The sheathed blade lay across my palms, a strangely light object to cost someone their life.
The numbness gave way to a sick feeling.
Cupcake leapt into my lap, forcing me to lift the sword up to make room. The reaper puppy whined, then yipped until I brushed a hand over her soft, black fur. Her golden eyes peered up at me with sympathy, and the nausea subsided a little.
“Come on, girl,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
2
Grim
Asoul kneeled before me. His eyes were downcast as he trembled in fear. Torches flickered along the limestone walls and great pillars in the hall of judgment. Murals in bright colors depicting the weighing of the heart lined the antechamber, looking as fresh as if painted yesterday. The scent of lotus flowers and cedarwood surrounded me, though this place reeked of archaic power and the old ways.
Timothy stood off to the side with his tablet. Five thousand years ago, we performed the rites with fine white linen cloth wrapped around our waists, and brightly colored headdresses. Those who worshipped us would anoint me and Timothy in sweet-smelling oils before we began.
But now, Timothy preferred expensive cologne and statement three-piece suits. Today’s suit was a deep teal color, covered in velvet paisley designs. He’d always had a taste for more fashion-forward styles.
I hardly recalled his old features. After spending many centuries in the east, primarily China and Korea, his features had reshaped Asiatic. His thick, dark hair was gelled to perfection. Despite the changes, he still maintained his essence of elegance and acuity. Nothing escaped his notice. He filed every little detail.
I spent much time traveling the earth as well, but I retained my dark Egyptian traits. I appreciated the feel of fine materials but hadn’t veered away from the color black since the 14th century, the dark years of plague. Back when they referred to me as the black death, the grim reaper.
To this day, I retained the namesake, feeling the title Grim suited me.
But no matter our appearance or style preferences, the job remained the same. Judgment.
“Please,” the man begged at the base of my dais.
They always begged.
“Have you lived an ethical life?” I asked, standing in front of the stone chair etched with hieroglyphics.
Dark blue eyes searched the ground around my feet. While he thought, I observed the thinning hair on his head and the rough stubble peppered with white. I could practically taste the conflict in his soul. He’d committed iniquitous deeds in his lifetime. Things he regretted and tried to make up for after the fact.
Hands clasped together, he met my gaze, searching my eyes for clemency. “I don’t know.”
I exchanged a look with Timothy.
This was a rare one. Usually, the soul would stumble over their adamant conviction they were innocent and ethical throughout the course of their life. Not that their answer mattered. Still, I asked the question, allowing them to prepare for their sentence, whatever it might be.
I felt Vivien the moment she entered the stone antechamber. My eyes flicked up to watch her cross the room along the far wall, sitting down on the floor. Cupcake climbed into her lap, settling in. They would wait patiently until we were done. The blood in my veins rushed faster, and heat spread through me.
Auburn hair fell in wild waves past her shoulders, windblown from her bike, no doubt. The juxtaposition of her presence in this place did not escape me. Where I ruled my domain with an iron fist, I was keenly aware I could not control the woman who just waltzed in. But I learned I’d never want to. Her ability to surprise me with her passionate beauty and fierce heart was the only force I’d ever bent to. Though she’d bent before me in other alluring manners…that sent my blood rushing south.
I pushed Vivien from my mind, so I could focus on the task at hand.
“Let us see about your soul, then, shall we?” Turning around, I faced the wall behind me. A mural depicting a set of golden scales covered the expanse of sandstone blocks. Power flowed off me, awakening magic older than even me. They shimmered and emerged as a set of three-dimensional, corporeal scales, floating in midair before me.
I’d shed my suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. I bore my left arm out to the side, making a fist. Ink swelled to the surface of my forearm as the feather of Ma’at appeared. I pinched at the tattoo until I plucked it away from my flesh. The soft feather I now held emitted a gentle yet strong power, a power stronger than Timothy and I combined. After setting it on one scale, I turned back to the kneeling soul. His face had gone slack from awe.
Timothy’s tablet rose from his hands, glowing turquoise blue. Magic hieroglyphs streamed from the space between his eyes and into the device as he recorded the judgment.
I descended the few steps from my dais and reached into the man’s ribcage. First, he blinked at me, then at the hand that disappeared into him. When it emerged, my fingers wrapped around the bright red organ. The man frantically patted at his chest, searching for an open wound, forgetting he’d already crossed over into the realm of spirit.
“We shall see if you have lived a life good enough to be admitted into the glorious afterlife. Or”—my voice lowered— “if you are only fit to be consumed by Amit.”
I set his heart on the empty scale. Back and forth, it rocked. Tension filled the room as the scales measured.
The feather was divine order, truth, and morality. It embodied a state of grace that humans can destroy with their deeds of greed and hatred. It was my job to make sure that never happened.
