Esprit de Corpse (4 page)

But Dante he could see.

My Reaper stepped up beside me, overlong hair and sexy black robe billowing about him as if the winds of justice blew for him alone.

“I, Dante Alighieri, Reaper First Class, by the powers vested in me, hath come to collect thine soul and escort it back
to Hell!
”

Gosh, he was so cute when he did that. I hadn’t appreciated his commanding performance the first time he’d come for Conrad’s soul and taken mine instead, but now I did. My knees grew weak and my heart pounded. Five more minutes of his manly Reaper act and I might find myself forgiving him.

He brandished his glowing scythe, holding it high and threatening.

Behind me, Shannon had finally caught enough breath to start screaming.

Oops,
I’d forgotten all about my own scythe. If I’d been thinking straight, instead of fighting with my boyfriend, I could have reaped Conrad’s giant crimson ass by now.

I yanked my scythe from my waist. But before I could activate my shiny repurposed farm implement, before Dante could swing his scythe, Conrad dashed around us, his hooves gouging great holes in the carpet tiles. He banked off the big oak desk, charged ’round the front and dove beneath it, out of sight.

Shannon’s screams cut off abruptly. She ceased cowering in her dad’s chair. Instead, she sat up straight like a cheap mannequin with rebar up her, uh, back, eyes glazed, expression dazed.

I ran around—okay, through—the desk, but I didn’t see how Conrad could fit under it. And when I checked, he hadn’t. Where had he gone?

And then Shannon looked up. She had her father’s eyes and I don’t mean she’d inherited his genes for eye color. She actually had his eyes peering out from her otherwise familiar face.

She opened her mouth, but no scream sounded. Instead Dante and I were treated to one of those classic villain
bwa-ha-ha!
laughs.

Should have seen that coming, I thought, retracting my scythe.

As the laugh faded away, a small moan drew my attention. Behind the big executive chair, half hidden under the credenza, a second Shannon lay sprawled. While the one in the chair seemed solid and earthbound, the one on the floor had a hazy, ethereal quality.

“Dante,” I whispered from the corner of my mouth, turning my focus back on Conrad, who was now wearing his daughter like a bespoke suit. “He’s displaced her soul! Get him out! Get him out of her!”

Dante’s personal wind had dropped away, leaving him with nothing more than tousled hair. More tousled than usual, that is. “I don’t know if we can. Or if we’re even allowed to.”

I turned to face him, tears blurring my vision. “What do you mean ‘allowed to’? He’s stolen her body just like he stole my life. We have to get him out. I know there aren’t many laws in Hell, but surely there’s a law against this!”

Dante moved up beside me again, lowering his scythe. “I don’t know, Kirsty. After all, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

Chapter 5

The Moral Low Ground

I GLARED AT
Dante, forgiveness now the last thing on my mind. I didn’t want to hear that Conrad might be allowed to do this. I didn’t care. There was no way that evil son of a skegger could stomp through his life and afterlife tricking people out of theirs. It had been bad enough when it had been me, his daughter’s best friend, but now it was his actual daughter. Had the man no moral compass? Well, I’d be happy to give him directions—straight down to Hell!

I stooped to help Shannon up off the floor. Whereas I’d bounced right up again after being kicked out of my body, she seemed weak and confused. “It’s okay, Shannon. It’s going to be okay.” I wrapped my hands around her upper arm while Dante gently grasped her other bicep. We eased her to her feet. “We’ve got you, Shannon,” I said soothingly.

Shannon took one glance at me, shrugged from my grip and sagged in Dante’s arms. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Oh, wait . . .

“Kirsty?” Her voice trembled and her eyes grew wide. I held out my arms, but she cowered and pulled away. I have to admit I was disappointed. I’d expected a hug from my best friend in life, but I guess that ship had sailed away at half-mast. “Is it really you? I thought you were . . .”

Before she could leap to the conclusion that she, too, was dead, I grabbed her arm again and this time dragged her out to the side of her desk so she could see her dad sorting through pink message slips at his old desk.

“Kirsty?” She half-pointed at her dad. “If I’m dead, then who’s that?”

“Listen, Shannon. You’re not dead. You’re now a discom-bod-ulated—I mean,
disembodied
soul. Your dad, who
is
actually dead, has managed to possess your body so he can be CEO of Iver PR all over again.”

“But that’s impossible. There’s no such thing as souls.” She looked from me to Dante.

“I’m afraid it is exactly as Kirsty has told you.” He gazed into her eyes, face serious and sympathetic.

After a moment, Shannon nodded. Oh, sure. Take his word for it. He’s a complete stranger to you, whereas I—

“What do I do?” Shannon whispered.

Just then her father shoved the phone against his stolen ear, speaking into the mouthpiece probably before the person even got to answer. “Joanne, bring me a coffee and all the files relating to these messages.”

He paused, listening.

“Where’s Joanne?”

Another pause.

“
I
promoted her? Yes, well. Of course I did. And if you work hard enough for me, you, too, could earn a promotion. Now where are those files?”

And to think, I used to believe in him. How could I have fallen for that? But hadn’t his Deal for manipulative powers ended with his death? He couldn’t still bewitch people with his fake charm, could he?

“Your name is . . . Willa, then. Yes, black. Write that down. No, I haven’t hit my head. It’s you who can’t remember how I take my coffee.”

Another brief pause, followed by, “I may have gotten my own coffee before, but as of this moment, I’m making it part of your job description, along with picking up my dry cleaning, gassing up my car and lying to clients when they call. Never tell them I’m with another client. Each one has to feel like they’re the only client in the world.”

He cut the call and turned his attention back to the work piled on his desk.

It was obvious he couldn’t see us; he probably assumed he’d scared us away.

Shannon stared at herself, as her body shuffled paper and scribbled notes. “My dad is back? Like, from the dead?”

Hadn’t I just said that?

“What was that nasty monster I saw before?” she asked.

“Shannon,” Dante answered, voice soft with patience and understanding. “I’m afraid your father is still dead. But due to a mistake on our part”—his eyes barely flickered in my direction—“your father has taken on another form. One that allows him to possess a body. In this case, your body.”

It seemed to dawn on Shannon that Dante was a stranger. She pushed his hands away and stepped toward me. “Kirsty, who is this?”

“This is my boyf—” Indeed, who was Dante to me right now? He wasn’t behaving like someone who loved me. “Colleague,” I finished. “We work together.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. Had I pissed him off?

Good.

“Work together? The dead need PR?”

“Oh, honey. You have no idea,” I said, thinking of the frumpy, dumpy queen of Hell. “But no. Dante and I are Reapers. Grim Reapers.” I patted my scythe but her confused look told me she didn’t equate the short piece of chrome pipe dangling at my waist with a Reaper’s scythe. When I’d first been reaped, I’d been curious and had grabbed Dante’s scythe during our trek to Hell. Where I’d been angry and proactive, she was soul-shocked and timid.

Shannon was certainly having an entirely different kicked-out-of-body experience than I’d had.

What else had I felt that day? I’d been mad about losing my professionally colored hair and my brand-new birthday tattoo, although I liked my new bat-wings far better than my old one. I’d been concerned about my outfit, which had been the one I’d felt most secure in at the time. Shannon was still wearing her business suit and expensive high heels. Was that how she really saw herself these days?

What a difference a year makes.

Tentatively, she offered her hand to Dante. He took it, bowing low. Maybe in his day men had kissed a lady’s hand when they met, but he wasn’t kissing anyone but me these days.

Or at least he hadn’t up till now.

When Shannon smiled at him and kept hold of his hand longer than absolutely necessary, I found myself growing jealous. Don’t be ridiculous, I ordered myself. You want your best friend and your . . . colleague to get along. But that didn’t help. My eyes turned green and my brain began to boil even as we stood there.

I decided to put an end to this right now. I activated my scythe—
oh, pretty
—and raised it high. “Conrad, you skeggin’ bastard, you’re coming with me.
To Hell!”
Gripping the handle with both hands, I sliced the blade downward with all the precision of an experienced Reaper. It cut through Shannon’s body like a beam of light through a human being.

I stepped back, but nothing happened. In fact, Conrad continued working as if he hadn’t just been scythed.

“What the—?” If at first you don’t succeed . . . I raised my scythe to try again. Once more I slid the dark purple blade through the seated man, er, woman, er, person.

“Third time’s the charm.”

“Four makes—” I glanced at Dante. His expression was hard to read, but I could tell he was waiting for my arms to get tired. I lowered my scythe and ran through my class notes in my head. Nothing. “Why isn’t it working?”

“It’s like I said, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

I did the math in my head before asking, “So if I scythe him six more times, that’ll do the trick?”

“’Fraid not.”

Shannon began to weep softly. Dante draped one arm over her shoulders to comfort her. To me he whispered, “He can’t be kicked out. He has to leave of his own accord.”

But you can’t exactly whisper
over
a person who you’re currently cuddling.

“Don’t hurt him!” Shannon shrieked, making a grab for my scythe.

I snatched it out of her reach and deactivated it. Nobody had to tell me twice not to let someone else touch my scythe. Well, it’s different now that it’s
my
scythe, all right? “You’re kidding!” I shouted at my friend in disbelief.

Shannon began to cry in earnest now. “He’s my dad. Please don’t hurt him.” She curled into Dante’s arms, burying her face against his chest, probably getting tears and snot on his Reaper robe. And his spare was at the cleaners.

“Shannon, listen. This is the man who stole my life. He bashed my brains in right in front of you and now he’s dispossessed your soul from your body. Why are you defending him?”

Even as I said all this, I remembered how hard it had been to shake off Conrad’s spell. His voice, his charm, his charisma. It had all worked together to weave a glamour that invoked love and compliance over anyone he spoke to. Shannon had spent the most time with him so it made sense it would take the longest to wear off.

“Shannon. Look at me. Look. At. Me.” She finally untucked her head from Dante’s chest and blinked up at me through teary eyes. “Your dad is not a good guy. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it’s true. I, too, fell under his spell, but you have to realize he needs to be taken down. Literally,” I concluded, pointing toward the floor and the underworld beneath it.

She only sobbed louder. Dante shot me an accusatory look and wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders.

“You should have scythed him when you had the chance. Instead of kicking him.” Dante freed up one arm to point at me as he said this. “An
experienced
Reaper would have known that. Now Conrad may get to stay.”

“An experienced . . . You did not just make this my fault!”

“If the hiking boot fits . . .” He patted Shannon’s back as she cowered against his strong, manly chest.

I’d had enough. The hysterical woman always gets all the attention. I stormed through the wall and into the hallway and kept right on storming until I reached the main conference room. I walked through the wall, hoping to find the boardroom empty. I needed some alone time right now so I could work through everything that had just happened. I needed to get to a point where I could admit to myself that Dante was right. An experienced Reaper would have gone for the scythe, not the dropkick.

But I wasn’t alone. Yet another unfamiliar man sat at the head of the table, across from Frannie. She wore an innocent expression that meant she was up to something. I sat down in an empty chair to listen.

The man wore a stern expression. A tiny notebook lay open on the table before him. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but had that permanently exhausted and counting-the-days-to-retirement look that some people develop prematurely. Something about him said law enforcement. Might have been the shoulder holster peeking out from his trench coat, might have been the glinting gold of his detective shield clipped to his belt. Was this the detective Shannon had referred to during her telephone conversation?

“I was on my way out, Ms. Tick. Did you have something else to add to this investigation? Something more than your . . .” He checked his notes. “Lengthy interview from this morning?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. Frannie had always been a complainer. She’d probably bent his ear for as long as she could hold him there.

Frannie tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, Detective Leo, I do. I just happened to be passing Shannon’s office this very morning.”

Just passing, my ass. So you were the one listening outside Shannon’s door.

“And I heard her say . . .” She placed her iPhone on the table, pressing a button. Music shrilled from the device:
“Let’s give ’em something to talk ab—.”

“
Whoops.
” The music cut off as abruptly as it had started.

“Um, just a moment.” Frannie pressed a few more icons and buttons. Then Shannon’s voice rang out:
“. . . I just wanted her to get on with it. It was selfish, I know, but I felt like it was
me
in that coma. My life was on hold since I was filling in for her here at the office. I couldn’t help but wish she’d either wake up or die.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. What, exactly, was Detective Leo investigating?

And suddenly I knew. He was investigating my murder. And whether or not Shannon had been the one to bash my head in.

That skegging stapler again. From it all hassles flow. I hadn’t noticed it on Conrad’s desk. Maybe it was in the VP office Shannon had used before this week. Or maybe it had come to life again and wandered off.

One could hope.

Oh, wait. I closed my eyes and focused on a vague memory. A hospital security guard. He’d picked up the stapler in his latex-gloved hand and dropped it in a clear plastic bag. It must reside in some evidence lockup somewhere. It had been the murder weapon, after all. Its days as a device for fastening papers together were history.

“Can you email that sound file to this email address, please?” The detective slid a business card across the table to Frannie. She picked up her iPhone, clicked a few keys and his pocket pinged a new message. “Thanks. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

He rose and strode out the door, closing it after himself as he exited. Frannie rocked back and forth in the leather boardroom chair, the expression on her face one of angry satisfaction.

Oh, Frannie. What have you done?

At the sound of tapping behind me, I spun around quickly, hand on my scythe.

Now
I reach for my scythe.

But it was only Dante, standing at the boardroom window, his arm still wrapped protectively around Shannon’s shoulders. He crooked his finger at me. Once again I faced the door and tried to turn the knob. Damn. My cheeks burned, no doubt turning the color of demon Conrad’s skin. Keeping my head down as if I were watching my footing, I stepped through the door and out into the hallway. “Okay.” I said, letting go of my scythe. “What now?”

“I think we had best take Shannon back to Hell and explain to Colin what has happened. We cannot teleport Shannon’s soul since her body is still alive, as yours was. Therefore, we’ll need to walk there. You can go on ahead if you prefer, teleporting via your new scythe. Then once we arrive, we’ll fill out the paperwork for a Curb Appeal—that will curb Conrad’s activities and possibly get him charged with possession. Then we can—”

“Nope,” I interrupted conversationally.

“What?” Dante demanded.

“What? Shannon echoed.

“Dante. Shannon. Listen to me. The appeal thing? Didn’t work out so well for me. Hell’s nothing if not unfair. So we’re not going that route—it’s the route of all evil.” I spread my arms wide, trying to convince them I had a good plan. “The reason I didn’t go straight to Hell on my own when you scythed me is because it wasn’t my time yet and my body was still alive on the Coil, right?”