad.”

He rubs his cheek where I kissed him and mumbles, “I always kind of liked the darker threads.”

I nod, but my response is interrupted by another sound in the house. There are voices, a man and a woman’s, followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Shiloh’s soul isn’t excited anymore. He’s terrified. “You have to go. She can’t find you here.”

Webber puzzles at the boy for a moment. Rather than wait for Webber to come to his own conclusions, I nod and take Webber’s hand, trying to give him a sense of urgency. “I will come back for you, I promise.”

But instead of saying the kind of things a little kid should say, such as, ‘You better,’ or ‘I can’t wait,’ Shiloh turns sad. “I’m afraid no matter how many times you come back, I’ll still be beyond your reach.” He sounds a million years old now.

All the urgency to save myself drains when I hear the exhaustion in this child’s voice. I let go of Webber and take a step toward Shiloh. “I will build a bridge to you, Shiloh. I promise. Come hell or high water, I will not abandon you.”

He looks at me, but I can tell he’s battling with himself. He feels guilty for hoping that I’ll succeed. Despite what she’s done, a big part of him doesn’t want to leave his mother. I can see the struggle on his face. I smile reassuringly at him, knowing that’s all I can do for now, and turn toward the door.

Just as I take a step in Webber’s direction, the door flies open, hitting him hard before bouncing back. I freeze in place, knowing exactly who’s on the other side. Only one person would open the door with that kind of violence and fury.

Webber is in a heap on the floor, holding up an arm in defense in case the door should swing open again. Some knight in shining armor. I shake my head as I look at him, not quite cowering, but not exactly rushing forth to defend me either.

Slowly, the door swings open again. I see her arm first, and then the rest of her steps into view.

“Well. Funny meeting you here,” Mara says as she glares at me with such hate that I’m not sure she even remembers how to smile. It’s then I know the woman she was died when her son should have.

Nine

Penn

We leave the weaving room in silence just before the workday is scheduled to start.

The girls wander into the workroom, and I follow them automatically. Webber has yet to arrive, leaving the three of us to our thoughts.

“Did you actually see Michaela?” Horatia asks, looking for comfort, or maybe assurance that we’re on the right track.

“No. But I know she’s in that house.”

“How?”

“I heard her. Listen—we find Mara, we find Michaela. Besides, this isn’t just about finding Michaela, or freeing Kismet and the other souls. Mara has ruined a lot of lives, and we can stop her.”

“And how do you plan to get there? Jump off the edge of the heavens like you did the last time you went to Earth?” Horatia asks. I don’t miss the sarcasm in her tone.

“Well, I…” I stammer. Galenia comes to my rescue.

“The mists. Why not use the mists?”

“That would be the simplest solution, but we don’t have a Reaper at our disposal…” I trail off, racking my brain to make it work, to fit the pieces together.

“Why don’t we head over to the Reapers’ wing to see if we can follow one down to Earth?” she suggests. It’s not a bad suggestion. Except we might end up across the world from Mara and Michaela.

“Because we have our own work to do,” Horatia said, glancing at the door. “Where is Webber?”

He isn’t typically late. According to Horatia and Galenia, he tends to show up early to get a head start on the day. You can’t fault his work ethic.

“What do you want to do? I can always go alone,” I say.

The daggers shooting from Horatia’s eyes make me shrink back behind Galenia, who smiles comfortingly at me.

“Did he say he’d be late today?” Galenia asks.

“No.”

“Let’s go look in his quarters for him,” Galenia suggests.

“To what end?” I ask. “So you can get to work? Or so you can invite him to come?” I’m not really on board with either option, to be honest.

They’re both silent. “The more time we waste, the further Michaela gets from us. The further Mara gets from us.”

“Penn,” Horatia scolds. “We can’t just disappear.”

“Why not? It seems like Webber has.” To my mind, it’s a valid point.

Horatia shrugs. “It’s not like we have to go back to hell to look for him. Let’s just walk by his room.”

“Then what? If he’s there, you’ll either have to pretend everything’s normal, which means you, Galenia, and Webber will have to work today, or we’ll have to bring him with us.”

“Penn’s right,” Galenia says with a sigh. “Looking for him seems to be a lose-lose situation. Besides, I can’t bear to spend another unproductive day in the workroom. Not when everything’s so shaken up.”

Horatia lights up. “Penn, you go knock on his door. Galenia and I will hang back so he doesn’t see us.”

This is basically the worst idea ever. “I don’t even want to check on him! Why should I knock on his door?”

“Tell him we’re waiting for him, but we’re going to leave for the day if he takes much longer. That way he won’t think anything of it when we’re not here.” She’s clearly more of a fan of her genius than I am.

Galenia is nodding in agreement, though, and I know I’ve lost this battle. But if it means we’re going to get Michaela, I’ve won the war.

I take a deep breath before knocking on Webber’s door. I’ve never felt so conflicted in my life. I don’t want him to be there, but I also don’t want him to be in any real danger. Although it’s not something I’d admit to my sister Fates, I do think it’s odd that he didn’t show up. Webber’s never missed a day of work, so why would he start now?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I knock hard on his door. I look down the hall at my sisters, who are peeking around the corner, watching anxiously.

Shifting my weight, I look back at them and shrug.

Horatia waves me on. She wants me to go in.

“No,” I whisper. “What if he’s busy? Naked or something? No. I’m not going in there. If he doesn’t want to answer the door, that’s on him.”

Horatia approaches fast. “Fine. I will.” She reaches for the door, but before she can ruin everything, I open it and go in. She stays just behind the doorframe, out of sight.

To my surprise, the room is empty.

“Happy? He’s not here,” I say, but I feel just as unhappy as Horatia and Galenia look.

He’s not here.

“Where is he?” they ask simultaneously, barely speaking above a whisper.

I sigh. “One lost heavenly being at a time. He’s probably just brooding in the observatory. We don’t have time to search for him right now. He’ll turn up.” Although I don’t know that for sure—and I’m a little concerned too—I can’t let anything keep us from Michaela.

“We need to get Michaela,” I add.

I can tell they’re more worried than ever, but they both nod.

“Okay, then. Let’s see if we can’t find our way through the mists.”

The workday is now in full swing, so you’d think the Reaper’s wing would be teaming with activity, but no one’s around when we walk past the glass walls of the naming room.

Honestly, I’m relieved. I have my Keeper’s uniform on, but my sisters are a bit conspicuous in their glittering gold robes. We walk silently down the stark white corridors to the golden gate. The gate is mere yards away when someone stops us.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The words echo down the empty hallway, making us all freeze where we stand—or crouch. Even her steps sound angry. I wish she would quiet down. We’re so close. I don’t want other Reapers to join her crusade.

Galenia turns and flashes the sweetest smile she can conjure. Her smiles are so irresistible, I find myself smiling along with her.

“You’re Fates,” the girl says in surprise. “What are you doing here?” She’s small, much smaller than Michaela, and the long, black-and-white Reaper’s gown seems to dwarf her even more.

“We have some business…in the mists. I think it would be best for you to move along,” Galenia suggests sweetly. I’m not used to seeing this assertiveness in her. I have to say, I like it.

“Maybe I should get Ryker. He can help you get what you need.” Her voice is soft, almost meek. I wonder if she’s a friend of Michaela’s.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Horatia bursts in, holding up a hand. “But thank you for the offer,” she adds quickly, trying to cover up her urgency.

The Reaper scrutinizes the three of us a little longer. I can only hope she doesn’t recognize me. I don’t recognize her, so maybe, just maybe, I have that going for me.

“You’re Michaela’s friends, aren’t you? The Fates she’s always talking about.”

None of us responds. I can see Horatia and Galenia shift their weight as I avoid eye contact. I can’t help but notice she used the blanket term of Fates to identify us. She didn’t single me out as a Keeper. Does she know who I am?

“Are you trying to help her?”

I peek between my sister Fates for a better look at the Reaper. She’s straddling the line between lowering her guard and calling for reinforcements. There will be no middle ground, no scenario in which she just walks away and lets us do our thing without telling anyone. She’s either going to help us or report us.

After we spend a few moments suspended in tension, Galenia nods and the Reaper steps forward.

“I’m Miette,” she says. “I’m a friend of Michaela’s too. How can I help?”

My sister Fates stand there in slack-jawed amazement. This is no time for inaction, so I take a chance and step out from behind them.

“Miette,” I say. “Your name sounds familiar. I think I’ve heard her talk about you.” I smile, trying to offer some reassurance to the small Reaper in front of me. “If you really want to help, we could use a guide through the mists,” I say, thinking of my most immediate problem.

She glances around nervously. “I’m supposed to be working. Helping the new recruits. I was on my way to the training floor now. If I disappear, they will know something is up. Let me go get them started on a task, and then I’ll come meet you outside.”

She takes off running before any of us can respond, leaving us standing a few yards from the gold door.

“She seems sweet,” Galenia says, still smiling after the small girl.

“How long do you think we should wait out there for her? The Reapers who are coming and going are likely to see us lingering in the clouds,” Horatia points out.

“True. But no one else will take us exactly where we need to go,” I say, feeling like meeting her was a bit serendipitous. It’s bound to work out. Right?

I have absolutely no idea, but I turn and make my way toward the golden door, bringing my sisters with me. The only thing we can do is act and hope for the best.

We wait among the clouds for a long time, or at least what feels like a long time. Horatia and Galenia sit on the steps while I pace around a few yards away. We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say at the moment. We don’t speculate about Webber, Michaela, Kismet, or Andrew. We just wait.

Now that we’re standing still again, I can’t help but worry about Kismet. Are she and Andrew still locked in that prison in hell, waiting for us to return? But I’ve made my decision, and I can’t look back. Michaela’s in an equally dangerous situation, and if we don’t save her, we can’t save Kismet. Besides, I’ve already lost so much; I can’t bear to lose someone else I care about. I can’t lose Michaela. I know it like I know how to spin.

“Do you think Miette got sidetracked? Maybe we should go without her,” Horatia suggests, clearly getting antsy by the way her knees are bouncing. “Someone’s bound to notice the Fates are all missing. We should get moving before we miss our chance.”

“How? How are we going to go on? We haven’t seen a single Reaper since we came out here,” I snap.

“To be fair, I don’t think we’ve really been out here that long. It only seems that way,” Galenia says, ever the peacemaker.

Just as I’m about to rattle off a perfectly witty rebuttal, Miette comes through the door and stays my tongue.

Her sober expression stops my pacing dead in its tracks. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Horatia says, “No.”

At the same time, I say, “Yes.”

Confusion plays on Miette’s face. I can hardly blame her. “I know how to find her,” I offer, hoping it’s enough not to scare her off.

“And you think she’s on Earth?”

“I do.”

“And you planned to get there by going through the mists?”

“Yup.”

She holds her arms out to me, as if pleading with me to give her more information, or maybe just better information. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come along? How did you plan to get through them without a Reaper?”

I shrug. “Luck,” I say, not wanting to vocalize our ridiculous plan to follow a Reaper and hope they got us in the proximity of Mara and Michaela.

She frowns at me. She’s more serious than Michaela, and I’m not sure how to handle her. If I make her too uncomfortable, she may change her mind about helping us.

“Has that approach worked well for you in the past?” She raises an eyebrow at me, making me shift in place. I wonder again if she knows who I am.

I try a disarming joke. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

She chuckles quietly, and I let out a sigh of relief. “Point taken. So, where are we going?”

Horatia turns to me. “Yes, where are we going?”

Miette looks at me curiously.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I saw it in the weaving room. Is that enough to go on?”

Miette smiles broadly. “The mists are mysterious. They follow the soul that leads them.” She holds out her arm toward the gathering mist. “Lead on.”

After we’ve walked through the mists for a time, Miette breaks the silence.

“You know, Michaela saved me.” I start to wonder if I heard her right, but she picks up her explanation before I can press her. “I nearly aligned myself with the wrong crowd. A mistake that would’ve cost me my job. My life as I know it. She opened my eyes. She didn’t even know me at the time, but she offered me a lifeline to the right choice.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I owe her this.”

She turns to me and looks me right in the eye, as if I’m in charge of Michaela’s fate. “Bring her back.” It’s not a request—it’s an order.

I nod firmly, trying to let her know I’m not taking her order lightly.

She doesn’t say anything more. Either Miette doesn’t want to know our plan or she’s too afraid to ask. That’s a good thing…because we don’t have one. At all. We never progressed past stumbling our way through the mists.

My mind races as we walk through the white expanse of nothingness. What will we find on the other side? Will Mara be there? Nathair? Webber? Michaela? How will we get her back? Perhaps the how doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we will get her back. We must.

And we will put an end to Mara’s reign of terror. A part of me feels very responsible for what she’s done. I spun her, for heaven’s sake. I set this into motion, intentionally or not. Of course, that thought only leads to darker and darker thoughts as the mists billow up around us.

When the mists finally begin to clear, I slow my pace, not quite ready to face the latest life-or-death challenge.

Miette turns to face us, and I know she’s about to leave. “If you fail, I’m not sure how you will get back,” she says in a small voice. “I can’t wait for you. My little field trip must go unnoticed.”

I nod, though the risk we’re taking weighs on me. If we don’t return soon, it will be disastrous. With three Fates stuck on Earth and one unaccounted for, the birth rate will be at an absolute stand still. Galenia’s statement echoes through my mind again. All of this is going to end soon, one way or another.

“Good luck,” Miette says. Then she looks me in the eye. “I’m counting on you.”

Ten

Michaela

“Shiloh, my sweet baby. I didn’t realize you had visitors. I’m going to take good care of them for you, okay? Mommy will be right back.”

Mara’s son looks at her with his broken heart painted all over his face, and it brings tears to my eyes. But she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at his body.

Surely, she must know what she’s doing to him. She made the rope. She maintains it. She must see him. But she’s ignoring his soul, his essence, looking only at the boy in the bed. She kisses him gently on the forehead, adjusts his covers, and glances at his heart monitor before stepping away.

And in that one step, she goes from tender mother to ruthless captor in nothing flat. It’s frightening. She lunges forward, like she’s going to take us by the arms or something, but then she simply holds the door open and gestures for us to leave the room. I look at Webber and he shrugs, as if he doesn’t have any other ideas. I suppose it’s the thought that counts, but thoughts aren’t going to save us.

Nathair is out there waiting for us, and he saves Mara the chore of roughing us up. Grabbing us both by the arm, he jerks us down the hall, tugging us back toward the basement. From over my shoulder, I watch as Mara flashes one last gentle smile at her son’s body and shuts the door behind her.

“Nathair. Please. Stop this now. You know the consequences of this path.”

“Quiet.” He gives me a shove to accentuate his point, but it’s half-hearted. He has doubts.

“You’ve seen what she can do. It’s amazing. But this path will end. And I don’t want you to be on it when it does. Please, help us. Do the right thing here.”

Mara is waiting impatiently by the basement stairs. “That. Is. Enough,” she seethes. “The right thing is what we’re doing for Shiloh, so you can shut your judgmental little trap right now.” She probably spoke in a whisper so Shiloh wouldn’t hear her, but it only made her sound more menacing. She glares at me, and then nods for Nathair to take us down.

The only sign the Reaper isn’t thrilled with her orders is his conflicted expression. It doesn’t matter—for now, he’s still helping her. Nathair opens the basement door and shoves Webber down in front of him. I get dragged by the wrist. Webber trips several times on the way down the basement stairs, and I can tell he’s terrified. He hasn’t even seen what this woman can do, but he’s literally falling all over himself out of fear of her, Nathair, or maybe the whole situation. I can’t tell. To be honest, it is overwhelming. I take a deep breath. I will get us out of this. I just hope Webber doesn’t do anything desperate or stupid to make our bad situation worse.

Nathair rather unceremoniously shoves us into the small room where I was held captive. Then he steps inside so Mara can follow. I can feel her anger crackling in the room, almost like electricity snapping around us. Her nostrils are flared, her eyes are burning, and she’s breathing in short gasps. The demons we encountered in hell scared me less than the sheer force of her rage. And we’re cornered with her in a small, dark space.

A quick glance at Webber, who’s trying unsuccessfully to hide his terror, tells me I’m completely on my own. Even more so than when I was in the depths of hell.

The human takes another deliberate step into the room, bringing even more of that electric feeling with her. It makes the hair on my arms stand up.

“Who do you think you are, going to see him?” she demands. The barbed words are directed at me, as if she somehow knows I sought him out and Webber just stumbled upon us. “Did you think you could take him from me? After everything I’ve worked for? That I would bring you into our home so you could ruin everything?

“I know you aren’t on board, but Nathair wasn’t at first either.” She shoots him a seductive look. “He only needed a little persuasion. I intended to persuade you too—I just haven’t found your weakness yet. Don’t make me regret sparing you.”

Her words feel laden with power, and the light in the hallway flickers despite the fact that no one has moved to turn it off. A wicked smile steals across her face.

“Mara, how did you come to be so powerful?” I ask, ignoring her question and trying to stroke her ego a little. Distraction, that’s what I need. Time. I need time to form a plan.

“My powers were not so unusual once.” She looks down at one hand and rubs the fingers together, making a visible spark. “My mother and grandmother were both witches. I wasn’t born with these powers—they came to me through knowledge that was passed down from generation to generation.

So she’s a witch? It’s been years since I last led a self-proclaimed witch through the mists. Even so, I’ve never seen a human produce a spark by rubbing their fingers together. And I’ve never seen anyone vanquish an Archangel period, let alone with a mere touch. I’m in way over my head here, trying desperately to learn to swim.

But Mara doesn’t respond to my obvious bafflement. She keeps right on talking, and it’s obvious it’s been a while since she’s spoken to anyone other than Nathair and Shiloh. “My mother died when I was a young girl, and she took my father with her. They said it was a car crash, but I knew better. She couldn’t have been killed by something so common. She was a rather unstable soul.” Her shrug implies it meant nothing to her.

“Who raised you?” I ask, eager to keep her talking.

“My grandmother.” She sighs and looks off into the distance. “She died years ago. Long before I met my husband. She would have loved showing Shiloh her ‘parlor tricks’ as she called them. Simple magic to wow the children, like pulling a mouse out of her sleeve, or a flower from behind the kid’s ear.

“Most of what I learned about your world, I learned fairly recently. I traveled all over collecting knowledge from different covens, putting the information together piece by piece. It wasn’t easy, traveling with a sick child. His doctors thought I was dooming him to an early death, but it turns out we didn’t need them. I’ve kept Shiloh alive on my own longer than any of them thought he would last.

“Then my dear Nathair came along. That little development has certainly made things easier. I had to convince him to help me, of course, but you’ll find I can be very persuasive.” She smiles at him. He smiles back, but their expressions are totally different. Hers is cold and full of victory, and his…his is soft, and there is a bit of a wistfulness in his eyes. Does he love her? Something about the way he’s looking at her makes me wonder. Did she somehow force him to feel that way? She said he needed persuasion. What exactly does that mean? Her words send a cold shiver down my back.

She keeps talking—it’s almost as if she can’t stop. “Until recently, the true extent of my skill was theoretical. Those two angels confirmed the magnitude of my abilities.”

She gives me a smug look. “You speak of consequences to Nathair. But what authority does God have against someone who shares his capabilities?” She raises her sparking hand a bit.

I gasp involuntarily. “If you honestly believe your powers rival God’s, you are already lost.” It’s a devastating truth, not a threat. But she ignores me.

Shrugging, she shifts gears, veering back into more neutral territory. “I never did teach Shiloh the ways. He wasn’t very old when his father died, and I was devastated. All alone, with no one to help me raise this little boy who looked just like his father. In fact, he looks so much like him, it hurt to look at him at first.”

My mind is working hard to stay two steps ahead of her, but she’s given me so much information to consider that it’s hard to stay focused.

“But I love him. I love him with all that I am.” Mara turned her gaze back to me, and it was once again hard, cold, and full of hate. “What right do you have to him, after everything I’ve lost? How can you not understand that I need him?” Her emotions are swinging around so wildly, it’s hard to keep up. “He’s all I have left in this world.” It comes out dripping with sadness, but I don’t trust it. She’s clearly manipulative, and though I don’t doubt her love for the boy, I definitely doubt her sincerity. It’s important to tread lightly.

“Mara, it’s not that we don’t understand. Death is…difficult to accept,” I say carefully.

Mara scoffs, but I keep talking to her, trying to keep my voice as soft and soothing as possible. “But you’re causing others the same pain you’re trying to avoid. The last thread you cut belonged to a child. A young girl. You stole her from her parents. You haven’t solved your problem…you’ve only diverted it to someone else. Over and over again.” I take a step toward her, though every last inch of my body is crying out for me to run away.

Her expression tightens. “I needed to take a child close to Shiloh’s age. I thought it might be a more permanent solution.” She tilts her head, studying me as I take another step, hoping I can somehow gain the upper hand if I close the distance between us.

“Besides, better them than me.” She wears a chilling smile as she says it, and it’s hard to resist the urge to shudder.

“Is it, Mara? Because that fate wasn’t meant for them. It was meant for Shiloh. You obviously don’t believe your actions won’t be met with retribution, but I urge you to—”

She cuts me off. “It’s not your place to urge me to do anything. I control his fate now.” Finally, she looks over at Webber. “What do you think of that, Spinner?”

Webber doesn’t respond, and for that, I’m thankful. How does she know? Must be his gold clothing. The thought gives me an uneasy feeling. What other secrets of my home does this woman know? And how can she use the information against me?

“I’ve suffered enough losses in my lifetime.”

“And you plan to keep doing this until you die? Just cutting thread after thread after thread for the next fifty years?”

“Ah, fifty years? Is that how long I’ll be on this Earth? Good to know,” she answers, ignoring the larger issue.

All of a sudden, she takes a deep breath and nods to Nathair, who exits the room.

“Don’t test me again,” she said, staring at us with her burning eyes. “I think you’ll both prove rather useful. It’ll be particularly handy to have a Spinner around. Maybe I won’t have to cut any more threads after all—huh, Reaper? I bet that would make you pretty happy.”

Webber tenses. “I can’t just make life out of nothing.”

Mara laughs out loud. “I’m sorry. I thought that’s what Spinners did.”

Flustered, he shrugs. “That might be the basic gist of it, but the materials I need are only found in my cauldron. I can’t just knit you a sweater and tell you it’s made of lives.”

She doesn’t miss his snark, and the smile melts from her face. “No. I don’t suppose you can. Lucky for you, I have time to troubleshoot that small detail. Perhaps Nathair will have some ideas. He spends a great deal of time around your workstation anyway.”

Webber steps forward to protest, but I grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Mara smiles. “Don’t make me eliminate you both.” She turns to leave but stops in the doorway to add one last thing. “You could prove very useful indeed,” she says as she slams the metal door home.

And just like that, I’m trapped in the basement again.

Eleven

Penn

The mists aren’t clearing like they should. They’re unusually thick considering how far we’ve come from where we left Miette.

We walk carefully, not sure of what’s in front of us. There are big, looming shapes all around us. Based on the map we saw in Ryker’s office, I can only assume they’re trees. My feet crunch through the vegetation, but the mists drown out the sound. As we walk, the mists get thicker, not thinner, as if they’re bouncing off some object in front of us. But the white vapor is so dense, we can’t see what that object might be.

It’s almost as if the mists are climbing an invisible, dome-shaped wall stretched out in front of us, and then pouring back off it in waves. What could it mean?

Horatia and Galenia have never been to Earth before, so they probably don’t realize this is abnormal. When I look back at them, they seem less focused on the mist than they are on their first real-life experience of a forest. They’re looking all around, soaking in all the details. I can’t help but smile at their show of appreciation.

“What is it, Penn?” Galenia asks, finally sensing something’s off.

“This is odd. The mists usually clear, not gather. Something is blocking them.” I nod toward the dome shape in front of us, but it’s hard to see it through the murky air.

“What does it mean?” Horatia asks as she holds out a hand, letting the mist pouring off the dome roll over it. It doesn’t leave any moisture behind as real fog would. It just passes over her, leaving no trace of itself on her skin.

“Michaela is beyond this…dome or whatever it is. We have to get to the other side,” I say, convinced I’m right. There are no alternatives. We have to keep going. We certainly can’t get back to the heavens without Miette or Michaela. We need a Reaper to get home, and the one I want is straight ahead. Through the peculiar dome.

“What are you suggesting?” Horatia asks, obviously a bit leery of the situation.

“I think I’m just gonna go through it and see what happens. If it doesn’t hurt me, you can follow, okay? If it does, find another way in. You have to save her.”

“I don’t—” Horatia starts to protest, but I’m already moving forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Galenia take her hand in comfort, but I can’t afford to stop and consider the consequences of my planned action. I have an idea of who created this. She’s bad news, so I don’t really expect anything pleasant to come from passing through it. Extinction, imprisonment, torture…they’re all possibilities.

Despite that, I put out my right hand, glance back at my sisters for one last smile, and then put one foot in front of the other.

I feel no different at all. No searing pain, nothing that melts my arm, no change in the temperature or texture of the air. I press on, continuing to brace myself for…something. The mist at the edge of the dome is so thick that I can’t see anything, not even my hand stretched out in front of me. But I keep making my way toward the interior of the dome, toward Michaela. At least I think I’m moving toward her. I can’t really tell in all this fog. The only way I can ensure I’m moving in a straight line is to literally put one foot in front of the other, walking heel to toe, heel to toe. It’s slow, but it makes me feel better about where I’m going.

And then, rather suddenly, the mists clear. I find myself in a beautiful old forest with redwoods that seem to stretch past the sky. Some of them tower so high, I can’t even see the tops from where I stand.

I made it through and nothing happened to me. Nothing at all. This is the first thing that’s felt easy in a long time. All at once, I’m filled with this odd mix of joy and dread. We’ve finally had a victory, but at what cost? I let out a hysterical laugh, and it comes out like a bark.

“Penn?” Horatia calls nervously, and I realize that I haven’t checked in with my sisters. They probably can’t even see me anymore. I turn around quickly, finding myself facing one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever seen. It’s a solid wall of mist, climbing up and bending in toward me. But it’s completely flat on this side, as if someone cut through the mists with a sharp knife.

“I’m okay. Come on through,” I say as I marvel at the phenomenon.

Galenia stumbles through as if she’s been pushed, followed quickly by Horatia, who leaps through and lands gracefully.

They gasp in unison as they take in the expansive forest around us. The sky is only visible in bright patches between the high branches of the canopy. Birds and squirrels call to each other, creating a soothing symphony of sound.

“Wow,” Galenia breathes.

“It’s no wonder you love it here,” Horatia says.

“I’ve never been here before, Ratia,” I point out.

She promptly smacks me on the arm. “On Earth, you ungrateful wretch.”

The mists disperse abruptly, cutting my laughter short. Now that my sisters are free of them, they just disappear. There goes our easy path home.

“What’s happening here, Penn?” Galenia asks, her voice a mix of fear and amazement.

“I think Mara may be keeping unwanted Reapers out.” It’s the only thing I can think of. If she’s keeping her son here unnaturally, keeping Reapers at bay would be job number one.

My sisters circle around and take in the rest of the forest in awe. We start a long walk through the wilderness, too taken by its beauty to worry that Michaela wasn’t waiting for us on the other side of the dome.

We’ve walked for miles. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. I find myself thinking of my very first trip to Earth when I landed smack dab in the middle of a swamp. “Hey, at least we’re not trudging through some swamp in Florida right now,” I say. Galenia and Horatia look at me as if I have two heads. Of course, they’ve never been in a swamp before. “Believe me, it’s no cake walk.”

“And this is?” Horatia says. There are sticks, moss, and dead leaves caught in her gold robe, and her hair is getting wilder by the moment as it gets snagged on tree branches and bushes.

Galenia, however, is walking effortlessly through this wilderness, and she even has a sprig of something green tucked behind her ear. She looks so at home, I wouldn’t be surprised if a bird swept down and landed on her hand.

“I like it,” she says with a smile.

“Clearly,” I say, smirking at her.

“Oh, sure. Mother Nature here is totally at ease,” Horatia says, plucking a twig out of her hair. “Where are we? And why didn’t Miette get us a little closer to Michaela?”

Horatia’s questions bring my own to the surface. Where was the welcoming committee? If the dome is protecting something, shouldn’t it be more heavily guarded? Maybe that was just the outer layer of defense, and the real fun lies ahead.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think it had something to do with that dome. It must be protecting Shiloh.”

“Her son,” Horatia says.

“That’s what this is all about. She’s stealing other people’s threads to keep him here.” They’ve probably figured it out too, at least mostly, but this is the first time any of us have said it out loud. Her crimes sound even worse that way. Mara is killing others to keep her son on Earth. The suffering on both sides of this situation must be immense. I can see no gain for anyone.

Truth be told, I’m tired of asking questions and making guesses. I feel worn down by all of it. Kismet, Andrew, the surprises, the tapestry, the prison of lost souls. My whole life has taken on the curve of a question mark.

As we walk through the woods, I can only hope that it all ends here.

Twelve

Michaela

Once the door slams home, we sit in the darkness for a few moments. They didn’t bother to bind us this time. Maybe they figured we’d just get out of the restraints anyway. Who knows? But it’s just as dark as it was before. There isn’t even a naked bulb in the room; the only light source is on the other side of the huge, metal door.

“We have to get out of here,” Webber says.

“I know,” I say, wanting to pace, but not wanting to crash into him or anything else. So I stand still.

“Where’s the door?” he asks. I notice his voice is coming from my left. He was right in front of me before.

“Be careful moving around. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Meaning I’m not in the mood to get stepped on, so watch it.

“I’m familiar with being trapped in a dark room, Michaela. Thank you,” he snaps.

His comment stings enough to make me flinch. We had to leave him in a room like this in hell, and I’m certain he’ll never let us forget. Maybe we don’t deserve to forget. I don’t really feel like saying anything, so I don’t answer his question. He’ll find the door.

I can tell when he does. I hear his hands pawing at it, searching for a weakness.

Escape. He’s so focused on it. He didn’t come here for Mara. He came here for me. But I know we can’t just leave her to her own devices. If we do, more people will die before their time. It won’t stop until she does. Shiloh helped me see that. I need to take her back to the heavens so she can meet with justice.

The thought overwhelms me. I know Webber won’t help me with that, but how can I hope to accomplish such an enormous task without assistance? I shake my head in the darkness. These are worries for my future self. Right now, I have to figure out how to get out of this basement yet again.

“There’s a window in the door. It slides to the left,” I say, barely above a whisper. I’m still a bit wounded by his barb, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on my tone. He keeps scraping at the metal door.

I take slow, measured steps forward, not wanting to crash face-first into the post that I know is somewhere in the middle of the room.

I reach Webber before I get to the door. He fumbles in surprise and steps on my foot, making me yelp. “Sorry,” he says as he moves away.

“It’s just a good thing the Fates don’t wear big, heavy boots,” I say, wanting to rub my toes all the same. Webber isn’t heavy, but he’s as solid and muscular as most male heavenly beings. My black-and-white flats did little to protect me.

As soon as my toes stop throbbing, I find the window and try to pry it open, the same way I did before.

This time, it doesn’t budge.

I rub my hands on my dress and then try again, this time with more fervor. It still doesn’t move. In fact, the longer I hold my hands against the window, the warmer they get. I keep pushing. The heat grows, but it happens so slowly that it takes me a while to realize I’m being burned. My hands are probably red by the time I pull them away, but the darkness reveals nothing.

I kick at the ground. I can tell we’re not far from dirt. If we could just get through the foundation layer and dig our way out…

With what? All we have is our bare hands.

I listen for Webber, but he’s silent. He’s stopped moving around and must’ve settled down somewhere in the darkness.

“Webber?”

“I’m still here,” he says, his voice small and filled with regret.

I don’t respond. I sit down with my back against the door and stare into the darkness. Now what?

“Have you been down here before?” he asks, his voice slicing through the darkness.

“Yes. This is where she brought me after…Lily.” I don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t ask. I can’t think about that little girl right now, not when she might be in that horrible prison with Andrew and Kismet. It will make me want to crumple into a ball on the floor and let the darkness swallow me forever.

But Webber doesn’t care about Lily, at least not right now. He cares about getting out of here. “Judging by Mara’s surprise when she saw you in the boy’s room, I assume she didn’t just let you out. Did you use the window to escape?”

“I did. There’s a bolt on the outside that can be reached from the open window.”

“Why do you think it won’t open now?” he asks.

“I think she did something to it. Bewitched it. Isn’t that what they call it?”

“I don’t really know. I’ve never met a witch before.”

He doesn’t speak anymore, and neither do I. But I know this isn’t the end. I’m still here, and as long as I am, I’ll keep fighting. I just need to be patient and wait for the next opportunity.

“She will come back for us,” I say. “Or maybe it will be Nathair. When that happens, we need to be ready.”

“Ready how?” he asks.

“Ready to escape. Ready to win.”

Our plan is simple. We will sit and wait on either side of the door, and the moment it opens, we will take one or both of them by surprise. Mara is powerful but slight. I think we can handle her if we catch her off guard, before she can summon her powers. Nathair is another matter, but it won’t help to fret.

We have nothing. No weapons or tools, only ourselves—our hands, our bodies, and our minds.

“We can do this,” I tell Webber, suddenly feeling certain of that. “We must do this.”

“Or what, Michaela? What do you imagine will happen if we don’t escape?”

“She will destroy the world, bit by bit.” I say it quietly, but the gravity of the words echoes in my mind. Never have I met a human who so earnestly believes she is more powerful than God. There is no precedent for this, no easy path ahead. The destruction of one or the other seems inevitable.

That means failure is truly not an option. I’ve heard the humans say that before. For their sake, I hope they’re right.

Webber and I are in our positions next to the door, so close we could probably touch. But I don’t reach out to him. Despite the fact that he came here to rescue me, he’s not a kindred spirit like Penn. Nervous energy pours off him, and I have no idea if he will cooperate when the time comes. I can only hope that he does. Or that I can handle the problem if he doesn’t.

“Webber, can I ask you something?”

“You just did, so I’m quite confident you can.” If Penn had said that exact thing, I would’ve laughed and swatted him, but coming from Webber, it feels like a barb. I don’t know why.

“Why did you come?”

He doesn’t answer me, and silence stretches out between us for what feels like years. Centuries. Civilizations rise and fall in the time he takes to speak again.

“I had to.”

“Did someone force you?” I ask, trying to think of who would volunteer the world’s worst Spinner to rescue a wayward Reaper. Why didn’t they send another Reaper? Ryker could have even come himself.

“No. No one made me. I found Mara’s thread in the tapestry, and I saw you with her. I went to Ryker, and he guided me here. It wasn’t easy to find you, you know. I had to watch Mara for quite a while.” He shifts in the darkness, and I imagine him shrugging. As if that explains everything.

“And trudging through the wilderness alone isn’t exactly my cup of tea,” he says, as if I’m supposed to be grateful for my botched rescue.

The mention of Ryker is shocking. The head Reaper knows where I am? Why didn’t he come with Webber? Why would he trust him with such an important mission? “But why? You’re…well…terrible at rescue efforts. You remember what happened in hell, right?” I say, throwing caution to the wind.

“A stupid demon abused his power and threw me into a cell. How is that my fault?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” I say slowly.

“Well, how would you look at it?” he asks, his voice rising, defensive. Accusatory.

“Another way to look at it is that you overreacted to something he said and endangered everyone who actually cares about you.” My voice matches his own note for note, my irritation plain.

I hear him let out a long sigh, as if he feels defeated. “That’s another way of looking at it, yes.”

“So, that being said, why did you come here?” I push.

“I told you why.”

“‘I had to’ is not an answer.” Despite the fact that he can’t see me, I put air quotes around his words. It’s so dark that I can’t even see my hands doing it.

“That’s your opinion.” His tone reveals nothing.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain sympathy for this fellow prisoner in the darkness. He did come here for me. I’ve seen flashes of goodness in him. Not much, but it’s there. I hold onto it for dear life.

“Why did you have to?”

“Because I don’t like who I am.” The words shock me. So much so, I have to fight the urge to ask him to repeat himself. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a heavenly being say something like that. Most of us are a bit…well, perfect for lack of a better word. We’re different, but we tend not to see our differences as flaws.

“Then why do you act the way you do? Why do you continuously jab at Penn?” I should be understanding and soothing right now. That’s what he needs. But the questions just flow out of me.

“It’s not all that simple, you know,” he shouts at me. The sudden volume in the small space startles me. I sit silent for a moment, letting him cool down.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he continued in a more subdued voice. “I enjoyed weaving. I was good at it too. But I kept hearing the gossip about Penn. He was totally idolized. He was a born Spinner, they used to say. Like he was some kind of god. But it got me to thinking. Isn’t being a Spinner the closest a heavenly being can get to God? They make the threads—I only wove them into the tapestry. It made me want to try harder and do better. After all, why would I just accept that Penn’s better than I am?”

My voice leaves me for a few heartbeats. What is with these grey threads and wanting to be like God? “I…Penn isn’t better than you, at least not in that sense. Is he a more skilled Spinner? Yes. But he isn’t a worthier soul. Surely, you must understand that, Webber.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, I press on. “Penn was always groomed to be a Fate, Webber, just like you were groomed to be an excellent Weaver.” I’m not sure I understand his feeling of inadequacy. It’s totally irrational. The role of the Weaver is just as important—as crucial—as that of the Fates.

Rather than respond, he continues as if I said nothing at all. “I should’ve been content. I was happy with my life until Penn showed up. And seeing the three of them working so flawlessly together… Well, it wasn’t something I could ever be included in. The jealousy consumed me. Everything became about being better than he was. Proving myself. But it was a contest he always won… Until Kismet.

“I knew I had something special when I couldn’t get her to meld into the tapestry. No matter what I did with her, she stood out. She was the most beautiful thread I’d ever seen. Michaela, she was more than one in a million. She was one in infinity. When I saw him staring at her thread in the weaving room, obsessing over her, I knew she’d be my in—my way to show everyone once and for all that I was better. All I had to do was bide my time.

“And it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. He slipped up, and I was there to take his place. But the reality turned out to be…” He trailed off. I wasn’t sure he was going to finish the sentence, but before I could speak, he picked it back up again. “Well, it wasn’t easy. I was—” He swallowed hard. “I was wrong. I was a good Weaver. Some might even say exceptional. But that didn’t make me a Spinner. I didn’t innately know what I was doing like Penn did. I wasn’t made to spin. I was made to weave. But after all the effort I poured into getting the job, I felt committed to it. I had to prevail, to show everyone all the things I’d said for years and years were true.”

“Why? Why not just quietly go back to weaving? Be the bigger soul?” I asked.

“I couldn’t just accept failure, Michaela.”

“Why is succeeding as a Weaver automatically a failure?”

“Because I wasn’t a Weaver anymore. I was a Spinner. I am a Spinner.”

“You can be anything you want. And as a Spinner, you’re doing more harm than good. Why didn’t you say something? I think everyone would’ve been happier. Even you.”

“I just couldn’t, okay? You don’t understand,” he snaps.

“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t have that much pride. I’ve seen what it does to humans. It’s dangerous. It often leads them to the black gate when it goes unchecked.” I didn’t intend to sound so self-righteous, but it certainly came out that way. “What I mean is, well…” I sputter a bit.

“What you mean is I’m selfish.” I hear a clunk. I imagine he let his head fall back against the cinder block wall behind him, but I’m really not sure.

I don’t respond. There’s no point. He is selfish. It’s the quality that grates on all of us. And here he is now, trying to save himself by saving me.

“Is that why Ryker brought you here and then left? So you could redeem yourself?” I ask, trying to fit the pieces together.

“You’d have to ask him why he didn’t come with me. I assumed he had other things to do. We didn’t talk much on our walk through the mists. He did say he always liked gray threads.” He paused. “The man has a flare for the dramatic. Before he left, he also said, ‘Don’t waste this chance at your redemption, Spinner.’”

So, Ryker had at least a little faith that Webber would succeed. But sitting in this dark basement, across from my assigned savior, it’s not much comfort. For the first time ever, I find myself questioning the judgment of my superiors.

After what feels like another eternity of silence, we hear movement outside the door. I stand and hiss at Webber. He shuffles around, and I can only hope he’s standing too. We need to pounce on whoever is on the other side of that door.

The lock screeches as it slides open with agonizing slowness, almost as if the person on the other side is struggling with it.

“Something isn’t right,” I whisper as the door swings open. Webber springs, but I hold back.

The light streams into our little room. Once my eyes adjust, I see he’s got a hold of Shiloh.

I rush over to them, growling at Webber, “It’s Shiloh, you idiot.” He lets the boy go and gives him an apologetic shrug.

As Shiloh straightens his t-shirt, I notice something remarkable. He’s complete. This is neither his empty body nor his wandering soul. It’s him. Whole.

“What happened?” I ask, concerned by the thought of what his mother might have done to bring about this miracle.

“Nothing. Sometimes, I can come back to my body if I want. Mom likes me to talk to her every once in a while. Not about what she’s doing, of course. She gets upset when I talk about that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask him to. His tone turning urgent, he says, “I can’t stay long. It takes a lot of energy to walk around, and she’ll know I helped you if I can’t talk to her.”

His face is gaunt, and his legs don’t look like they should support his body. His clothes hang off him, and he sort of shuffles out of our way.

“Webber, carry him back upstairs.” I still have no idea what would happen if I touch him. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

“Don’t worry about me. Just go,” Shiloh urges as he sinks down to sit on the step nearest to us.

“Webber,” I urge. For once, he doesn’t argue. He scoops the boy effortlessly into his arms and starts up the stairs.

“You can let go, Shiloh. Save your strength for your mother,” I urge. I don’t want this poor boy to suffer any more in this life.

“Mom and Nathair left a little while ago,” he gasps out. “You should have time to get out. But not much. You need to move,” he urges.

Webber reaches the top of the stairs and rounds the corner to the boy’s room.

When I follow them into the bedroom, Webber is placing him gently back in his bed.

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” I say to the boy’s trapped soul. “I will come back for you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. I know that,” his soul says as he sits up in the bed, leaving his body behind. He swings his legs over the edge.

“You still deserve peace. Everyone does.” I look at Webber, who’s already standing in the doorway, ready to go.

“Maybe,” Shiloh says, his eyes following mine. “But it’s their choice to take what’s in front of them. Or not.”

Thirteen

Penn

We keep walking for miles. For ages. A brooding silence has fallen on our small group, and we stopped paying attention to the scenery long ago. I’m not even going in any particular direction. I’m just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping it’s bringing me closer to her rather than farther away.

“Do you think we should turn back? Reevaluate?” Horatia asks. I can tell she’s not a fan of the aimless wandering. She needs a plan. Anxiety hangs around her like a cloud.

“I’m not sure,” I say, not wanting to speculate at the moment. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that Michaela is close. We’re going to find her if we just keep going. But that notion sounds ridiculous, even to me.

Just when I’m about to give in to Horatia’s request to turn back, the woods start to thin, revealing the first sign of civilization we’ve seen in hours. We’re at the edge of a clearing in front of a medium-sized log house. I smile to myself, somehow knowing Michaela is inside.

We hide at the edge of the woods for a bit, trying to decide what to do.

“Why would a human want to live out here? So isolated?” Galenia asks.

“Probably because they’re hiding something.”

“Like kidnapped Reapers?” Horatia finishes for me.

I stare at the home. It’s probably about fifty yards away, surrounded by green grass, and there are more trees beyond. We’re standing on one side of it. I can’t see a road leading to it from here, but there must be some way to get in and out.

“If this is Mara’s home, she needs privacy for whatever she’s doing, and she’s got it.” We’re so far from the house, there’s no way Mara can hear me, but I find myself whispering nonetheless. She’s a powerful woman, and I don’t yet know the limits of her power. I’d rather not test her before we even get into the house.

We circle the cabin twice, moving slowly along the edge of the woods as we scope it out, trying to find the best possible entry point. Several minutes pass this way, but there’s still no movement around the house. It’s hard to see if anything’s going on inside from this distance, but one thing’s undeniable—no one goes in, and no one comes out.

There is a very long, poorly maintained, and empty dirt driveway. From this vantage point, I can’t see the road it connects to, but something tells me it’s probably not in any better shape. A porch stretches across the entire front of the house. The sides of the home are relatively bare, with windows here and there, but there’s another porch in the back, along with a few chairs, a swing set, and what looks like a neglected tree fort at the edge of the clearing. By the looks of things, Shiloh hasn’t been outside in a very long time.

Rather than circle the property a third time, we hunker down around one of the corners, which gives us a good view of the driveway and the side of the house. The best point of entry looks to be around the back. Of course, I can’t be sure until we can get a little closer and see what—if anything—is going on inside.

“Perhaps we should take a friendly approach,” Galenia suggests. “You know what the humans say. Sometimes honey catches more flies.”

I can’t help but laugh. The image of us going to the front door and knocking is just comical to me. “And do what? Knock on the door and ask Mara if she happens to have a Reaper—maybe two—and a wayward Fate in her company?”

Galenia frowns at me. “I’m sorry,” I say, putting an arm around her. “I just thought it was funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Horatia comes to my rescue. “I think a stealthier approach is needed here, Galenia. I’m sorry. There are too many unknowns for us to just reveal ourselves. Surprise is probably our biggest advantage right now.”

Gratitude washes over me. At least Horatia and I are on the same page, for the moment anyway.

“Why don’t we get a little closer?” Horatia continues. “We don’t have to go charging in like the cavalry, but we can peek through the windows, get a feel for who is home, and see if there are any easy ways in. Maybe we can slip in and out without being seen at all.”

“Maybe we don’t want to get in and out quickly,” I say, staring at the cabin. The knowledge that a mere fifty yards stands between one of my dearest friends and me is almost painful.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Horatia asks cautiously, clearly ready to change her allegiance at any moment.

“If this is Mara’s home, we need to figure out a way to capture her. It’s the only way to end this for good. But we can’t forget that Nathair is likely with her. When I was watching them in her thread, they seemed…close. Strangely close.”

They both shift their weight, the leaves crunching beneath their feet as they consider my words. It’s like I’ve placed a huge obstacle in our path by uttering the truth out loud. The truth is supposed to set you free, right? So why do I feel so weighed down?

Ever since I peered into her thread and saw her at this house on Earth, I knew it would come to this. But now that I’ve said it out loud in her yard, it’s somehow more real. And more daunting.

“They will make things challenging,” I whisper.

“Challenging is one way to put it,” Horatia agrees.

Galenia remains silent as she watches the house.

A few heartbeats later, I’m starting to think we’re just going to sit in the woods forever, waiting for Michaela to come out herself.

“She’s in there. I know it,” Galenia says, startling both Horatia and me. “Let’s go.” Without another word, she pushes past Horatia and me and slinks toward the side of the house. She seems like such a quiet and subtle Fate, but even after all these centuries, she can still surprise me.

We hurry to catch up to her, silently approaching the log cabin.

Fourteen

Michaela

We’re in the kitchen. There’s a door along the back wall that leads outside. Or at least it appears to. Webber is bent on going out. But I’m delaying. We need to stop Mara.

“I should’ve asked him how long he thought she’d be gone,” I say as I come to a stop in the kitchen doorway, blocking it. It’s very yellow in here. I imagine she was trying to make it feel sunny. She must’ve painted it at a happier time in her life. Maybe she and her husband did it together. The thought makes me smile, but it quickly fades as I think about all she’s lost. The fact that the losses that lay ahead of her are her own fault only makes it worse.

“Why? She isn’t here now, so let’s go. We might not get another chance.”

“Webber…” I hesitate, and he turns to look at me, horror on his face.

“Michaela, I came here for you, and I’m not leaving without you. We have to go now.” He reaches out a hand for me, beckoning me to come with him.

“We need—”

He cuts me off. “We can’t bring the boy. Someone else can come back for him, okay? Send one of your friends after him. Let’s get out of danger first. Then we’ll send others who are more equipped to deal with this situation.”

“More equipped?” I argue. “Who’s more equipped to deal with her than two Archangels? She vanquished them with a touch, Webber. A touch!”

“Not us,” he shouts.

I shoot him a look, imploring him to lower his voice. “Then who?”

“Anyone else, Michaela! Please, just come on.” He’s actually begging me. I can see the desperation in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this. All he wanted to do was rescue me, and he’s so close to doing that, but he can see the opportunity slipping away from him. I should probably just let him take me back so he can check his box for redemption. But I can’t leave here without her. Leaving Shiloh behind will be hard enough.

“Webber, just go. I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

“What?” He hesitates, and I can tell he’s considering it. His hand is already on the doorknob. But instead of turning it, he says, “If it means that much to you, go back and get the kid, okay? If it’s that or you’re not coming, then fine. But hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time before she comes back.”

He glances around, as if speaking about her will make her materialize in front of us. Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past her. Her powers are extensive, diverse, and I still don’t fully understand them. I’m not sure I ever will, or that I even want to.

“Webber, this isn’t about Shiloh. At least, not right now. At any rate, I can’t bring him home. The mists won’t answer my call here.” It’s not something I wanted to admit, but there it is.

“I bet it has something to do with the dome,” he says, almost to himself.

“Dome?”

“What?” He looks up at me. “Oh yeah, there’s this dome shape around the house. Took me forever to walk here. The mists wouldn’t go past it, so Ryker got me as close as he could. I bet that’s why you can’t call the mists in here. But I bet the boy would be able to go home if you carry him out to them. Just go get him. I’ll wait for you here.”

“What power could she be using to keep the mists at bay?” I wonder aloud. But Webber doesn’t have the answer. After a second, I shake my head. “Please, Webber, just go. How about I meet you at the edges of the mist? Tell me how to find the dome, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

He sighs. “Michaela, don’t do this. I came all this way.”

“For what, Webber? For me? Or for you?” I ask, not to hurt him, but because it’s true.

His face falls, and I know my words sting. I expect him to fire a quip back at me in true Webber form, but his shoulders hunch over a bit as he turns and leaves the room, heading outside.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but then immediately feel guilty for it. I hurt him. Deeply. And I’m almost glad I did. It got him to leave. I shake my head, trying to remind myself it’s a problem for another day. Something I can work out with him after everything has been resolved.

Slipping out of the kitchen, I pad softly past Shiloh’s room. I don’t want him to know I’m still poking around the house, looking for anything that will reveal the key to Mara’s powers. Everyone has weaknesses, right? But it will only upset the boy to think he might have wasted his limited energy on saving us. The hall branches off into a few other rooms, and I peek into the one nearest Shiloh’s.

It’s a bathroom, and it’s stocked to the gills with medical supplies. Pills, chemicals, gauze, tubes—everything you could possibly want to keep a person alive is lining the vanity, inside the medicine cabinet, and under the sink. I catch myself in the mirror and look at my reflection.

I look frazzled and tired. My hair is out of place, and my dress is definitely worse for the wear after sitting in that basement and being dragged all over creation. The white on it has become more of a dingy gray color. Sighing, I frown at myself before returning my attention to all the implements needed to keep Shiloh alive. That depresses me far more than my appearance.

Deciding I’ve had enough, I return to the hallway. It dumps out in the front of the house, where a large living room runs the entire length of the home. Mara has a television and couch set up on one side, and three walls of books line the other.

I’m drawn to the books, wanting to know more about where she came from and how her mind works.

Scanning the titles, I see books on everything from witchcraft to the afterlife and the heavens. All are human authors. I’m overwhelmed by curiosity, so I pull out the volume on the afterlife. It’s by a woman I reaped not too long ago. She and I had a good laugh over her theories when she saw what it was really like. I smile as I flip through the book. They’re pleasant ideas, with one or two notes of truth peppered throughout. Humans have always believed in ghosts, and she correctly theorizes that they exist, but she also speculates that everyone will be a ghost before they “go into the light.”

I return the volume to the shelf, searching for more clues. The books on her craft intimidate me, so I skip them. There’s too much in them for me to learn anything useful in the few moments I have to look. And what I find in them may frighten me enough to lessen my odds of defeating her. No, I don’t need the details of her craft. I need more than that. I need the details of her Achilles’ heel.

One other thing stands out to me as I continue my search. Most of the self-proclaimed witches I’ve met in the past have a healthy respect for the dark side of their craft. Demons, some would call them. The underworld, others would say. But Mara has nothing about hell, demons, or the dark arts. I can’t help but be intrigued by that. It’s almost as if she’s deliberately ignoring the possible consequences of her actions.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books as I walk past the shelves, desperately searching for some sign of weakness in her. But a sudden sound disrupts my search. A cry, just outside the window.

I stop dead in my tracks. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I can definitely tell it’s Webber. And he sounds panicked.

I rush to the front door and open it carefully, not sure exactly what I’m going to find out there. All I know is that it can’t be good.

Webber is standing in the grass, halfway between the house and a line of trees. From this angle, I can only see him, not who he’s yelling at. He has his side to me, and he doesn’t look over when I slip out of the house. I crouch down, trying to stay hidden behind the porch railing. Conflict rages inside me—should I reveal myself? He seems like he’s in distress. His feet are planted firmly in the grass, almost in a defensive stance, and his hands are out in front of him, but it’s clear he’s not trying to surrender. He’s ready for a fight.

“Michaela was right!” he shouts. “You won’t stop, will you? You’ll never stop. Until we stop you.”

I hear a woman’s laugh. But it isn’t joyful. It’s malicious.

Mara. My heart sinks.

“Archangels couldn’t stop me, but you think you can? This isn’t an episode of Scooby Doo, Spinner.” The hate in her voice sucks the fun out of her joke. She’s impatient, not to mention irritated by the unexpected challenge he’s giving her.

Webber glances nervously at the house, and that’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s delaying her. He’s keeping her out of the house to give me a chance to escape. I can’t believe it. This selfish Fate is risking his own existence to save me. I want to cry, hug him, and slap him all at the same time. Can’t he see she’s dangerous? Of course he can, and that’s why he’s giving me the chance to escape. My emotions war with themselves viciously as I crouch there and watch him.

“Of course we will stop you. And if we don’t, someone else will. Evil doesn’t prevail. Ever. Or did you miss that memo?”

“And that’s where we will agree to disagree,” she says. I hear the grass crunching, as if she’s walking toward him. Webber takes a step back in defense, but she advances on him until I can see her.

Where is Nathair? I wonder, scanning the grass. She never goes anywhere without him, so I know full well he’s lurking somewhere.

“You see, this isn’t an issue of good and evil, right or wrong, black or white. This is simply a mother trying to keep what’s hers—nothing more, nothing less. You’ve taken it among yourselves to make it a moral issue. Really, I’m owed his life after everything else you’ve taken from me.” She says it with such conviction that I know she believes it. It’s astounding how someone’s truth can be a total lie.

She’s closing the gap between them. She could touch him at this point if she wanted to.

Enough, I think. I can’t let this go on any longer. I need to help him. But something stays my feet. He gave me this opportunity to escape. If I go to him, I’ll be throwing his sacrifice away. But does he really need to sacrifice himself?

I sigh impatiently with myself. This indecision isn’t helping anyone but Mara. I know one thing is true: I won’t be able to live with myself if I leave him, knowing I willingly abandoned him to her.

Just as I’m about to step off the porch, I think I see something out of the corner of my eye. Penn? The shock causes me to take a half step back and stare off to the side of the house. He doesn’t appear again.

The logical voice tells me that I must’ve imagined him. I want him here, so my mind summoned him up. That’s all. But my heart wishes that isn’t true.

“Tell me something, Spinner. What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?” she asks, giving me enough time to stand up. If she glances over here, she will see me. I straighten my back and start to walk toward him. I will stop this. Now. For good. The determination I feel leaves no room for doubt as I reach the steps and descend to the gravel path.

“I intended to rescue Michaela and return to the heavens. That’s it,” he answers truthfully.

She laughs. “If you have no grandiose plan to stop the villain of your story, what are you doing out here without your dear Reaper?” She’s putting the pieces together. Her eyes narrow on him.

I’m watching her as I step into the grass and start walking toward Webber, skirting the porch, staying close to the house.

“You’re out here while she’s inside, alone, with—” She stops suddenly and turns to run into the house.

That’s the moment she sees me. I glance nervously at Webber as her hands fly into the air.

“Even if you eliminate me here, Mara,” I shout. “You can’t win this. There is no scenario where you win. In fact, the further you take this, the more loss there will be.”

“I already have a Reaper. I don’t need one who’s going to cause me this much trouble.”

I brace myself and say a silent prayer that there’s somewhere for my innocent soul to go, even though my heart knows there isn’t. Heaven is for human souls. Heavenly beings are made to last forever. If we’re destroyed, we’re gone for good.

Time slows down. Each heartbeat is another movement. I see Webber just a few yards away from me. I see Mara raise her hands in my direction. Then something puzzling happens. Webber is in front of me, screaming. His hands are on me. He’s pushing me down. He’s on top of me.

A thunderclap so loud it deafens me echoes through the forest around the house. Instinctively, I freeze and bring my hands to my ears, although it’s much too late for that.

When I finally feel like I can open my eyes, I can’t see anything but white. I’m blind, I think. Panic rises like bile in the back of my throat. I blink continuously, and objects start to take shape in front of me. But one thing is noticeably missing.

Webber. I can’t breathe. Webber. He’s gone. There’s nothing left of him at all. Not even a shoe left behind, like what led us to him in hell. Nothing. Just like those Archangels.

There are hands on me, dragging me through the grass. But all I can make out are fuzzy shapes and a few colors as my sight slowly returns.

Finally, my lungs fill with a huge breath. Just as I’m about to let it back out as the loudest scream I can muster, someone claps a hand over my mouth and turns me to face him.

Penn.

Fifteen

Penn

I don’t release Michaela once she sees me. I don’t trust her to stay quiet. Mara is too close. What she’s done is too fresh.

“Damn it. I could’ve used him,” Mara says. “Oh well. At least we don’t have to worry about either of them now. Come on.” I hear her footfalls crunching down the gravel walkway. It takes every ounce of control in my possession to stay put as I hear her coming closer to us.

As quietly as I can, I drag Michaela down behind the porch on the other side of the house. Mara walks up to the front stoop, and then slips into the house. We can hear her moving around inside for a while before the commotion settles down. Finally, I feel safe enough to grab Michaela by the hand and make a flat-out run for the woods.

Horatia and Galenia are already there. When I saw the showdown happening, I told them to run for cover. I darted out onto the lawn just before Mara struck Webber, and was able to feel my way back behind the house before that blinding light died down. By then, no one was there, leaving Mara to assume she got both of them. Or so I hoped.

I thought I could help them. But Webber…

What the hell was he doing here anyway? Why wasn’t he in the heavens? Did I honestly just see him sacrifice himself for Michaela? That’s so out of character for him it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around what just happened, even though I saw it unfold in front of me as plain as the nose on my face.

I can hear Michaela’s ragged breaths behind me as we run, and I grip her hand tightly, hoping it’s enough to help her keep it together until we reach the cover of the woods. With Mara in the house, I’m not foolish enough to think we’re safe out here, but we’re safer than we were on the porch, that’s for sure.

Once we are deep into the woods, I finally let her go. She collapses, and I can see the sob wanting to get out.

“Michaela, please. We need to be quiet.”

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears as she falls to her knees at my feet. “He…he sacrificed himself. For me.”

Galenia, the most nurturing of all of us, rushes over and throws her arms around her. Michaela buries her face in Galenia’s shoulder and cries. I walk off to give her some privacy, and Horatia follows me.

“What just happened? What exactly did we witness, Penn? What on Earth was Webber doing here?” Horatia asks as we watch the house.

“I think it was the end of…” Of what? Our friend? That’s playing it a bit fast and loose with the word friend.

“It was the end of Webber,” I say, feeling sad for what’s happened. As much as I didn’t like him, he didn’t deserve that. Now he’s nothing. He’s not at peace, but he’s not being tortured either; he has just ceased to exist. It’s the worst possible outcome for a heavenly soul.

“How?” she asks, grappling to understand what she’s just seen. We all are.

“I don’t know. Clearly, Mara is a formidable human.”

“Formidable. Terrifying. Whatever,” she says, not taking her eyes off the house.

“What was Webber doing here, Michaela?”

“He came to save me,” she says in a shaky voice. “He found me in Mara’s thread, told Ryker how to find me, and then Ryker brought him here. But he left him alone. I can’t understand why he did that. If he’d stayed, maybe…” She trails off. She’s staring in the direction we came, as if Webber might come through the woods at any moment.

“I’m sure Ryker knew what he was doing, Michaela. After all, Webber did save you. Isn’t that what he came to do?” Galenia soothes.

“But his sacrifice seems so needless,” she says before dissolving into silent sobs.

“Redemption comes in many forms, dear Reaper. You know that,” Galenia says as she smoothes Michaela’s hair.

Michaela’s tears slow to a steady trickle, and we stand in silence for a few moments. Then Horatia poses another question. “Penn, what are we going to do?” It’s barely above a whisper, and I know she needs an answer, not some joke to make her laugh or some philosophical BS. An actual answer. She needs direction.

“I think we should wait for nightfall.”

Once Michaela’s tears are all shed, for now at least, she and Galenia join us at the edge of the forest.

“Well, what do you think?” Michaela asks, her voice thick with grief.

I turn to her. She has twigs and leaves in her hair, her face is red, and her eyes are swollen. She’s an absolute mess. While I didn’t love the soul she’s mourning, it breaks my heart to see her in such pain.

Taking her in my arms, I smooth her glossy hair and try to collect some of the leaves from it. “I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen,” I say, as if that will make anything better.

“I know,” she says, and I feel her arms slowly wrap around me. I find myself enjoying her embrace. It feels like home.

“You saw what he did, right?” she asks.

“I did,” I say. It was a beautiful gesture—so out of character for the Webber I’ve known for centuries. The way he purposefully drew Mara’s attention away from Michaela, making as much of a commotion as possible to tip Michaela off to the coming danger… And then throwing himself on her, taking the full force of Mara’s attack. It’s still hard to believe he did such a thing.

We don’t speak again. We just stand there in the woods, holding each other, trying to make the world recognizable again with a single embrace. When it doesn’t happen, we pull away, and she edges her way to the tree line, staring at the house.

Galenia joins her, offering silent comfort, and I settle in on her other side. Horatia holds vigil on the edge of our little gathering, watching for God knows what.

“I don’t think Mara knows you survived her attack, Michaela,” I say. “And she definitely doesn’t know we’re here. We have the upper hand. What do you know about the house?” I had only seen a small part of it while watching the threads. Any insight she can give us from actually having been inside will be helpful.

“I know it has a really dark basement,” she says as she grips her arms across her chest.

“And?”

“It’s a typical human house. Kitchen, couple of bedrooms, bathroom, living room, and an extensive library on witchcraft and the afterlife.” She’s irritated for some reason. “What do you want to know, Penn?”

“Who’s inside?”

“Mara and her son Shiloh. This is all about him. She’s using the threads to keep his soul here. It’s horrible. He’s trapped in that house indefinitely. He knows he doesn’t belong, but there’s not a thing he can do about it.” Her voice wavers, and I can tell she’s close to tears again.

“I know. What about Nathair?” I ask.

“He’s here, and he’s with her,” she says with a nod. “But I didn’t see him earlier. Did you? After what she did to Webber, everything went white. He usually isn’t far away from her, so maybe she sent him on some errand. Or to collect another thread.” She shudders.

“I heard her talking to him,” I say, knowing he will present a complication.

“I know you’re anxious to stop Mara now, but we came here for Michaela,” Horatia says. “And here she is. Let’s go. We’re ill equipped for this mission. And we have other things to think about. Kismet and Andrew for one. We can come back later with reinforcements.”

At the mention of their names, I cringe. We do need to save them…and soon. But if we don’t stop Mara, none of that will matter.

“We can’t leave Mara here to do what she wants,” I say. “If we do, the cycle will just continue. The girl Michaela collected has certainly joined Kismet and Andrew in the prison of souls by now.”

“Lily,” Michaela breathes. “Yes, Mara and Nathair took her from me at the gates of heaven.”

“This cycle won’t stop until we stop it,” I say. “We have to do something.” I gesture toward the house to emphasize my point.

“But I don’t think Michaela—”

She cuts Galenia off. “I’m fine. I know we need to get her. That’s why Webber was out there in the first place. I wanted to figure out a way to stop Mara, and he wanted to leave. So I told him to wait outside for me. I sent him to slaughter.”

“If he hadn’t been out there, you would’ve been caught off guard by Mara’s return. And you certainly wouldn’t be here right now to discuss it with us. Stop guilt-tripping yourself—it’s not helpful,” I say. My tone’s a little harsh, and I realize I’m angry about what Webber did. The whole thing just seems so…unnecessary. If they’d sent someone more capable to rescue Michaela, this never would’ve happened. He’d still be back home, waiting to jab us with some inappropriate comment. Instead, he’s just gone. Forever.

Michaela looks at me, and I can tell she’s trying to understand what I’m going through. It’s something she always does when she’s confused by someone’s tone or actions. But judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t come to any solid conclusions. Neither do I.

“My point remains,” she says. “We can’t just leave her here. If we do, we’ll have to come right back in a few days. By then, there will be more souls in the prison to rescue,” she says.

“So,” Horatia says from behind us. “This is where we transition from a rescue mission to seek and destroy.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“No. It’s…recovery, I guess. We need to bring her back to the heavens in one piece. We are not equipped to deal with her. To judge her. And thank goodness for that,” Michaela says. Her answer astounds me. Why wouldn’t we judge her? We’ve all seen firsthand what this woman has done—the destruction she’s wrought. If I had my way, we’d bring her straight to hell to let the demons take care of her punishment.

Michaela is watching me, and it’s almost as if she reads my thoughts. “You wrote her Fate, Penn. It’s not for us to decide to take that away from her.”

A sigh escapes me, but only because I know she’s right. “So now what?” I ask, feeling defeated.

“Now, we wait,” she answers, although I have no idea what we will do when the time comes. This woman is capable of shriveling even the best-laid plans.

Sixteen

Michaela

As the sun sets, we head deeper into the woods to discuss our plan. Sitting in a circle, we each toss out what we think is the best way to capture Mara.

“We’re safest if she’s unconscious,” I say, offering a jumping-off point. “We all saw what she did to Webber, and there’s nothing to stop her from doing the same to all of us. We can’t risk facing her when she’s awake.”

“Why don’t we knock her over the head with a shovel or something? I think I saw one around back,” Penn suggests, totally deadpan.

I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. His expression is so serious. Horatia and Galenia don’t laugh, and I just look at him. “Are you being serious?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Why not? It’ll knock her out.” He’s serious. He wants to use violence against her. Although I know she won’t come quietly, I’m not sure bashing her over the head is the most elegant option. The image of four shovel-wielding heavenly beings almost makes me want to laugh. All we need is a light shining down on us from above—the humans love to depict us that way—to complete the picture. I stifle my snort and shake my head.

“It might kill her if you hit her too hard,” I say, trying to point out why we might want to go for a safer approach.

“So. Let the demons deal with her.”

“I have to say, death by shovel wasn’t what I had in mind for her when I planned her death,” Galenia offers. “She was supposed to die peacefully, albeit alone, but without suffering in her old age. I figured she’d suffered enough losses; she didn’t need to suffer in death.”

“See, she won’t die when I hit her,” Penn says.

“I don’t think that’s quite what Galenia meant,” I say, getting exasperated.

Penn’s tone turns quiet. “She’s strayed a long way from what any of us had planned for her. Yes, we made her a grey thread, and they can go either way, but she wasn’t totally black to start with. She did that on her own.”

I feel out of place as the three Fates consider what their creation has done with the life they gave her. Suddenly, I hear Webber’s voice in my mind.

Seeing the three of them working so flawlessly together… Well, it wasn’t something I could ever be included in.

True, I feel left out, but I don’t feel jealous. I feel sort of privileged to witness such magic.

I sigh, trying to shake Webber from my mind for the moment, and come back to the problem at hand. “Shiloh is very sick. There are a lot of medical supplies in the house.” I turn to Galenia. “Do you think there’s something we could use to knock her out?”

Galenia is well versed in how to kill the humans. It is, after all, her job. I can only hope she knows how to pull it back a little. Of course, neither of the sister Fates has expressed an opinion about what we should do with Mara. They’ve stayed noticeably quiet while Penn and I debate.

“I would have to see what’s in there. But I can probably come up with something. I mean, even some cleaners will do it. Although they’ll do some damage in the process.” She cringes a little as she says it, shrugging apologetically. Nope. She’s not a killer, at least not beyond the scope of her on-the-job duties. I sigh gratefully.

“We’ll make do. So after we subdue her, we get the heck out of the house. Right?” I say, feeling good about the plan.

“And Nathair?” Horatia asks.

I slump. “I almost forgot about him.”

“He’s just a Reaper. He won’t be nearly as much of a challenge as Mara. If we see him, we’ll subdue him. Or chase him off. Either way, it’s Mara we’re after,” Penn says.

“Just a Reaper, huh? Thanks a lot.” The comment stings more than it should. Maybe I’m just overly emotional given everything that’s happened.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is soft, and he reaches across the circle to pat my knee.

I move back. “Yes, you did. You meant it exactly like that. You think he’ll be easy to overcome because he’s just a Reaper. We’re all nothing compared to you. Is that right?” What’s wrong with me? I’m so angry all of a sudden, but really, I don’t think I’m mad at Penn. He’s a victim here, just like the rest of us are. I’m angry at the situation, at the world, at Mara, but definitely not at Penn. I feel a little like I did when we were wandering through hell. Full of irrational anger and disappointment. Infected by the dark feelings around me.

“No. What is happening right now?” He looks from Galenia to Horatia, but they’re both giving him accusatory looks. Horatia even has one eyebrow raised at him. At least they’re on my side.

“Michaela, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only meant that he isn’t as powerful as Mara. Dealing with him will be comparatively easy. He’s one of us. We know what to expect from him.” He scoots closer to me, putting both hands on my shoulders. I look away. “You’re the one who’s got us this far, Michaela. We wouldn’t have even known about the prison of souls if not for you, and we certainly wouldn’t have been able to save anyone from hell on our own. We wouldn’t even know where to find Mara if not for you. And we definitely wouldn’t be this close to stopping her.”

He takes hold of my chin and turns my face toward him. “You know we need you,” he continues in a softer voice. “I need you. We came here for you. Don’t forget that.”

I know he’s telling the truth. Webber’s initial motivation was to save himself. Penn came here for me.

“We can’t be at each other’s throats like this. Not if we’re going to save the world. You can bicker with me all you want after that job is done, okay?” He smiles down at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“No. I don’t like bickering with you. It makes me feel terrible.”

“Okay, so we won’t fight. Whatever you want. Let’s just get the heck out of here first. Then we can plan the rest of our existence.” The way he says it catches me. As if he plans to spend the rest of eternity with me. But of course, he didn’t mean just me. He meant all of us. We’re friends, and friends stick together. Still, the way he’s looking deep into my eyes…well, it feels more personal. And I can’t deny the happiness that thought gives me.

Once darkness has fallen in earnest and all the lights are out, we sneak up to the house, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. We’ve decided to go in through the front. The bedrooms are both smack dab in the middle of the house, separated by the bathroom, but Mara’s bedroom is closer to the back door. We slink up the front steps, and I swear they creek deliberately, as if announcing our intrusion.

The front door isn’t even locked. Really, who would she need to keep out now that she thinks Webber and I are toast? It’s who she’s trying to keep in that matters.

The four of us ease our way into the dark house, and Penn closes the door behind us.

“Now what?” he whispers.

Pointing toward the bathroom, I take Galenia’s hand. Then I gesture to Horatia and Penn to keep a look out—pointing to my eyes, and then the windows. It makes me feel foolish, like I’m part of some intense espionage movie, but they get the idea. Horatia takes a position near the front door, and Penn follows us to the edge of the hallway to stand watch there.

Silently, Galenia and I pad into the bathroom. Speaking in barely a whisper, I tell her, “Shiloh’s room is right next door. We need to be as quiet as possible. We don’t need to worry him anymore. He’s been through enough as it is.”

Nodding gravely, she gets to work. She doesn’t even need to open the medicine cabinet. There are jars and bottles of things everywhere, just like I remember. I watch as Galenia mixes a few liquid chemicals together in an empty bottle she finds under the sink. I have no idea what she’s doing, but her work is quiet and efficient.

When she’s finished, she looks around the bathroom for a moment, and then grabs a hand towel. The ring that’s holding it clangs against the wall, and we both tense. Penn is at the door in an instant, standing with his back to us in a protective stance. I can’t see Horatia, but I’m sure she’s nearby. No one in the house stirs, thank goodness.

It feels like we’re hiding from the demons in hell again. Maybe we are. This woman is like no human I’ve ever encountered. I know what made her this way, but I still can’t understand why she chose this path, let alone why she continues to choose it. She’s been to hell, so how can she ignore the inevitable consequences of her actions? But I suppose that’s the problem. She thinks she’s too powerful for consequences. It will be a dark day when she realizes that no one can avoid the end of the road they’ve chosen to walk.

Once we’re sure it’s safe, Galenia dumps some of the liquid onto the towel. We leave the bathroom, and I lead the way to Mara’s bedroom, Penn and Galenia falling in beside me. Horatia is right behind us. With agonizing steadiness, he eases the door open. It doesn’t make a sound at all.

Her room is darker than the hallway, and a sliver of light pours in with every inch we open the door further. Horatia waits outside to keep watch for Nathair or anything else that might disturb our sleeping quarry.

Galenia moves forward wordlessly, and we all hold our breath as she suspends the cloth just above Mara’s mouth. Penn moves to the other side of her bed, ready to grab her if she fights. But it’s not necessary. Galenia is so soft, slow, and gentle that Mara barely stirs as the cloth is lowered over her face.

Soon, her breathing becomes unnaturally deep, and we know it worked. Galenia did it. All we have to do is grab her and go. But something keeps us there, staring at this human who has caused us so much pain.

“We should kill her right now,” Penn suggests, his voice dark. “She’s helpless. We could end this here and now. Let another Reaper take her to hell,” Penn suggests.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t tempting, but I can’t do it.

“You are like a dog with a bone,” I say quietly, not wanting to disturb Shiloh.

Surprisingly, Horatia comes to my rescue. “Michaela is right, Penn. We aren’t killers. Could you really snuff out her life if it came down to it? Right here? Right now?”

He hesitates and looks down at the human. The moonlight is shining through the edge of her curtain in a small sliver that lands right next to her face, casting an eerie glow on her. “Yes,” he finally says. “I believe I could. She’s strayed far enough from her Fate.”

“You are thinking of Andrew. And Kismet. And all the other ways she wronged you,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right?” he says. “Maybe not. But she’s committed far more than one wrong…”

“Either way, we’re ending it. And I would much prefer for her blood to be on someone else’s hands,” I say, bringing my other hand up to his shoulder, trying to pull him back toward me, toward the light.

He doesn’t budge. My breath catches in my throat when he bends down over Mara. But instead of strangling her or snuffing out her life in some way, he hoists her up and lifts her over his shoulder.

“Good God, she’s a lot heavier than those souls we took out of hell,” he says. I stifle a giggle. Souls weigh almost nothing, and this human’s unfamiliar weight is clearly posing a challenge to Penn.

“Come on,” I say. “You’re a big, strong man. Surely, you can carry one tiny woman.”

He bumps into me accidently on purpose as he walks past me with Mara hanging limply over his back. “Oh. Excuse me,” he says as he walks out of her bedroom.

Galenia keeps a tight hold on the cloth drenched with her concoction as she follows him. Horatia goes next, leaving me alone in the room of the woman who has done the world more harm than any human I’ve ever seen in my centuries as a Reaper.

Have we really just ended it? Is it over? I know we still have to collect the other souls who are caught in the prison, but now that we have Mara, even that should be easier. The hard part is over, right?

But as I stand there alone in the dark, something tells me it’s too good to be true.

Seventeen

Penn

I’m already hustling out the front door when I notice no one is following me. Lugging this dead-weight human over my shoulder isn’t exactly easy, and I know it’s a long walk back to the mists. I’d like to get going. Who knows how long she’ll be out? We can’t afford to dillydally.

I adjust Mara on my shoulder and turn around. The girls are standing in the back of the living room, peering down the hall. Michaela is standing next to the door to the other bedroom—Shiloh’s room.

I sigh. “Michaela,” I whisper. “We don’t have time for this.”

She closes the gap between us so rapidly I take a reflexive step back.

“There is always time to do the right thing.”

“And in this case, the right thing is…” I trail off, hoping she’ll fill in the gap.

“I want to tell Shiloh what’s happened. He deserves to know that he’ll be at peace soon.”

“Nathair could be anywhere. We will send someone back for the boy, but we can’t risk wasting more time. I’m going to vote for exiting as quickly as possible. Anyone else?” I look to Galenia and Horatia for help with this one.

Galenia puts an arm on Michaela’s shoulder. “I think we should go.” She says it quietly, as if the soft words will be easier for Michaela to hear.

“Me too,” Horatia adds. “Nathair is too much of a question mark. We need to go while the getting’s good.”

Michaela’s face falls, and I can see the struggle play out on her face. She knows the truth, but her heart doesn’t want any part of it. She wants to be with the little boy in his time of need. It’s one of the things I love about her, but right now, it’s not working in our favor.

“He’ll be okay, Michaela. Someone will be here to pick him up before he realizes what’s happened,” I say, trying to soothe her with a best-case scenario.

“I don’t know about that. But his suffering is almost at an end, whether he knows it or not. I guess that will have to be enough for now.”

We head out into the night, and I scan the area uneasily.

“He could be anywhere,” Horatia whispers.

“Let’s hope he isn’t anywhere we need to be.”

Michaela is silent as she looks around.

We pad quietly across the lawn, making it to the edge of the woods without incident. I want to stop and rest, but I wouldn’t let Michaela stop to talk to the boy, so I can hardly justify it. We still have a long way to go.

Something triggers an alert in my mind as we walk. A sound that makes the hairs on my arm stand on end.

“Did you guys hear that?” I say, barely above a whisper.

The others stop in their tracks, and we all look around. Mara starts to stir, and Galenia is on her like lightning. But the moan she made was loud in the quiet wood. If someone’s out there, they know we are too.

Once Mara is out again, we stand with our backs together, creating a perimeter, searching all sides of the woods around us for the source of the original sound. But we come up empty.

“He’s out there,” Michaela says.

“Who?” Galenia asks.

“Nathair.”

Galenia’s breath catches. “How do you know?”

“I can feel him, a fellow Reaper. It’s him.”

We stand in silence, waiting for him to make a move. When he doesn’t, none of us really knows what to do. I certainly don’t want to stand here for hours with an unconscious human on my back. But part of me fears we may be walking right into a trap if we continue making our way toward the mists.

“What should we do?” Galenia finally whispers.

“We should keep going. I think he’s just following us for now,” Michaela says. “Be on your guard.”

As if we weren’t already.

Finally, after what felt like hours, we arrive at the dome. Michaela is stunned by it, and it is quite a sight. The mists billow up against the invisible wall, creating a foggy ceiling above our heads.

“So this is what it looks like,” she breathes as she stares up at it in wonder.

“Yup,” I say, shifting Mara on my shoulder. “Not to keep you from ogling this curiosity or anything, but we better get going.”

Horatia, Galenia, and I step through the dome, but Michaela doesn’t follow. She’s probably still looking at the mists.

“Now what?” I ask, trying and failing to hide my impatience.

“I’ll just go check on her,” Horatia says as she walks back through the wall.

But she doesn’t reemerge. I start counting my heartbeats, and when I get to one hundred, I take a step toward the dome. Galenia’s face is wrought with worry as I lay Mara down, leaning her against a tree.

“You stay here with her. Keep her out. I’ll be right back,” I assure her. I can only hope it’s true.

I’m not sure what I’ll find on the other side of the wall, but I have a feeling Michaela and Horatia aren’t just enjoying the view anymore.

I’ve never been so disappointed to be right.

A man dressed in the black-and-white garb of a Reaper has Michaela in a chokehold. His free hand covers her mouth. Horatia is standing in front of him, her hands outstretched, as if she’s trying to negotiate with him.

“What’s going on here?” I say, impatient and exhausted. “Seriously, Nathair. What are you thinking right now? Why would you take one of your own as a hostage? Besides, there are still three of us and one of you. You can’t win this.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he says, his voice lower and more sinister than I expected. I wonder if it always sounded that way, or if his time on Earth—with Mara—has changed him.

Michaela thrashes a little in his arms, and he leans in and whispers in her ear. She screams beneath his hand, but he holds her fast.

I take a slow step forward, and he matches me by taking a step back, dragging Michaela with him.

“What’s your master plan here, Nathair? What exactly do you want at this point?” I say.

“Even trade. Mara for Michaela. No one needs to get hurt. I’ll just take her back to the house, and you guys can continue on your way. She’ll be none the wiser,” Nathair says.

“No,” Michaela shouts through his hand. It’s muffled, but I can tell what she wants.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to do that, Nathair. We’re taking Mara back. If we leave her here, more people will get hurt. Whatever you had going on with her is done,” I say.

I can tell it’s not what he expected by the uneasy way he shifts his weight from side to side. He honestly thought I’d trade and that would be the end of it. While it would be absolute torture to leave Michaela behind, it’s obvious this isn’t an offer she wants me to accept. No, if it comes to that, I’ll have to leave and come back for her. But I hope it won’t come to that.

Sure enough, my Reaper rescues herself. Michaela seizes the other Reaper’s moment of unease and bites his hand. He cries out in pain and loosens his grip on her, giving her the opportunity to stomp on his foot. She tries to run from him. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he yanks her back. Screaming in pain, she falls backward to the ground.

Horatia steps in and tries to free her, pounding on him, and I rush to their aid. The Reaper’s so busy dealing with Horatia’s fists, he doesn’t see me coming around behind him. It’s all too easy to get his hands behind his back and restrain him.

Michaela scrambles away, tears streaming down her face as she looks back at him. She’s not just physically hurt; she’s been attacked by someone she should have been able trust—an old coworker.

“What should we do with him?” Horatia asks.

My mind is racing. What can we do with him? I can’t restrain him and carry Mara. And I know the girls can’t handle him, not all the way back at least. They might be able to carry Mara if they work together, but if she starts to wake up, one of them will need to sedate her.

Michaela is the one who offers a solution. Her voice is low and dark, and it gives me chills. “I think we should lock him in the basement.”

“I…what?” I say.

“It’s no worse than what he did to me. Someone can come back for him after we’ve told everyone in the heavens what he’s done,” she says. She’s dead serious. She wants me to walk all the way back to the house with this lunatic and lock him in the basement.

“But that will take forever.” It comes out as a bit of a whine, but my point remains valid.

“Well, what do you suggest, Penn? What if he escapes us in the mists? Overwhelms us while we’re trying to manage Mara? He could ruin everything. I’m not sure that’s a risk I want to take,” Horatia says. Once again, I’m caught off guard by one of my sisters siding with someone else. Normally, we’re all so in sync.

“Can we even keep Mara out for that long? It’s going to take a few hours. And I think one of you should come with me. If he gets squirrely, it’ll be easier for two of us to restrain him.” Wait, did I just agree with them? I shake my head in frustration. “For the record, I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I’ll go ask Galenia what she thinks. She can be the tiebreaker, okay?”

“Fine,” I say. Nathair’s struggling in my arms, making me less than excited about what lies ahead. “Hurry up, will you? This isn’t my favorite thing.” He thrashes around and tries to head butt me, as if to emphasize my point.

Horatia nods and hurries back through the wall of mists. She’s back faster than I thought she would be.

“The two of us will go with you. Galenia says she’s fine on her own. We’ll run back here when we’re done to make up the time, okay?”

“Run?” The thought only exhausts me further. “I’m not sure I’ll have the energy for that.”

“You better find it, because you’ll have to carry Mara back through the mists when we’re done,” Horatia says. She’s not trying to make me feel worse; she’s just stating the facts. Still, the facts feel almost as heavy as Nathair.

“You couldn’t have just left us alone?” The bitterness I feel toward the man I’m restraining comes through in my voice.

He responds by trying to head butt me again. I dodge him easily and sigh. “It’s going to be like that the whole way back, isn’t it?” I turn to Horatia. “Think Galenia’s concoction will work on this one?”

She snorts. “I don’t think Galenia is sharing, particularly not for heavenly beings. Besides, it probably won’t have the same effect on him.”

I nod. “No probably not.” He tries the head-butt maneuver again, and I curse under my breath.

“I’m not going down without a fight,” Nathair insists.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Hate to break it to you, Captain Obvious, but you already went down with the ship.”

About halfway back to the house, the fight goes out of Nathair. He starts walking along with me, as if he’s accepted his fate, but I don’t loosen my grip on him. For all I know, he’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security. He’s a loose cannon who’s in league with a woman who’s earned herself a one-way ticket to hell. My trust went out the door as soon as I found out he was a willing accomplice.

“So, Nathair, tell me. How did you meet Mara?” I ask. Part of me just wants to break the silence and monotony of our walk, but another part genuinely wants to know how a Reaper could turn so far from his intended path. Okay, so maybe that’s the pot calling the kettle black—I am a banished Fate, after all—but I still want to know.

He doesn’t respond for so long, I don’t think he ever will.

Michaela’s the one who gets him talk. “How did you stray so far from your roots?” she asks softly.

His face twists into a condescending sneer as he looks at Michaela. I want to slap him, but my hands are otherwise occupied. I already regret trying to engage him in conversation.

“My roots? My roots didn’t go very deep.”

“Clearly,” Michaela says.

“No one appreciated me, least of all that asshole Ryker. He’s too holier-than-thou for my taste, even for a heavenly being. When Mara showed up at one of my assignments and told me she needed a hand, I was more than willing to help her out.”

Michaela was quiet for a few paces, and I could tell she was reflecting on his words.

“You love her, don’t you?”

I stop dead, making Nathair jerk a little. Honestly, I don’t know what I expected her to say. But romance wasn’t high on the list.

“Hey,” he shouts.

“Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not.

He doesn’t answer her question, but now I’m intrigued. If she’s right, it would certainly explain what he’s done. I surprised myself by the lengths I was willing to go to for love. I think about Kismet withering away in the prison of souls and push Nathair a little harder.

“You do love her, don’t you?” I say.

He doesn’t need to answer me now. His silence is confirmation enough.

“What did she offer you, Nathair?” Michaela asks. “Did she say she loved you back? Were you dumb enough to believe her? The only one she truly loves is Shiloh. You know that, right?”

I’m shocked by her response. I’ve never heard something so harsh come out of Michaela’s mouth, even if it is the truth. She’s madder than I’ve ever seen her.

“Shut up,” Nathair barks. “Of course she loves me. Once Shiloh’s safe, we’re going to go somewhere where no one will ever find us. We’re going to be a family.” As soon as the words are out, I can tell he regrets revealing his vulnerability to us. He turns away from her and walks faster, jerking me behind him for a change, as if he wants to get away from Michaela.

“Shiloh is the only man in her life,” I say, “and he’s the only one there will ever be. She’s a Spinner in her own right—weaving lies, trapping innocents in her web.” I cluck a few times, as if what’s happened to him is a shame. “Do you think they’ll take pity on you for your soft heart?”

He tries to head butt me again. I start to laugh, and then something occurs to me. I saw him question her. His unease at her methods. “You’re not so tough are you, Nathair? You don’t like what she’s doing, at least not all of it. I heard you trying to get her to stop putting them in the prison. You know what she’s doing is wrong. Why abandon that completely?”

His voice is a little sad. “Like you said, I boarded the ship. There wasn’t any turning back. Might as well go down with it.”

I have no response. He’s so matter-of-fact. The situation is so ridiculous I can’t get my mind around it. A Spinner in love with his own creation. A Reaper in love with a human witch. How in the world did we get so off course?

By the time we get there, it’s almost sunrise.

“We need to work fast, or we’ll wake up Shiloh,” Michaela says. “If he’s not already awake.

“What can Shiloh do to us?” I ask, legitimately not understanding what danger he could pose.

“Nothing more than a delay. If he sees us, we’ll have some explaining to do. I’m worried about leaving Galenia alone with that woman for so long. We need to get back to her.”

Horatia speaks for the first time since we left our sister behind. “She’s stronger than she looks. Honestly, I’m not a bit worried about her.”

Part of me is surprised by her response, but I realize she’s right. Galenia looks slight, but she isn’t. She has a calming power that can overcome even the angriest adversary. She will be fine. Besides, I have no doubt that her concoction will keep Mara from doing any harm.

We ease our way into the house and pad down the hall. Michaela hesitates in front of Shiloh’s door, but I shake my head. She nods as she leads the way to the basement.

It’s harder to restrain Nathair as we go down the stairs, and he struggles enough to create a commotion. If Shiloh didn’t already know we were here, he does now. Maybe he’ll assume Nathair is just roughing Webber and Michaela around. It’s a dark thought, but I hope it’s enough to keep him in his room.

We eventually get the rogue Reaper to the bottom, and Michaela leads us into a small, dark room.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“It’s Mara’s prison on Earth. It’s where she kept me…and then Webber and me,” Michaela answers.

“Should we tie him up?” Horatia asks.

“Tie him to the pole. That’s what they did to me,” Michaela says coldly. “Let’s see him get out of that.”

Horatia grabs some rope off the wall, and I force Nathair to sit down in front of the pole in the center of the room.

“Who puts a giant pole in the middle of a small room like this? I mean, it really renders the room useless,” I say as I restrain Nathair’s thrashing. He’s fighting us right up to the end.

“I’m sure Mara will be grateful for your decorating advice,” Horatia says as she binds Nathair’s hands.

The three of us turn to look at him before we leave the room. “Well, goodbye for now. Someone will be back shortly to collect you,” Michaela says.

He spits at us, but it doesn’t have enough force behind it to even reach our feet.

“Yup. I think that about sums up how we feel about you,” I say.

We turn to leave, but a little boy is standing at the bottom of the stairs, blocking our way. Shiloh.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Shiloh. You shouldn’t be up. Go back to bed,” Michaela insists.

“I told you to leave hours ago. What’s going on? Who are they?” He fires the questions off one after another. They almost bowl me over, but Michaela seems to instantly know what to do. She goes to him—stopping just short of touching him—and ushers him back up the stairs. She’s murmuring softly to him, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Turning, I take one last look at Nathair tied to the post before I shut the door and lock it. I kind of think he would’ve flipped me off if his hands weren’t tied behind his back. His eyes are full of the kind of hatred humans usually reserve for each other. It feels out of place in a heavenly being.

As I slide the lock home, I find myself wishing we had a chair or something else to put in front of it. I mean, Michaela escaped from here, twice. What’s to say he won’t do the same? I sigh. All we need to do is buy ourselves enough time to get back to the mists. If he escapes, someone else will find him. Without Mara, he’s mostly powerless.

Horatia leads the way up the stairs, into the empty hallway. The door to Shiloh’s room is open, and I can see her sitting on the boy’s bed. She’s still talking to him in that same soothing voice.

He’s so gaunt it’s almost painful to look at him. His brown hair is dull in the dim light of the bedroom, and he’s so thin I can see his collarbone under his t-shirt. He’s literally wasting away. What parent would want this existence for her child? I know Michaela said we aren’t equipped to judge Mara, but I can’t help myself. The anger makes me restless.

I stalk into the living room and start to pace a large circle around the space. Horatia joins me.

“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly as she leans against the doorway leading to the hall.

I keep my voice low to avoid drawing the boy’s attention. “Look what she’s done to that poor boy! She doesn’t deserve a fair trial.”

“You’d better calm down before Michaela finds you like this,” she says, offering no words of comfort, agreement, or disagreement. It’s Horatia’s blunt way.

I know she’s right. I need to cool it, but I can’t. Seeing this little boy’s suffering has pushed me over the edge. I know it’s affecting Horatia too. After all, she’s the one who cut his thread short. And to see it made unnaturally long…

I can see the pain I’m feeling mirrored on her face.

“Do you think we could’ve changed things, Ratia? Used more care when we made her and the boy? Done things differently?”

She crosses the room and falls into my open arms. It’s the only answer I need. She feels the same pain I do over our wayward creation. We stand that way, trying to give each other strength, until Michaela joins us.

“Let’s go,” she says as she walks past us, clearly eager to get out of the house.

“Hey,” Horatia calls out, but Michaela doesn’t stop. Horatia breaks away from me and goes after her, with me right on her heels.

“Hey,” she calls out again.

Michaela keeps right on walking. “Let’s go,” she shouts, not even turning her head to look at us. She just charges forward toward the woods.

Horatia breaks into a run and catches up, grabbing her arm.

“Hey,” she says, turning Michaela to face her. We’re about halfway to the woods, standing in the middle of the yard. I’m a little uncomfortable to stand here so exposed, but I know better than to say anything.

“Hey yourself,” Michaela says. “We need to get back to Galenia.”

“Are you okay?” Horatia asks.

“No. I’m not,” Michaela chokes out. “I just had to tell a boy that his mother is being taken before God to answer for her crimes. He’s not grieving his mother’s death, he’s mourning her eternal soul, if there’s even anything left of it when God is done with her.”

Horatia takes her shaking hand, trying to steady her.

“But it doesn’t matter if I’m okay. I’m not important in this. Mara is important. Shiloh is important.” She looks at me. “Kismet, Andrew, and Lily are important. We have to get back.”

I nod. But while she’s right, while I know we should already be running toward the mists with every last bit of energy we possess, I hug her instead. And then I sweep Horatia into the embrace as well.

“It will be okay,” I say, drowning in a mass of blonde and brown hair and resisting the urge to blow it out of my face.

“And if it’s not, we’ll fight until it’s over,” Michaela finishes for me. I squeeze the two of them even harder, and we run back into the woods together.

When we find Galenia, morning is well on its way. She’s sitting next to Mara, who’s still completely out. She greets us with a warm smile when we come through the wall of mists.

“How did it go?” she asks as she stands up and brushes leaves and debris off her gold robe.

“I mean, it could’ve been worse,” I say, shrugging, trying to hide the fact that I’m pretty out of breath.

“Shiloh saw us,” Michaela says between pants, somehow knowing Galenia will understand the ramifications of that.

And she does. She gives her a huge, meaningful hug, as if trying to take all of our friend’s sorrow in one single embrace.

“I’m sorry,” I hear her whisper to Michaela.

“Me too,” she says in return.

“Are we ready? How’s she doing?” I nod toward Mara.

“She stirred twice. I’m concerned about what the chemicals might be doing to her. But we had no choice. When we get there, it becomes someone else’s problem, right?” she says, clearly hoping we’ll confirm her assumption.

Without hesitation, I answer, “Right.”

Though I have no idea where the energy comes from—besides necessity—I manage to sling Mara back over my shoulder and start walking.

When I glance back, I see Michaela walking between my sisters, holding their hands.

“It feels good to be going home,” she says as we walk deeper and deeper into the mists together.

I couldn’t agree more.

Eighteen

Michaela

The mists are soothing to my frayed nerves. I breathe them in as we walk, taking comfort from them, from the women at my sides. We’ve done it. We’ve ended it.

The urge to sit down and let the mists swallow me is overwhelming, but my companions keep my feet moving. I shut my eyes and breathe deeply.

When we get to the golden gate, we stand there—directionless. Not one of us wants to go through. It seems wrong to take such an evil being into our home. But we can’t take her into hell either. They’ll never let her go once they have her, however justified they may be. And while I doubt she’ll be going to heaven, I think we all deserve to see her go to trial. Those of us who have been affected by Mara’s chaos need closure. We need an explanation for what she’s done.

Even so, I just can’t bear to let this happen. “We can’t bring her in there,” I blurt out.

The Fates all stop in their tracks.

“Well, what do you want to do? I’m all for knocking on the black gate,” Penn says, still hanging on to the hope that we can dump her on the demons and be done with it.

“Can you three wait out here with her? I’ll go get some help.” I’m adding yet another complication to our plan—and I know it—but I can’t stomach the idea of bringing her in with us.

I look at the three Fates in front of me, waiting for them to respond. Penn sighs and sets her down in front of him. There’s nothing for him to lean her against, so she just lies among the clouds. They’re thick enough that they almost swallow her, making her look a little otherworldly. I frown down at her. I don’t want to think of her as being at peace when the souls she trapped in hell are still stuck there.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

Taking a deep breath, I push the golden gate open and go home.

No one is milling around on the other side, so I walk to Ryker’s office unobstructed. It’s morning here, so I know most of the Reapers are already out on assignment and won’t stop me as I make my way through my home. I pick up the pace, saying a silent prayer that Ryker is actually in his office.

Hesitantly, I knock on the door. When no one answers, I knock a little louder. Just as I’m about to give up, the door swings open and Ryker takes me into his big arms, lifts me up, and spins me around. Just as quickly as he’s done it, I’m back on the ground, facing him. He’s standing straight as a board and looking down at me, as if the display of emotion never happened at all.

“Where have you been?” he demands.

I take a seat opposite his desk and tell him about Mara—her powers, what she did with them, and her apparent lack of remorse. Frowning, he turns to face a holographic image to his left.

I didn’t see him touch anything, but suddenly, the image of one of hell’s Guardians appears before me. I’m taken aback that he can communicate with them this way.

“I have a special assignment for you. There is an actual human outside your gate. Not a soul. I need you to…care for her until her appointed trial. No harm should come to her, but know that she is very powerful. Learned in our ways, and in the ways of witchcraft. She has eliminated two Archangels and a Spinner. Be forewarned.”

The Guardian gives a big, toothy grin. Even though he’s not really in the room with me, I want to shrink away. The smell of hell surrounds me—a memory so real, my pulse quickens. I shake myself and take a deep breath.

“It would be my pleasure,” the Guardian growls out. “When is the trial?”

“Undetermined. When I know, you’ll know.”

The Guardian nods and his image disappears.

“Do you trust him?” I ask.

“No. You can never trust a demon. But I trust her less than I trust the demon. She needs to be restrained. I know the Guardian will be able to handle her.” He leans back in his chair and smiles at me. “It’s good to have you back. Now, tell me everything.”

And I do. I start with Shiloh, Mara’s motivation for what she did. When I get to the part about Nathair joining forces with her, I remember that he’s still trapped in the basement.

Ryker pauses my soliloquy to dispatch a team to retrieve the wayward Reaper, and then asks me to continue.

When I get to the part about Webber, I’m suddenly furious with him. “Ryker, why did you leave him?”

“Do you want the long or the short answer?” he asks seriously.

“Both.”

“Fine. I had obligations here. I couldn’t stay with him.”

The comment stings. “Obligations more important than me?”

His face softens. “I couldn’t take your other friends to Earth, but I needed to make sure Miette was in the right place at the right time to help them find you.”

It stops me dead.

“So what’s the long answer?”

“Webber was distraught. He felt it was something he needed to do on his own to earn his redemption. I wouldn’t deny him that.”

“That I can believe,” I say, hoping my friend would be happy to know his sacrifice had not been wasted.

I keep talking until I’ve told Ryker the entire story. Eventually, I get to the part about the three souls still trapped in the prison of souls—Andrew, Kismet, and Lily—and their need to be rescued.

“I knew something extreme happened to put you in the healing ward with all those burns, but I had no idea it was something of this magnitude.” Ryker slouches in his chair a little, seemingly weighed down by what I’ve said.

“But now that we have her, we can release them, right?” I say, hopeful it will be a non-issue.

“Of course. I will send Reapers to collect them immediately.” He reaches for the holograph to summon someone, but I stop him.

“I’d like to get them, please. I started this. I’d like to finish it.” I think about God’s plan for me, for all of us. “I believe I’m meant to do it.”

“I have another task for you, Michaela.”

His words take the wind out of my sails. Another task? What could be more important than getting Andrew, Kismet, and Lily out of that terrible prison?

“I will send emissaries to hell to prepare the way for you. They’ll make sure you don’t face any…” He hesitates. “Obstacles. You can retrieve the souls when you’re done with your mission.”

I like the sound of that. An easy trip into hell? Yes, please. Penn and I barely made it out the last time.

“What’s the mission?” A wave of wariness washes over me as I wait for his response.

“Another surprise has popped up.” My heart sinks, but something about his expression tells me I’ve got it wrong. There’s a sparkle in his eye. Still, my panic fights for attention. Another surprise? How can that be? We have Mara.

“Do you think Nathair escaped and is continuing her work?”

“No. I do not,” he says simply.

“Well, then who?” I demand, dying to know the reason for his sly smile.

“It’s a surprise, yes, but this person’s name didn’t show up on our list early. He should’ve been reaped years ago.”

The name falls from my lips of its own accord. “Shiloh.”

Nineteen

Penn

The wait outside the gates is torturous. We are all silent. Galenia and Horatia sit near Mara, and I pace around near the edge of the mists. I’m not sure what to do with myself. I don’t want to leave this human out in the middle of the three gates, where she might do even more damage, but I also don’t want to be anywhere near her. She’s destroyed everything that was important to me. Kismet and Andrew are lost to me forever. And then there are all those other threads she cut short. Frederico. Jeff. Pearl. Chesney. Nysa. Lily. That’s not even to mention the thousands of ghosts created by her negligence. The lives ruined…

I take a deep breath to calm myself and keep pacing, hoping someone will come soon. Every few paces, I glance at the gold door, hoping someone will come through. But, to my dismay, the black gate comes into view. A demon steps out of it.

I’ve actually never seen a Guardian before, but I assume this is one of them. He certainly doesn’t look human like the Warden we saw in hell, but he’s bigger and more intimidating than the lesser demons we encountered there. The flames of hell show through the cracks in his charred skin. His fingers have long, black claws on them, and his arms are so long, he drags them through the clouds as he walks. His face is angular, almost like it was chiseled out of black stone. I make an effort not to shrink back from him. He’s here for Mara, I’m sure.

Then another Guardian follows him out of the black gate. I look from them to my sisters, not exactly sure of what to do.

Galenia surprises me by standing up and approaching them. “Hello.” Her voice is soft and soothing, but I’m not sure if it’s meant to soothe them or us. Probably us, since they don’t seem frightened at all.

“Fates,” they acknowledge. Their whispery voices send a chill down my spine. “We hear you have something special for us.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving her with you. How do I know you’ll bring her to the trial when she’s needed?” Galenia asks, stepping between Mara and the Guardians.

“Our orders come from the head Reaper. We know this one comes with strings attached.”

She turns to me. “Ryker.”

I nod, and she steps aside.

A grotesque smile spreads across the larger Guardian’s face as he looks down at her. “Tell us about this human,” he says. “She doesn’t seem so special to me.”

“She took out two Archangels. Don’t underestimate her,” Horatia warns.

“Impressive.” The larger Guardian continues to smile down at Mara, who’s starting to stir.

Galenia goes to her, searching for the cloth, but the Guardian holds up his hand. “Maybe we should let her see what she’s in for.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, backing away from Mara. I sincerely don’t want to be around when she wakes up. She’s going to be madder than a hornet when she figures out what we did, but the prospect of her rage seems to excite them. As if they feed on it. They probably do, now that I think about it.

Galenia backs away too, but Horatia goes toward the Guardians of all things. As soon as we realize what she’s doing, we rush to join her.

“Hiding behind the demons, eh, Fates?” the smaller Guardian says with a chuckle.

“I’m not ashamed to acknowledge that you’re better equipped to deal with this situation,” Galenia says.

The smaller one looks back at her for a moment, as if he isn’t quite sure what to make of her, and then returns his gaze to his quarry.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mara,” the larger Guardian says.

She’s sitting up slowly, moaning. “What the hell did you do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, and she’s coughing. Leaning forward, she puts her head between her knees and vomits into the clouds.

“She really is human,” the smaller Guardian notes.

“That she is,” I confirm.

“This will be interesting,” he says.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she staggers to standing. “Who are you?” she demands. It’s obvious she’s not even a little afraid of these creatures from hell.

The moment her eyes lock on to us, she scoffs and says, “More Fates. How many of you do I have to kill to get you to leave me alone? You’re nothing but a nuisance!” She raises her hands, and we shrink down behind the Guardians.

The demons laugh. They actually laugh, and the sound is horrible. It’s like cold wind hissing through the slats in a dark, drafty barn. It surrounds us, and I feel like we’ll never be warm and happy again.

Mara starts to mutter something, calling upon her powers, but the Guardians are laughing so hard it whips up a wind. Or maybe Mara is the one who’s creating the wind. The girls’ hair whips wildly around their faces as the demons’ terrifying laughter rises in volume.

Mara stays focused on us, but the Guardians’ amusement finally dies when sparks appear on her fingertips.

“Enough,” the larger Guardian says, and her hands go jerkily to her sides. The sparks disappear, but her eyes glow with anger.

“Hey,” I whisper, sensing she’s not nearly done. They ignore me.

“Dispergeretur.” I can actually see the word leave her mouth and curl through the air, floating toward the smaller Guardian, the one Galenia is hiding behind. The larger Guardian doesn’t seem to see it, but the smaller one watches with amused fascination as the word curls around him. It reaches his leg before working its way up his body, around his arm, over his head, around his other arm, and back down his other leg. His smirk finally fades by the time he’s covered in silvery light.

Mara is smiling as she watches it happen, her arms still stiff at her sides. The Guardian must be holding her.

All of a sudden, the light suddenly caves in on itself, leaving nothing behind. The Guardian standing in front of Galenia vanishes in thin air, leaving Galenia exposed.

Before the human can do any more damage, the lone Guardian roars with anger. I feel the vibration of it in my chest. Galenia runs over to us, and we three Fates wrap our arms around each other and shamelessly cower behind the demon.

The Guardian closes the distance between himself and Mara faster than I’ve ever seen any being move. He clogs her over the head with a closed fist, and she goes down with a thump.

“There are some benefits to working with humans instead of souls,” he says, looking down at her body.

He picks her up like she weighs no more than a feather, and her head lolls a little. I cringe when I see it.

“What’s the matter, Fate? Not comfortable with a little violence?” He jostles her around a little more, and her head rolls around limply. It’s odd. I’m worried she might be dead. Why does that bother me? I wanted the demons to take her. To kill her. But I’m starting to realize Michaela was right—we aren’t made for killing. I want Mara to get that trial Michaela thinks she deserves.

The Guardian laughs at me, as if reading my thoughts. “I didn’t kill her. But she’ll be out for a bit, the damned fool.” He says nothing of his fallen comrade. I don’t even know if demons form relationships with one another. It wouldn’t really be hell if good things existed there.

“Well, it’s been fun, Fates,” he says as he carries her back toward the black gate. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Wait,” Galenia calls after him. She runs over to a low-lying cloud and grabs the bottle of chemicals and the cloth. “Perhaps a gentler approach might prevent future mishaps?”

“Thanks for the tip, but her life will be anything but gentle from here on out,” he says. “I think we can handle her.”

Galenia frowns up at the huge demon. Despite his rejection, she sets the bottle and cloth on Mara’s stomach. “In case you change your mind,” she says.

I think I see him shrug, but I could be mistaken. Without another word, he turns and carries his quarry back behind the black gate, and just like that, we are free of her.

Twenty

Michaela

I hope to see the Fates out at the edge of the mists, but they aren’t here. They must’ve left while I was talking to Ryker. A comforting hug would have been nice, but I don’t really need it. This mission should be genuinely easy. There will be no witches waiting to jump out at me. No rogue Reapers who hope to kidnap me, or at least none who are unrestrained. On our last visit, there weren’t even any ghosts wandering around, which leads me to believe Mara has some shield against them as well. Perhaps the dome serves more than one purpose.

As I walk through the mists, trying to stay focused on Shiloh, I see bits and pieces of his life, all happy moments with his mom and his friends. It seems like he had a good amount of friends, at least at one point in his life. There are a lot of happy memories even after he got sick. I see him at the hospital playing Go Fish with Nysa, and there’s another memory of an elaborate prank he pulled on a poor, unsuspecting night nurse. It involved dumping glitter from a bedpan propped on his slightly open door. And so many happy moments with his mom. It’s a strange dichotomy of the woman I know now, and the woman she was. Why didn’t she cling to that? Anyone can see how happy she was. I sigh as I watch her pushing him on the swing and chasing him around the playground, the sound of his laughter filling the air around us. Maybe she was clinging to it. So tightly, in fact, she strangled all her happiness away.

I can’t focus on her though. Instead, I turn my attention to him. His memories make me smile, preparing me well for a very satisfying reaping.

As the mists start to clear, I prepare myself for the long walk through the woods. But to my surprise, the dome is gone. The mists part in Mara’s living room, bringing me as close to Shiloh as possible. I wonder if Nathair is still here. I’m tempted to go look for him, but I decide to leave him to the other Reapers. Shiloh is the one who needs me now.

A smile makes its way across my face as I realize I’m finally getting to do something I want to do. This child’s life has been a misery ever since his thread reached its natural end, and I can finally bring him home.

I know this is right, and it makes me stand up a little straighter as I cross the short distance to the boy’s room.

But while I’m excited to help Shiloh finally gain the peace that’s eluded him for years, it’s immediately clear he isn’t happy to see me.

“You.” His voice is quiet, and I barely hear him over the sound of the heart monitor. Once again, his soul is sitting in the chair next to the bed where his body lay struggling. “They sent you for me?”

“Yes. I felt it was a job I needed to finish.”

“Are we nothing but jobs to you? My mom is a person. She’s my mom. She doesn’t deserve what is going to happen to her. What is going to happen to her?” Tears pool in his eyes.

I sit down in front of him, and for the first time, I touch him. As I scoop his hands into mine, the makeshift string connecting him to his body falls away and disappears. His heart monitor starts blaring alarms, but I ignore it. He is free.

He looks over at his body and knows it.

“Look at me, Shiloh.” His eyes are wide when they meet mine. “I honestly don’t know what is going to happen to your mother. I’m not sure what scenarios your mind has conjured, and I don’t know if the truth is better or worse. I won’t speculate. The problem is, she isn’t sorry for what she did, for the lives she took. And you can’t do things like that without facing consequences.”

I try to make him see, but he doesn’t. “Of course she isn’t sorry. Don’t you see? She was just trying to save her son, and it worked…sort of.” He looks at the place where the string used to be tied around his wrist. Picking up his other hand, he rubs the spot, marveling at his freedom.

“No. This isn’t right. Not at her expense.” He clings to me, as if begging me to make it right.

“None of this is right,” I say, giving him a sad look. “Your mother tampered with the way of things. With fate. While she ‘saved’ you for a time, you had no life. You merely existed. That was not supposed to be your fate. Your fate was to thrive in your short time on Earth. What you’ve been doing since she trapped you here isn’t thriving. Frankly, she isn’t succeeding either. She’s actively destroying people.”

“She was only trying to do what she thought was best for me.”

I want to believe that, but in my heart, I know it isn’t true. She was doing what she wanted. What she thought she needed, with no regard for what was best for her son or anyone else. But I can’t say that to him.

“Life on Earth is full of a gamut of experiences, Shiloh, full of both joy and sorrow. Instead of feeling her sorrow, she chose to keep it at bay at a very high cost. If she’d allowed the future to unfold as was intended, you would have passed quickly and with minimal suffering. Instead, she took others’ lives so you could linger here in pain. That’s no way to exist.”

The next time he speaks, he’s filled with conviction. “I’d like to speak for her before she is punished.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’ll see what I can do,” I concede.

When he’s finally ready, we walk hand in hand to the mists. He stands tall as his home on Earth disappears behind us, and he finally reaches for his fate with outstretched arms.

The walk goes by in a blur. A part of me doesn’t want this one to be over. If he gets his wish, if he’s allowed to attend her trial, he’ll be confronted head-on with what his mother did to keep him on Earth. And no child should have to contend with that. If nothing else, it makes my anger for Mara boil that much harder.

The gates of heaven appear, and a whole host of angels waits behind them, singing his name and welcoming him with open arms. It makes me smile that they pulled out all the stops for this little boy. He stops and watches them, and if it weren’t for the way he’s clinging to my hand, I’d think he was just taking it all in. But he’s scared to cross this threshold.

“I can’t go back once I go in there, can I?” he asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Shiloh, there was no going back long ago.”

He takes a long, deep breath and lets me go. When he turns to face me, I don’t see a sickly boy or a thin soul. I see a vibrant young boy, ready to go home.

Shiloh smiles at me, and it brings a rosy color to his cheeks.

“Thank you, Michaela,” he says. Without warning, he throws his arms around me, and I fall flat on my butt from the force of it.

We laugh in a heap at the gates of heaven, with the angels singing all around us. One of them comes through and offers Shiloh a hand up. He looks at me, and I nod. He nods back, sure of himself now, and takes the angel’s hand. I smile as I watch him disappear behind the gate, accompanied by his heavenly escort.

An angel comes and stands beside me, watching the spectacle too.

“He wants to be at the trial,” I say.

“We know,” she answers. Even when speaking, her voice is musical. I want to smile, although I don’t know why.

“Can he?”

“No. It is too much to ask of a boy. No matter how old they are, a child should not have to watch the demise of their parent. And no matter what is decided today, one way or another, Mara will be facing her demise.”

“Today?” I ask, turning to face the golden-haired angel beside me.

“Now.”

Twenty One

Penn

After the Guardians take Mara away, the three of us don’t really know what to do with ourselves. Not until someone emerges from the golden gate to greet us.

It’s Miette again. She’s beaming from ear to year. Bounding over to us like a young deer, she throws her arms around my waist and squeezes with all her might.

“You did it! You saved her.”

She pulls back from her embrace and looks up at me, still bubbling over with joy. “Ryker wants to see you.” She adds it like some kind of aside. Like it means nothing.

“What do you mean? Just me?”

“He asked for the one dressed as a Keeper. I assume that’s you.”

When I glance at my sister Fates, I see a reflection of the fear I feel in my own heart.

“What?” She shrugs. “Don’t let Ryker intimidate you. He’s a big softie once you get to know him. Just stay on his good side and you’ll be fine.” She smiles up at me. When my expression doesn’t change, she reaches out and squeezes my arm, forcing me to look down at her.

“I promise. After saving one of Ryker’s favorite Reapers, you’ll be on his good side for a long time.”

I swallow hard, and she smiles at me. “Come on. He won’t bite, I swear.”

But I’m not so sure. Why would he want to see me, and only me, unless he knows who I am? If he just wanted to say thank you, he’d have asked for all of us.

I think back to the last time I saw him. It was in Michaela’s healing room after we got back from hell. Ryker came to see her. He spoke briefly to me, and I thought I caught a sparkle in his eye. He made some quip about Michaela’s curious friends. But he didn’t seem all that surprised that a Keeper was paying her a visit.

It wasn’t enough to confirm or deny whether he knew my true identity.

Miette leads the way through the gate and down the hallway to the Reapers’ wing. My sisters cling to my hands as we make our way to what feels like my end.

When we reach Ryker’s door, Galenia and Horatia come to a stop just behind me. I turn to face them.

“I love you both. Please tell Michaela…” I trail off. What message could truly explain how I feel? My gratitude. My love for her.

“We will,” Galenia says with shining eyes.

“Save Kismet and the others for me, will you? Tell them I’m sorry. Make sure they are taken care of.”

“We will,” Horatia says, her voice thick with emotion.

They throw their arms around me one last time, and with that, I’m left to face my fate.

“Ah. Michaela’s dear friend. I was wondering when I’d be seeing you,” Ryker says as I come through the door with a bit of hesitation. He’s sitting behind a huge white desk, perfectly accented by the black cabinets to his left and black bookshelves to his right.

He gestures to a white armchair in front of him. There’s a black velvet one next to it, and I wonder if Michaela has ever sat in one of these chairs. “Please, have a seat. I’ve sent Michaela to retrieve Shiloh. We have some matters to discuss while she’s gone.”

I sink into the chair, but I try to avoid eye contact with the huge man across the desk from me. He doesn’t make it easy. But while his presence is naturally intimidating, I can tell he’s trying to set me at ease. Why? Is he leading me into a trap? I’m grateful to my hood, although I know it offers me little in the way of actual protection.

“I’ve never spent so much time among the Fates before. I’m starting to like you folks,” he says with a smile on his face.

Despite the fact that his smile isn’t sinister in any way, it doesn’t put me at ease. He’s confirmed it; he knows who I am. It’s over. My last shred of hope that he might have asked me here to thank me for saving Michaela is gone. A thousand thoughts run through my mind, and I wonder if this is what a human means when they say their life flashed before their eyes. I think of the time I spent on Earth with Andrew and Kismet, of Galenia and Horatia, my soul’s sisters, and of Michaela, whom I won’t get to see again.

Ryker sits back in his chair and waves a hand at me. “I’ve called you here for a reason, but it isn’t to doom you.”

I relax, but only a little. Why? What’s his motivation? I shake myself a little. My time on Earth has made me think too much like a human. Malice isn’t something that flows as freely in the heavens as it does on Earth. Ryker isn’t out to get me. He’s a heavenly being, and a boss at that. If he wanted me gone, I’d already be vapor. He trusts Michaela, so he must trust me.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable. The more people who know I’m here, the more danger I’m in. It will only take one soul with that information to destroy me.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my hood away from my face, putting all my cards out on the table. He knows who I am, so there’s no sense in being uncomfortable.

“Fine, Ryker. What do you want?” It comes out cold, which isn’t what I intended. I suppose I’m just steeling myself for whatever he’s going to say next.

“Now, now. No need to be so defensive. I promise that I do not intend to harm you.” He leans forward in his chair. “Michaela has asked to help retrieve the remaining humans captured in the prison of souls. You will accompany her. Most likely after Mara’s trial is over. In the meantime, I’ve sent emissaries ahead of her to make sure the souls are safe and your path to them will be clear.”

I let out a deep breath. They will be okay. They’ll be taken care of. No matter what.

He reaches for something to his left, and I grip the sides of the armchair for dear life.

It’s a roll of parchment with a gold seal on it.

“I’ve been asked to give you this.”

He holds it out to me, and I hesitantly accept it. The parchment is new and crisp. The seal has a hand on it. The hand of God. I swallow hard.

“What is this?”

Ryker smiles mischievously at me. “How should I know? Open it and see.”

Throwing caution to the wind, I crack the seal and unfurl the scroll.

The writing is perfect calligraphy, written in gold ink.

This document hereby serves as a full and complete pardon to the former Fate and Spinner, Penn.

There’s a personal note down below, written in a rather messy hand.

Penn,

I owe you my eternal thanks. You have made me proud. Do whatever you wish with your pardon. You may choose to stay here among the heavens, or perhaps you would rather return to Earth. Opportunities will present themselves soon. Choose however you wish. But above all, choose happiness.

—G

“I…” I’m speechless. I’m pardoned. Safe. My anxieties have suddenly been lifted off my shoulders—a one-hundred-pound weight I didn’t realize I was bearing. I sit up straighter, smile broader, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

“Not so fast, my friend. Your work here still isn’t finished. Michaela tells me those souls are still stuck in hell. You can’t just abandon them to go flitting off through the fields of Earth like some country bumpkin.” He says it with a glint in his eye, and I know he’s teasing me.

“I have no intention of abandoning them.”

He leans back in his chair and smiles. “Yes, indeed. You Fates aren’t half bad at all.”

Reaching across the desk, he extends an arm to me, and we shake hands in a brotherly fashion. “Thank you for returning her to us.” His voice is low and full of gratitude. It seems I owe him a fair amount of thanks as well, but he doesn’t allow me to speak again.

“Now, we have a trial to get to.”

We are seated in a U-shaped room with auditorium-style seating that climbs several stories high. We Fates are seated high up, near the left tip of the U. The walls and floor are white, but the seats are a beautiful golden color, lined with plush cushions to keep us comfortable while we wait.

Despite the fact that it’s the middle of the workday, it seems as though everything has come to a halt for this moment. As I look out across the rows and rows of seats, it seems as if all the heavens, and some of hell, have come to see this human and what will become of her. I don’t see many empty seats, that’s for sure. The one I have saved for Michaela is one of the last empties in the room.

There are several different kinds of demons pacing around the floor below us, waiting for Mara to be brought in. I’m not sure what they all are. Michaela would have been able to identify them. For about the hundredth time, I find myself searching for her amidst the seated Reapers. I wonder how she did with Shiloh, and if she’s doing okay. I know this will be a bittersweet reaping for her.

Suddenly, the door at the base of the U bursts open, revealing Michaela. She’s out of breath, much as she was when she came rushing into the weaving room just a short time ago to tell me about the prison of souls. So much has happened since then.

I whistle at Michaela as she scans the seats. She spots me and waves. But then she spies the other Reapers, Ryker among them, and a dilemma plays out on her face when her boss waves her over. The head Reaper saves her. He motions for her to sit with us and nods, clearly assuring her it’s all right. She smiles and waves gratefully at him before making her way toward us.

She’s still out of breath when she plops down next to me. Horatia and Galenia smile and wave at her from their seats opposite me. Michaela leans over and says, “Shiloh wanted to come. To speak for her.”

“What? Are they going to let him?” I ask, keeping my eyes up front.

“No.” It’s a simple word, but I can tell she’s of two minds about their decision.

My eyes are focused at the back of the room, so it takes me by surprise when a door opens in the middle of the top of the U-shaped room. God comes out, and a low roar spreads throughout the room. I turn away from the back of the room just in time to see Him take a seat behind a gold desk atop a white platform that runs the length of the top of the U.

“I didn’t know there was a door back there, did you?” I ask, bewildered.

“Nope. I’ve never been in this room before,” Michaela answers as she takes another quick look around. The room really is a spectacle to behold.

God clears his throat, and the murmuring ceases abruptly. “Thank you all for coming. Bring in the accused.” He says it while looking down at some papers. His glasses are perched at the end of His nose, and He’s dressed in a white suit with a gold tie.

My sentencing was different, that’s for sure. He was basically dressed in jeans and a shirt for that. There wasn’t this fancy gold seating either. But this is so much more serious than the trial of some lovesick Fate. Mara might be one human, but she’s left a trail of pain and broken people behind her.

With a rush of air, the doors at the back of the room open, admitting two huge demons. They’re pitch black, with horns that curve down toward their mouths. Their red eyes scan the room as they tightly grip huge sledgehammers.

“Hunters. I wonder why they’re here,” Michaela whispers.

“You fought one of those in hell?” I ask in shock. “They’re huge!” The enormous demons are locking eyes with the people in the first row of balcony seating. Suddenly, I’m glad we’re in the top tier.

“Yes. Shush,” she says as she watches the scene intently, craning to see behind the Hunters.

A small human follows a few paces behind them. Her. She’s draped in flaming chains that clang as she walks. Her hands are completely covered with solid black iron cuffs, leaving no room for a swish of the hand or a flick of the finger.

She doesn’t seem to be in any pain from the flames that are roaring all around her. Rather, she follows the Hunters with a stiff back and her chin held high.

I recognize the demons behind her as Guardians. Six of them. They know what they’re dealing with here and aren’t taking any chances. I can’t help but wonder what she did during her short tenure in hell to make them change their tune about her. The Guardian we left her with seemed so confident.

They file down the center of the room, and the silent, heavy air fills with the fiery crackle of Mara’s chains and the percussive thump of the demon’s footsteps. I feel like the entire room is holding its breath as they make their way toward God.

Once they reach the base of the platform, the two Hunters part, and Mara steps forward. The six Guardians form a rectangular barrier around her, with the Hunters at the head of it.

In the silence, I hear a whisper that turns to a song. My blood goes cold, and I stand up like a shot. “She’s at it again. She’s going to attack Him!”

My voice echoes in the large room, and almost everyone turns to look at me. Even the huge demons.

Michaela pulls on my arm, urging me to sit back down. “Trust Him. It will be okay.”

But I can’t bring myself to sit. I stand there, watching as her song creates a blue sliver of fog that snakes around the demons. Slowly, people follow my pointing finger and turn back toward the human. I can’t begin to understand what she’s trying to accomplish. Maybe she just doesn’t want to go down without a fight.

The long, blue shape snakes around the Hunters, but instead of panicking, they smile at each other. Just as it’s making its way around their hammers, they bring them down hard, making a thunderous sound that echoes throughout the huge room.

On instinct, I sit back down in my chair, mouth open, waiting to see what will happen next.

The two Hunters turn to Mara and laugh. “Anything else?”

Mara says nothing, but I swear I can see her standing a little straighter. There’s an unmistakable air of defiance about her.

The edges of God’s face are drawn down by the weight of what she’s done, what she continues to do, as He watches her.

“So, Mara. You choose to fight, even now.” It’s not a question, and I think I hear her scoff at Him. I didn’t make her that bold when I spun her. Once again, I find myself wondering how she strayed so far. I frown down at her and can’t help but shake my head.

“Of course I continue to fight. I will always fight against You. You’ve taken everything from me.”

He winces. “I have given you everything. I gave you the powers you have, and yet you turn them against me?”

“Horse shit,” she says. As if on cue, a collective gasp rings throughout the room. “Oh, get over yourselves,” she says. “I learned most of these skills on my own, without any help from You or anyone.”

Then she does the unthinkable. She spits at the feet of God. “At any rate, I don’t care about that. You can have my powers, or whatever you want to call them. You took away my mother, my grandmother, my husband. I’m not letting you take my baby.”

Michaela shifts in discomfort. She’s already taken Mara’s son to heaven. And Mara doesn’t know.

God looks our direction and makes eye contact with Michaela. She smiles softly at Him; he nods in return, as if thanking her for the part she’s played.

“Your son is already home. He’s with his father and grandparents now.”

An otherworldly scream fills the room. It starts out low, growing until I’m forced to cover my ears. Michaela jumps to standing; she looks like she’s ready to leap over the seats to face the human. We’ve all seen what Mara can do, and now she really has nothing to lose.

God doesn’t so much as fidget as Mara continues to shriek. As the sound goes on, something shocking happens. The Guardian directly behind her starts to glow. The cracks in his skin blaze brighter and brighter until he explodes. Black shards go flying everywhere.

When I turn to look at Michaela, she’s already three rows down from us. I can’t see how she’s doing it, but she’s scaling the rows. She’ll never make it to the bottom, but I can see she wants to try.

Two other Guardians explode, one after another, and flaming shrapnel hits a few of the angels down front. Chaos is starting to unfold. At least twenty Archangels flood the floor, racing to help the demons get the human under control, but my eyes are on Michaela. She’s jumped to the second tier of seating at this point and is making her way closer to the bottom.

Through it all, God sits calmly at his desk, not reacting to the chaos unfolding around Him.

It’s hard to see from this distance, but I swear Mara’s eyes have turned red, as if the flames within her soul are about to come pouring out. She’s opening her mouth again—for another shriek?—as Michaela makes her way down the first tier. My friend has nearly reached the floor when Mara spews actual fire at the remaining three Guardians.

The Hunters have turned with their backs to God, as if to protect Him, although I can’t imagine that’s their primary purpose. The Guardians scramble, trying to maintain their tenuous grasp on the upper hand.

Suddenly, I’m struck by the odd scene unfolding in front of me. Never before have I seen angels and demons fight a common enemy. Together. Mara’s evil is so absolute, even the demons know she’s bad news.

Panic suddenly takes hold of me. Michaela’s down there with that woman who has singlehandedly destroyed so many heavenly beings.

“Michaela,” I scream at the top of my lungs, but she’s much too far away to hear me. I lurch forward, but Horatia grabs hold of my arm.

“It’s too late,” she shouts above the noise.

Souls are scattering, no longer interested in what happens to this woman. They just want out, away from their potential doom, and I don’t really blame them. The scene unfolding in front of us is unprecedented.

“Mara!” Michaela’s voice pierces its way through the racket, and my stomach lurches. She is standing on the floor just behind the human, with flames roaring all around her. In fact, I think the bottom of her gown is ablaze. The need to call out to her, to help her, to stomp out her fiery hem is almost unbearable. I don’t want to watch her disintegrate. I can’t bear to witness that. But I also can’t tear my eyes away from her.

Mara turns around slowly. She’s breathing heavily, and I can tell her rage has not been satisfied. I wonder if there’s even anything left of the human I created so long ago.

Everyone who’s still in the room stops and stares at her, captivated by her mania.

“You,” she says, her iron-capped hands dangling by her sides. “You’re the one responsible for taking my son, aren’t you?”

Michaela stands up straighter. Without taking her eyes off Mara, she says, “Yes, I am.” Despite the fact that she didn’t shout it, her answer echoes around the room.

“And now you’ve come here for what? To see the end of me? Or to see the end of you?” Her tone is sinister, but Michaela doesn’t shy away.

“No,” I breathe, and Horatia grabs my hand so tightly her nails dig into my palm.

Mara’s smile is a sickening promise of death, destruction, and pain, but Michaela doesn’t shy away from her. I’m watching them so closely that I almost miss the Hunter that is creeping up behind Mara. He reaches around in front of her and slaps a piece of black iron over her mouth. It clamps shut in the back and trails a fiery chain similar to the ones draped over her body.

“That’s enough out of you,” the Hunter says. He shifts his gaze to Michaela. “You owe me one.”

Michaela can only look up at the huge demon and nod. I can’t believe she faced one of those alone in hell and won. She still has yet to tell me that whole story. I remind myself to ask her about it when this is finally over.

Michaela turns to face God with what’s left of the demons. The angels are battered, but they stand tall with her. Angels and demons move closer together, as if they are comrades. I suppose in this one instance, they are.

God sighs, and the weight of the disappointment emanating from Him is crushing. I almost don’t have the will to bring my eyes up to Mara.

“You leave me with no choice, Mara,” He says, still not looking at her. When He finally raises His eyes, I know this is it. In slow motion, I watch him look down at her as he lowers his gavel. “You are sentenced to extinction.”

Simultaneous roars and gasps erupt in the room, making it hard to know if God said anything else.

Never, in all my centuries as a Fate, have I heard of such a thing. Even Hitler went to hell. This is beyond anything I’ve ever expected, but after seeing her in action just now, I can’t say I’m surprised. I’m not sure they could contain her in hell. Sure, they’d love the challenge, but if she got away from them, we’d be right back where we started, maybe worse.

When the commotion dies down, God speaks again. “You, Mara, will not be granted a home in heaven with your son. Nor will you be allowed to continue on in hell. Instead, you will cease to exist.”

The demons raise their voices in outrage. “You’re stealing her from us,” one of the Hunters shouts in a booming voice.

“She belongs to us,” the second Hunter adds.

“While that would be true under normal circumstances, I’m sorry to say this case is unique.”

A small Guardian steps forward, moving between Mara and God. “Perhaps if you separate her from her body, she would be more manageable, if you get my meaning.”

The demon makes an interesting proposition.

“Why not try it?” he continues. “If it doesn’t work, you can still eliminate her, no harm done.”

God is silent for a few moments, seeming to consider the option. “No,” he finally says. “I will not endanger more of my creations. Not even you, Guardian. Mara is beyond any of us. Even me. This ends here and now.”

With His word, she slowly begins to fade. Her eyes grow wide with surprise, but there is nothing she can do. With her mouth covered by the metal band, we don’t even hear her scream. She just becomes more and more opaque, until she isn’t there at all.

Twenty Two

Michaela

I don’t believe it. She disappeared right before my eyes. Despite the fact that I’ve seen her destroy plenty of heavenly beings that way, it’s awful to see it happen to a human, a live, flesh and blood creature. But then I think of what she did to Webber and reconsider.

My heart is broken for everyone we’ve lost since all this started. But just as my knees are about to give out, depositing me in the very spot where she disappeared, God addresses me.

“Michaela. Diligence. Your work is not yet done.” I’m torn between screaming at Him and taking strength from His words. Haven’t I done enough?

I did ask to be the one to free the remaining prisoners from hell. Ryker agreed to my request, and I can’t back down now, particularly not from His commands. Even though I want to collapse into a weeping puddle in the middle of this room, surrounded by demons, I straighten my back, stiffen my bottom lip, and nod.

With a simple tilt of my head, I turn and walk out of the room. Although I just walked in a few minutes ago, I’m somehow a different woman. I’m stronger, but more broken too. It’s a strength I will need to cling to for the journey ahead, back into hell.

Penn, Horatia, and Galenia meet me at the door. They are ready too. I can’t tell them no. They’re in this as much as I am. They deserve to see this through to the end, especially Penn. He needs this.

Together, we head to the black gate. With any luck, this will be the last time we make this trip as a group.

At first, we don’t talk, but after a while, I can’t take the silence anymore. “I can’t believe she just disappeared like that.”

“It’s no more than she deserved,” Penn says as we make our way across the clouds. There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. He’s frowning deeply as he stomps toward the black gate, which hasn’t even appeared yet.

Before I can respond, he changes his tune. His expression softens. “I’m not sure I mean that. I do…but then again, I don’t. I guess you were right. I’m glad I didn’t have to be the one to decide her fate.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, just keeps walking on ahead.

I hang back far enough so Penn can’t hear us and wrap my arms around Horatia and Galenia. “What’s wrong with him?” I whisper.

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Horatia answers mysteriously.

Galenia smiles at me and offers a little more. “Now that this is over, or at least almost over, the full gravity of everything that’s happened is hitting him. He was so focused on reacting, I don’t think he let himself fully understand what had been taken from Andrew and Kismet and the others. I think he’s feeling angry right now.”

“Well, that much is clear.” He’s stomping off to the left, but he’s headed in the wrong direction. I let him go a little further as the black gates form in front of me. He needs to bleed off some of his anger before we go into a place that feeds on that emotion.

I don’t try to comfort him. There’s nothing I can say. My own heart is tired too. But the finish line is in sight; it’s just behind the black gates. Penn hasn’t noticed they’ve materialized yet. He’s still pacing around near the edge of the mists.

“Do you think we should call him over?” Horatia asks as we hesitate at the gate, waiting for our wayward Fate.

“No. Let him work through it,” I say, watching him. His head is down, and he’s kicking at something invisible. “It’s reaching its peak.” It will boil over soon; I can feel it.

And it does. He cries out, his screams swallowed by the mists, and falls to his knees. When I reach him, there are tears streaming down his face. His sisters are there too, but he’s looking at me.

“After this, I’ll never see her again.”

His broken heart is pulverizing mine, and I go to my knees in front of him, taking his hands in mine. Tears stream down my own face, until we’re both just a couple of blubbering idiots at the edge of the mists. I’m thankful no one is coming or going at the moment.

He holds out his arms to me and I fall into them, savoring the warmth that surrounds me. In that moment, we are broken together. And maybe our broken pieces can be put back together to make something new when this is all over. That hope gives me the strength to stand up. He follows, never letting go of my hand.

“Let’s go,” he says, taking Horatia’s hand in his free one. She nods and links hands with Galenia. Our chain of heavenly souls marches toward the black gate more confidently than the last two times we crossed this threshold together.

“Ryker sent emissaries ahead of us. It should be easy this time. No fuss. No muss.” I’m saying it for myself as much as I’m saying it for them.

No one is waiting for us at the gate, which doesn’t surprise me. We don’t have a scheduled delivery, after all. Once we’re all on the other side, we stand there for a moment, steeling ourselves to face whatever’s ahead. I don’t imagine it will be anything like the death-defying journey Penn and I faced the last time we were here, but it’s still not something I would choose to do. Being in hell is just that—it’s hell.

So, after taking a deep breath, I start walking toward the prison.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d like to get in and out of here as quickly as possible.” I don’t look back to see if they’re following me. I know they are.

But we don’t get very far. A group of demons is waiting for us.

“Well, hello. We meet again.” It’s the same demon who took Webber. I bristle.

“Hello. What can I do for you?”

“We thought we’d have a little celebration here in hell. The human was destroyed, and we’re about to lose three other inmates to you folks, but why not live it up, huh? Would you like to join us?” His voice is sinister, and his words don’t give me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Thank you for your generosity, but I think we’ll just collect the souls from their prison and go.” I try to push past him, but he won’t let me.

“Now, now, Reaper. We’re trying to show you some hospitality. Don’t be so quick to reject it.” His tone changes to a warning on that last sentence, giving me goose bumps.

“I was assured we would be allowed safe entry and passage. Are you purposefully delaying us?”

“What?” He puts a hand on his chest, feigning injury. “Why, we simply thought you might like some respite, maybe some refreshments, after such a difficult few days. No one can party like us demons.”

“I believe you on that one,” Horatia says, just loud enough for us to hear her.

The demon looks at her and smiles. “I remember you. The fast learner. I take it you don’t trust me?”

She snorts, and he smiles wider. “Rightfully so,” he says before turning back to me. “Listen, Reaper, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Both will take you more time than you want. You’re in my territory now. You’ll play by my rules.”

“Oh, will I?” I say, taking a step toward the demon and wiping that glowing grin right off his face. “How about I march back to my superiors and tell them what’s going on here? That you won’t let me near the prison. That I’m unable to retrieve what’s rightfully ours.”

He straightens at that. He’s at least a head taller than I am, but I don’t cower the way he expects. I scowl at him. Then a huge shadow appears behind the demon. The demon gives me a toothy grin and steps aside to make way for the Hunter from the trial. He takes a few steps toward me. He’s so huge it’s enough to close the distance between us.

“Reaper. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I’m here for the souls in the prison.”

He nods. “Well, don’t let me stop you. I believe you know the way.” He tips his head down and gives me a half smile, as if the two of us have a bond. After what happened at the sentencing, I think maybe we do.

“What?” the smaller demon booms.

The Hunter turns to him. “What?” He’s asking in earnest. He doesn’t understand why the demon has a problem with that plan.

“You’re just going to let her take them?” He puffs out his chest and takes a step toward the Hunter. I don’t see the hammer anywhere, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need it to squash the smaller demon.

“And you’re not?” The demon doesn’t answer, so the Hunter follows up with another question. “And what were you going to do with those souls? Take them dancing?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Isn’t that our job?” He’s whining now, and it’s even more grating than his normal voice.

The Hunter takes a half step toward the demon and towers over him. “Speaking of work, don’t you have souls to torture?”

To my disbelief, the demon doesn’t back down. As they say on Earth, he has some cojones. He glances over and catches me smiling.

“What are you smiling at, Reaper?” He spits out my title.

“You. I’m smiling at you, and the fact that you actually think you can win this.”

The Hunter turns on me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Reaper,” he growls. “You and I are not on the same team.”

“Noted,” I say. So much for our bond.

He turns back to the demon.

“You see that?” the smaller demon whines. “She’s so full of herself; she actually thought you were her ally. I think we should take her down a peg or two. Just like that Fate we had down here for a bit.”

“That what?” he asks, and the demon clamps his mouth shut. “I was told he was a delusional human the Reapers had misplaced. He was truly a Spinner?”

The demon clears his throat. “Why do you care anyway? Besides, you’re a Hunter. I don’t answer to you.”

“That’s true, you don’t.” A Warden creeps out of the shadows, and I stifle a groan.

Although the Warden has a small, unassuming appearance, he’s the one I dread most. Well, after the Hunter. They’re manipulative, which makes them particularly dangerous, and they oversee the torture of the souls who are kept here. Just the sight of him turns my stomach, and I feel an overwhelming need to leave.

“But the Hunter’s right. That is the story you told everyone. Why change it now?” he asks the demon, without even acknowledging us. I’m fine with that.

The demon takes a step back for the first time since he approached us. I stay silent this time, taking care to control my expression as I watch the downfall of the demon who trapped Webber.

“The punishment for knowingly trapping a heavenly soul here is severe. But you know that, don’t you?” His voice is low and soothing as he slowly walks toward the demon. The demon continues to back away.

The Hunter stays put, watching with the rest of us as the Warden backs the demon into the darkness. Part of me is a little sad that I won’t see what becomes of him. But another part of me is grateful to be spared the details. I don’t need to witness any more brutality. I’ve seen enough to last me forever, really.

Once the other demons “partying” with him have dispersed, I find myself standing next to the Hunter, peering into the darkness. Clearing my throat, I turn to the hulking demon. “Hunter.”

“Reaper.” We nod at each other, and he goes back the way he came, leaving the Fates and me alone again.

“Well, that was interesting,” Penn says as we make our way toward the prison of souls.

“Things are always interesting on this side of the black gate,” I say as we make our way down skull-lined hallways lit with an eerie red glow.

“Let’s just get the souls and get out of here,” Horatia says, walking with her arms clutched around her body.

“Agreed,” I say, picking up the pace a little bit.

A few twists and turns later, we’re all standing at the door to the prison. I trace the circular symbol of flowing waves with my finger.

“Are you gonna go in?” Horatia asks, but Penn is hesitating too. He knows how hard this will be.

“Once we go in, we say goodbye to them,” I say.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Galenia asks. “They’re going home. Where they belong.”

It’s exactly what I needed to hear. “You’re right.” I take a deep breath, but before I push the door open, I turn toward the woman who’s helped lead me through all this madness. “You know, you would’ve been a good Reaper, Galenia.”

She laughs, and we can’t help but smile with her. “I don’t think so. I daydream too much.”

Chuckling, I concede. “Maybe.”

Then there’s nothing left to do but push the door open and see what awaits us inside the prison of souls.

Thankfully, all three souls are inside. No one has disappeared. No one has succumbed to a worse fate. However, Andrew looks close to giving up. He’s only a shadow of his former self.

They lift their heads at once, cowering reflexively. “I know you,” Lily says from the back corner. “You said you’d save me.” My heart breaks, but I can’t take my eyes off Andrew. He’s so weak; he can’t do more than lift his head to look at us.

Horatia goes to him first, trying to free him from his shackles.

“The key. Michaela, where is the key?” she demands.

I glance at the little hook on the wall, but it isn’t there. Kismet speaks up in a voice hoarse from either crying or disuse. “It’s on the floor. Over there.”

She nods her head to the left. Sure enough, there it is. I remember now. We were in such a hurry to get out of here last time, Penn just threw the key down and we ran.

Horatia retrieves it and hurriedly frees Andrew. “What’s happening to him?” she asks.

“He’s wasting away,” I say, watching as Penn frees Kismet, waiting for the key so I can release Lily from her bindings. She looks frightened, and rightfully so. I kneel down in front of her.

“It’s going to be okay now. You’re safe.”

“I’m not safe. Not in here. Do you know where we are?” She whispers it at me, as if saying the word out loud might make it more real.

“I know. But your time here is over. I’m taking you home for good.”

“He’s wasting away?” Horatia asks.

I sigh. I can’t juggle these important conversations. “Penn, can you help me out here?”

But he’s too focused on Kismet. She’s not as far gone as Andrew, but she doesn’t look good either. Lily hasn’t been here as long as they have. She’s basically unaffected, save for a sheer and utter terror of her surroundings.

“This place, it’s bad for those who don’t belong,” I say to Horatia as I free Lily. “We need to get him into the healing rooms. Then he can go home. To be honest, I think they both need some time in the healing rooms.” I’m hoping it will be enough to bring the sparkle back to Kismet’s eyes.

Horatia is standing with Andrew’s arm slung over her shoulders. He’s totally limp against her and his feet drag lifelessly behind him. Souls do not weigh anything, thankfully, and Horatia can manage him easily. As Penn scoops Kismet into his arms, I hold my hand out to Lily.

“How can I trust you, after what happened last time?” she asks, looking up at me with fearful eyes. “You were supposed to keep me safe.”

Hearing those words again pulverizes the pieces of my broken heart into powder. “I’m so sorry, Lily.”

Galenia is at my side at once. “Lily, my sweet child,” she says in a soft tone. “She is saving you. She just needed some help. We’re all going to take you home now. You’ll never have to see the inside of this horrible place again. We promise.”

I glance at Penn and Horatia, but they’re too preoccupied with the souls they’re helping. “I think we should go. Now,” Horatia says.

“Go on ahead, Ratia. We’ll be right behind you,” Galenia says, and I’m so grateful for her. Some souls need more of a talking to, and she gets that.

I look at Penn, and he nods to me. Kismet puts her head on his shoulder, and I can see how much he’s hurting by the stricken look on his face. But he turns and carries her out of the prison for good, just as he should.

I turn to Lily and give her my full attention. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you that day. But Galenia is right. I never stopped trying to get to you. The woman who did this to you is gone. And she’s never coming back. It’s over. We can walk out of here as soon as you’re ready, and I will take you home.”

“Walk out of here? Do you know what’s out there?” she says, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She buries her face in the nest she’s made and only peeks out with her eyes, which are partially hidden by long, brown bangs.

“I do know what’s out there. But I’m not afraid.” I can’t think of anything else to say that will comfort her. You’ll be safe, I promise, won’t work. She thought that the last time. I start to wonder if another Reaper should have come here to collect her.

No. I started this, and it’s up to me to finish it. I sit down next to Lily, and Galenia takes my cue and sits on the other side. She’s tucked in a safe little cocoon between us.

“What’s your favorite song, Lily?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. There are lots.” The question changes her whole demeanor. It’s like we’ve lit a spark within her.

“I like Taylor Swift and Adele. And Bruno Mars. A bunch of my friends like Justin Bieber, but I’m not much of a boy-band person. I don’t like his music. He’s not a very good singer.” She shrugs.

“Well, Galenia, what do you think? Should we sing ‘Shake it off’ or ‘Hello’ or ‘Just the Way You Are’?”

Instead of answering me, she starts singing in a soft, melodious voice. Then she stands up and starts dancing to the tune. Galenia will never cease to surprise me. “I stay out too late…”

I get up and join her, singing along to the song I barely know. We laugh, and Lily fills in the parts we’re not so sure about. Soon, the three of us are dancing around together, singing our hearts out in the middle of the prison of souls. I know without a doubt this is the only happiness this place has ever seen.

When the song is done, we collapse in a heap of laughter, breathing hard.

“Okay. Let’s go,” Lily says with her head on my lap.

“Okay. Let’s go,” I say, smiling at Galenia, sending her a silent thank you. She squeezes my hand as we get up, and we walk hand in hand with Lily, leaving the prison of souls completely empty.

Twenty Three

Penn

The sight of Kismet takes my breath away. Horatia is saying something about Andrew, but I only have eyes for her. Her spark is totally gone, leaving behind this opaque shell. Her hair is lackluster and matted in places, while her face is stained with tears. And her beautiful green eyes have gone dull, as if hope never existed there at all.

It’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen.

I fall to my knees in front of her, waiting impatiently for Horatia to free Andrew. She’s struggling with the old lock, working hard to get it to engage. After what seems like an eternity, Andrew falls forward into her, no longer held up by his own arms.

The key falls to the ground, but she’s too busy trying to get Andrew on his feet to stoop and pick it up.

I scramble to get it and bring it back to Kismet. Horatia is asking a question, and Michaela is talking to the little girl, but I can’t absorb what’s going on around me. All I can see is Kismet. We should’ve come back sooner. Maybe skipped the trial. We should’ve done something to get them out of here.

But there’s no point in revisiting the decisions we made in the past. We’re here now, and that’s what matters. She’ll be okay, but only if we leave now. I finally look away from her to check on Andrew. He’s far worse off than Kismet.

“We should go,” I say quietly to Horatia after scooping Kismet into my arms. I nod toward Andrew.

“I think we should go. Now,” Horatia confirms, and Michaela finally looks over. She’s totally preoccupied with the child. The little girl is free, but she’s sort of cowering by the wall.

Galenia turns and tells us to go on ahead, and I’m so grateful for that.

Without our Reaper, I anticipate being stopped more than once by the demons meandering through the halls of hell. But they leave us alone. They must know who we are, or maybe they know the souls we carry do not belong here. Either way, they do nothing more than glare at us. It makes me uneasy, but I’ll take it.

Once we reach the outskirts of hell, in sight of the gate, Horatia stops ahead of me. I quicken my steps to catch up with her, dread tightening around my heart. Is something wrong with Andrew? Is he not going to make it?

“What’s up?”

She lets Andrew go, and miracle of miracles, he stands. Smiling weakly, he holds out his hand. He’s reaching for Kismet. I look down at the beautiful soul in my arms. I made them for each other, and it shows in the way she’s looking at him, her eyes full of such devotion and love.

Slowly, I set her down on her feet, taking care to make sure she can stand on her own. Frankly, I have no idea how Andrew is doing it. He’s so far gone that I can see the gate right through him.

He takes her hand, and it’s as if a switch has been flipped. He’s so much more vibrant. His smile grows wider, and the smallest hint of a sparkle returns to his eyes. To hers. Like maybe hope didn’t die in that horrible prison.

Watching them, I know it’s the first time they’ve touched in a very long time. Something catches in my throat, and I cough to clear it.

Andrew doesn’t notice. “I thought we should walk out of here together.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Kismet says, and they slowly walk toward the gate.

Horatia hooks her arm in mine and we follow behind, close enough to catch them if they lose their strength, but far enough away to give them some privacy.

As I watch them together, my heart is made whole again, even if it means saying goodbye to the only humans I have ever truly loved.

When the gate closes behind us, I can’t help but yelp for joy. The sudden sound startles my friends, but I’m so happy. Taking Horatia in my arms, I spin her around. Andrew and Kismet laugh as they watch us.

After a little while, I settle down enough to go to my human friends, holding my hands out in congratulations.

“Now what?” Andrew asks.

“I think you should go to a healer, my friend. You need to be whole again.”

He looks at Kismet. “I am whole.”

Somehow, I knew that’s what his answer would be, but I persist. “You’ll be more comfortable in the long run if you just spend a day with the healers, Andrew. You’ll be better for it.”

“And what about Kismet?”

“She can go with you. She could use a little R and R.”

“I’ll rest when we’re home,” Kismet says.

“I understand. I’m sure you’ll be perfectly comfortable together in heaven.”

Reluctantly, I lead the way across the clouds to heaven’s gates. We don’t have a Reaper with us, so I’m not sure they’ll appear, but the angels must sense their quarry because the gates appear in all their sparkling brilliance. Stopping in front of them, I turn to face Kismet and Andrew.

“I just want to say one thing, before…” I trail off. Before what? Before I never see them again? Before it’s too late? “Well, anyway, before I lose my chance. I…”

It’s harder than I thought it would be. How do you translate your heart into words so the people standing across from you might understand you a little better? I shift my weight and they all stare at me, even Horatia. I look to her for strength, and she gives me a small, encouraging smile.

Taking a deep breath, I start again. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. To both of you. Nearly everything that’s happened is my fault. I should never have interfered. And for that, I am deeply sorry.” I hang my head, unable to make eye contact with either of them, and wait for their response. Honestly, I don’t really expect them to say anything. They only have eyes for each other now, and part of me thinks they’ll walk right past me into heaven, where they’ll live happily ever after.

But they don’t. In fact, my head jerks up at the sound of Andrew laughing. “Oh, get over yourself, Penn,” he says and claps a hand on my shoulder. I don’t feel its weight, but I can see it there, barely. “Mara would’ve done what she did whether you were there to ‘interfere’ or not.” He uses air quotes around the word interfere. “And if you hadn’t been there, Kismet would have been alone after Mara took me.”

He holds out his hand for me, and I take it. We shake as brothers, and my heart lurches with the knowledge of how much I will miss him.

“Penn, I have one question for you,” Kismet says, and I turn to face her. Being free of hell for less than half an hour has been good for her. The color is already returning to her face, and her eyes are regaining some of their brilliance. I want to take her face in my hands and hug her like I’ll never hug her again. Because I won’t.

“Why me? Why us? Nysa knew Mara, and Jeff knew Nysa, so it stands to reason that she led Mara to him. But the rest of us seemed to be random. Why us?”

It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Why Andrew? Why Kismet? At first, I thought it had something to do with me, that it was some kind of revenge play by Webber. But then I realized it didn’t have anything to do with me at all. It was about them.

“Once she ran out of threads she knew, she chose each of you for a specific purpose. For example, she took Lily because she thought a child might save her son. The others must have suited her requirements in other ways. I don’t pretend to fully understand her rationale.” Kismet lets out a gasp, but I keep going. The time for sorrow has passed. This is the time for joy.

“Kismet, when I created you, you were the most brilliant thread the heavens had ever seen. Souls came from other departments just to look at you. Webber, the Weaver, couldn’t make you blend into the tapestry of life no matter how hard he worked. A sparkler, that’s what we called you.

“And Andrew, you complemented her in every way. You two went together. I think Mara chose the two of you because she couldn’t take her eyes off you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Kismet snorted a little. “Lucky us.”

“Sometimes, those who are special pay a higher price for their uniqueness,” Horatia says.

Laughing at the sour face Kismet makes, I say, “I knew you could handle it.”

She sticks her tongue out at me.

“Will we see you again?” she asks, but I can tell by the wistful expression on Andrew’s face that he already knows the answer.

“No, my love.”

Kismet falls into my arms, and Andrew wraps both of us into a big bear hug. “I don’t want to lose you,” she says through her tears.

“You won’t. You’ll find me in your happiness.”

She pulls away. I see that they both have tears in their eyes, but strangely, mine are dry. Suddenly, I’m not mourning them anymore. I’m happy for them. Their trials are finally over. And so are mine.

As if they can sense we’re ready, the gates of heaven open, and angels step out to usher Andrew and Kismet into their forever. Horatia and I stand back, arms around each other, watching them go. I feel nothing but complete happiness as I see my two greatest creations walk into paradise together.

Twenty Four

Michaela

Seeing Lily off was so satisfying. Galenia and I walk back to my quarters with our arms linked, almost skipping. But another Reaper interrupts us on the way.

“Michaela. It’s good to see you,” he says, a warm smile on his face.

I recognize him. He’s been with us for a while.

“Lyall. It’s good to see you,” I say, holding out my hand.

Smiling at the Reaper, Galenia releases me and says, “I’ll leave you here.”

“Thank you for everything, Galenia,” I say, and she embraces me with her whole heart.

“We’ll see each other soon,” she assures me.

I watch her go, and it’s like looking at an angel. She really is a special creation.

“She’s something,” Lyall says, unable to resist watching her too.

“That she is.” I turn my attention back to him. “What can I do for you, Lyall?”

“Ryker would like to see you right away.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Once his message is delivered, he shifts uncomfortably, not sure what else to say. “I really am glad you’re back,” he says earnestly.

I laugh. “I believe you. Thank you for the message, Lyall. I’ll make my way there now.”

He nods and leaves me.

To my surprise, Penn meets me outside of Ryker’s office.

“Penn. What are you doing here? Did Kismet and Andrew get off okay?”

“Ryker has something to say to us apparently.” I sense a bit of mischief in his eyes, but he keeps talking, distracting me from it. “And yes, they did. It was harder than I thought it would be. But somehow, it was easy too. It felt right.”

I reach for his hand, and he takes it. “Just like this feels right,” he says.

I look up at him, searching for his meaning, when it suddenly hits me that he’s wearing his Spinner’s uniform once more. I guess he’s done hiding. It makes my heart race even faster to see him unmasked. But before I can demand to know why he’s suddenly on a suicide mission, Ryker bellows for us to come in.

“Ah. Michaela. Penn. Good to see you again. Please, sit down.”

Penn. He called him Penn. He knows.

I take measured steps toward the white chair, and Penn sits in the black one. I’m struggling to control my breathing, but Penn seems very relaxed. Why doesn’t he care more about his fate? Does he feel like there’s nothing left to live for now that Kismet and Andrew are gone?

“Why so nervous?” Ryker asks, looking directly at me. He’s smiling, which doesn’t set me at ease at all. He knows a secret, one he’s obligated to tell, that will destroy one of my best friends.

My eyes immediately go to Penn, and Ryker starts laughing. Laughing. Something snaps inside me.

“How can you be so coldhearted, Ryker? After everything we’ve been through together?” He stops laughing immediately, and his expression turns serious. I sit up straighter, ready to defend my outburst.

“Michaela, my dear Reaper. Why would you think I’m cold?”

“Because you’re laughing about what’s going to happen to Penn.” Suddenly, I’m unsure of myself. Could I be wrong?

“No, I’m laughing at you, Michaela.”

“But thank you for coming to my defense so readily,” Penn adds.

They’re in on something together. Confused, I look back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

“Penn is not going to be destroyed. In fact, I have a proposal for him.”

Penn raises an eyebrow at Ryker. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I’ve made an arrangement with creation. You could work in management there. Help determine what orders to send to the Fates, what types of people are needed on Earth. I think your experience on Earth would make you an excellent fit for the position.”

Penn is silent, and so am I. Words have failed me. Could Penn really return to work here in the heavens without facing any consequences?

“But wouldn’t they know who he was?” I ask.

“They already know who he is,” Ryker says with a small smile. “He is safe, Michaela. He’s received a full pardon.”

“What?” I yell, jumping out of my seat. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why wasn’t that the first thing out of your mouth when I saw you outside the office?”

“You were firing off so many questions, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” he says, laughing as I hug him and jump around, jostling him roughly, I’m sure.

I pull away and look at him through tears of joy. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had such joyful news. We need to sing this from all corners of the heavens!”

“We will. But there are things to discuss first,” he says. He nods toward Ryker, who’s smiling from ear to ear.

“You,” I say, looking at Ryker “You really had me going.” He laughs, and I glance from him to Penn with daggers in my eyes.

Finally, I let my face settle into a smile. “So now what?” I ask Penn. “You move on to creation?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve been thinking of retirement.” His words make me sit back in my seat. I have to admit, it’s something I’ve been considering too. I’m not sure how I can go on after everything that’s happened. Shiloh felt like a good place to stop, the perfect ending. But what am I going to do with myself if I stop Reaping?

“I was thinking of traveling around Earth,” Penn says. “Not settling in like Fia did, but exploring. Seeing all the things you’ve seen on your Reapings.”

I sigh wistfully. It sounds wonderful. Relaxing. Energizing.

Ryker is eyeing me, a look of consideration on his face.

“But I couldn’t do it without a guide,” Penn says, also watching me.

I sit up straighter and look at him. Is he being serious? “Did you just proposition me?”

“Only if you want to come.”

“Now, just hold on a minute. Let me plead my case before you make any hasty decisions,” Ryker says quickly.

I look to him, my heart racing again, but for a completely different reason this time. I’m not panicking at all, not as I constantly have been for so long. I’m…excited. Suddenly, it feels as if the possibilities that extend before me are endless.

“Michaela, you are one of the best Reapers the heavens have ever seen,” Ryker says. “I don’t want to lose you to some hippie Fate who wants to wander the Earth like a vagabond.”

“Hey,” Penn says, feigning hurt.

Ryker ignores him. “Should you choose to go to Earth, you will be taken care of forever. You will have everything you need financially and otherwise. Despite how enticing that may sound, I have a place for you in upper management among the Reapers. You’d be working with me, not for me, and managing the Reapers and the other departments.”

“So…I wouldn’t be Reaping anymore?” I say, not sure how I feel about staying in the heavens, but not Reaping.

“No. But you’d be helping others, teaching them how to do a better job, passing your centuries of knowledge on to the next generation of Reapers.”

He knows me well. It’s tempting to seize the opportunity to play a part in the greater story of the heavens. Penn sits silently, letting me make my decision for myself.

I’m not sure how much time passes while I sit in silence, pondering my options. But it boils down to this—I can’t imagine my life in the heavens if I’m not Reaping. And while I’m sure Ryker would let me reap if I asked to continue, I’m ready for something new. Something different. They’re short a Spinner, and I could probably try that for a bit, but I know I wouldn’t be as good as Penn and fear I’d be as bad as Webber.

The only thing that puts a smile on my face is the thought of returning to Earth. And the prospect of spending the rest of my existence there with Penn makes my smile grow even wider.

“Please, take all the time you want to think about it,” Ryker says, trying to play his cards right.

“No. I’m ready,” I say, although I pause a bit before saying what, exactly, I’m ready for.

They sit in anxious silence, waiting for me to claim my own fate.

“I think Penn’s idea sounds lovely. I’d like to travel a bit.”

Ryker sits back in his seat, defeated. “Well, if you two ever change your minds, you will always be welcome here.”

Penn turns to him in surprise. “Really? But Fia made it sound like once you were on Earth, you were there for good.”

“Yes, well, that was supposed to apply to all banished souls too, and you proved to be an exception to that rule, didn’t you?” Ryker answers with a sly grin.

My former boss turns to face me. “You know how to reach me.” Standing, he holds his hand out across his desk, but I circle the wood and embrace him instead. His arms fall around me, and I feel their weight. He’s a big man, and he envelops me completely, keeping me safe, just as he has for centuries.

“Thank you, Ryker. For everything.”

He pulls away and looks at me with eyes so dark, I can’t tell where his irises stop and his pupils start. “Thank you, Michaela. You have been a true blessing to all of us.”

I smile, and Penn and I walk out together. There’s only one thing left to do. The hardest part—say goodbye.

We arrive at the Fates’ workroom after a silent walk across the heavens. I wonder what Penn is thinking about, but I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts. He hesitates outside the door, which stands open. I can see Galenia sitting at her low desk, staring off into space, but I can’t see Horatia from my vantage point. I’m sure she’s sharpening her scissors or something. A companionable silence hangs between them.

Penn doesn’t interrupt the Fates at first. He leans against the doorway, arms folded, watching them with a smirk on his face. We both know it will be a long time before we see them again, if ever, and I know he’s relishing the sight of them in this space they shared for centuries.

Horatia spots him first. “Well, don’t you look sharp?”

Galenia rushes over to us. “Are you coming back?” she asks excitedly.

“No. Haven’t they assigned Webber a replacement yet?” Penn asks, concern written deeply in the wrinkles of his forehead.

Horatia is quick to answer. “No, but they will. I hear they have some very promising trainees. Mostly women. Might be nice for this to be a girls’ club again.” She hip checks Penn, and he laughs.

“So far, they’re blaming the population lull on some uterine virus that’s making people barren. A miracle doctor will come along soon and things will get moving again, don’t you worry.”

Penn nods, but I can tell he doesn’t like it.

“So, what will you do?” Galenia asks.

“Travel. See the world. See everything I didn’t get to see last time,” he answers.

Something is bothering me though. Has anyone even asked the sister Fates what they want? “Are you guys okay with staying here? With continuing to work?” I ask carefully, eyeing them both.

Galenia is the first to answer. “Yes, I’m excited to get back to work. To contribute.” I can’t help but smile at her, knowing she is exactly where she’s meant to be.

Horatia hesitates. “I’m not ready to go. Not yet.” She looks fondly at Galenia. “Besides, I couldn’t leave her alone.”

Galenia puts her arm around Horatia’s neck. “I do appreciate that. But far be it from me to hold you back.”

Horatia sticks her tongue out at her smaller sister, and we all laugh together one last time.

Epilogue

Michaela

Fiji is lovely. The warm, white sands feel luxurious beneath my toes. The water in front of me is crystal clear, and huge mountains and lush greenery sprawl out behind me, teaming with life. Penn, who’s standing across from me, sends me a brilliant smile.

We’ve been on Earth a few months now, but this is our first time in Fiji. I must admit, I could stay here a while.

Cody, Aida, and their family sit in white folding chairs next to an aisle lined with beautiful pink orchids. They are thrilled, and the youngest girl, Kareena, waves wildly at Fia. The bride smiles warmly and waves back with the hand that’s holding her bouquet. There are only a handful of other people in the audience.

Fia resisted Wyatt at first, which Penn thought was hilarious. By the time we stopped in to visit them in New York, Wyatt had settled into her apartment, and although she claimed she wanted nothing to do with him, she also said she made him a boxed lunch ever day before she left for work at the temple. When she chastised herself for getting soft, Penn said he knew Wyatt had won her over.

When Wyatt asked me to stand next to him, I wasn’t sure. Although I do owe him a debt for saving my life from a band of ghosts desperate to use my life force to find their way home, it seemed like someone else would be better suited for such an occasion—a brother, or perhaps an old college pal. But he insisted. He said, “Fia’s gonna have some fancy Fate on her side. I think I should have someone from the heavens on my side too. It’s only fair. After all, you’re sort of my kind. I mean, we work in the same department.” After I finished laughing, I found myself saying yes.

Fia admitted she was nervous about taking a human husband. I think her exact words were, “I don’t want to watch him die. I have better things to do than take care of some old man.”

Wyatt just laughed and said, “Honey, don’t you worry about taking care of me. Just learn to keep up.”

That was when I knew if anyone was right for her, it was Wyatt.

As I watch them exchange their vows, I feel…calm. In my short time on Earth, a peace has fallen over me unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Before all this happened, I was blissfully unaware of the turmoil life can bring, so I can’t say I was at peace. Not really. But I looked into the depths of darkness and still saw the light. I know the worst that can happen, and I came out on the other side, and let me tell you, it looks pretty good from here.

Names (The Human)

Aida: Helper. Cody’s wife and sister to Cedric.

Andrew: Warrior or strength. Kismet’s true love.
Cody: Helpful. Aida’s husband, who helps Penn out of the swamp.
Chesney: Peaceful. One of the surprise names.
Eve: Lively or life. Cody and Aida’s oldest (and first) daughter.

Fia: Weaver. The woman Penn replaced as Spinner.
Frederico: Peaceful. One of the names on the list of surprises

Galenia: Small and intelligent. The third Fate who decides how a life will end.
Heth: Trembling fear. Michaela’s enemy, instigator among the Reapers.
Horatia: Timekeeper. The second Fate who decides how long a life will be.
Jeff: Divinely peaceful. Second name on the list of surprises.
Kismet: Destiny. Andrew’s true love.
Lily: Pure. Child Michaela is assigned to take, and the last surprise.
Lyall: Loyal. Reaper who meets Michaela toward the end.

Mara: Bitter. The human.
Michaela: Feminine of Michael, the angel of death. The Reaper.

Miette: Small, sweet thing. Michaela’s Reaper friend.

Nathair: Snake. Reaper who’s on leave/missing.

Nysa: New beginning. The first surprise name, the first to have her thread cut short.

Pearl: Precious stone. One of the names on the list of surprises.

Penn: Masculine form of Penelope, meaning Weaver. First of the three Fates, the Spinner.

Ryker: Strength. Reaper’s boss.
Shiloh: Shiloh was where a critical battle took place during the American Civil War. Additionally, the Hebrew translation of this word is ‘the one to whom it belongs.’ Shiloh is the human’s—Mara’s—child.

Wyatt: Guide. Ghost hunter who saves Michaela.
Webber: Weaver. Penn’s rival who’s promoted to Spinner when Penn is banished.

*Meanings found using basic Google searches and MeaningofNames.com*

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Acknowledgments (The Human)

Number nine. I can’t believe The Human is my ninth published book. What a long way we’ve all come together. I’ve lost some folks, and gained some great ones along the way, so obviously, I have a lot to be thankful for.

First, and foremost, I extend my eternal gratitude to God. I know my thanks here are inadequate when compared to my many blessings, but I am so unbelievably grateful. And I pray I never forget that gratitude, because I am entitled to nothing.

Let me tell you something. My husband Dan is a total rock star. See, we are not very compatible people. I thrive on affection, and he needs his space. We are rock meets hard place. Yet, he is my constant supporter and cheerleader. He handles all my marketing, and he is the main reason The Reaper had such a great release. It was his ideas that gave it the extra push to hit number two on Amazon’s Hot New Releases list. He’s amazing, right? Get your own, dear reader. I’m not giving him up.

As always, my parents are staunch supporters. I hope I can always live up to the pride they have in me. It’s an amazing feeling, guys, and I hope you have someone in your life who reminds you how awesome you are just like they do for me.

My friends, Mary, Dannie, and Christian. How could I have ever gotten this far without you? Nine books you’ve had to hear me complain about, tell plotlines to and act like you understood, and listen as I told you about bad reviews and my many other setbacks. You laughed and cried with me, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.

You should know that this isn’t all me. This magic doesn’t happen on my own. I have an amazing team of people behind me with the best brand of turd polish I’ve ever seen. Specifically, Angela and Cynthia, your ability to see through my gobblety-gook and make it something not only readable, but also amazing, is astounding.

Lastly, you, dear reader. Thank you for giving me your most valuable asset—your time. You’ve spent the last two hundred or so pages with me, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride as much as I did. (Insert evil laugh about what happened to Mara here.)

I’ll see you in September. (Did you sing that part? Because you should’ve.)

—S

About the Author

Stephanie Erickson is an English Literature graduate from Flagler College. She lives in Florida with her family. The Dead World, book 2 in The Dead Room Trilogy, will be her tenth novel. It’s set to release in September of 2016.

She loves to connect with readers! Follow her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/stephmerickson, Twitter @sm_erickson, or stop by her Web site at www.stephanieericksonbooks.com.

You can also get the latest news on new releases, contests, free books, and author appearances by signing up for her newsletter here.

Stephanie’s Books

Standalones

The Blackout

The Cure

The Unseen Trilogy:

Unseen

Unforgiven

Undivided

The Dead Room Trilogy:

The Dead Room

The Dead World — Coming September 2016

The Children of Wisdom:

The Fate

The Reaper

The Human

Copyright © 2016 Stephanie Erickson

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-944793-05-0

Table of Contents

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6.

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11.

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Names

Acknowledgments

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Names (The Reaper)

Acknowledgements (The Reaper)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Epilogue

Names (The Human)

Acknowledgments (The Human)

About the Author

Stephanie’s Books