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I let out a long sigh, aware that I was getting aroused watching them.
Greta stroked his back, his arms, and the jacket was suddenly gone, and then she was holding him to her, and he was bare-chested--the shirt had vanished somewhere along with the jacket. I opened my lips slightly, sensing their passion, sensing the taste of his soul in my mouth . . .
She motioned for me, and I was at her side in three strides. She clasped my hand in hers, and I could feel the sensations run through her to him, making every touch explode in a minor death. I began to lose myself in the energy, sucked as deep as his soul, and as she drew him out through his mouth, inhaling his essence into her body, breathing his soul out through the pores, I shuddered and came, quickly and without warning, and dropped to the ground, stunned.
With one last moan, he slumped in her arms, then transformed into a pil ar of white mist and floated up toward the heavens.
Ron Wyndham Niece was dead.
Greta turned to me. "This is your first lesson: What it means to harvest the soul of a hero. He journeys to spend a while by the side of those who do great things with their lives and sacrifice their own in the process."
I blinked. "You kil ed him?"
"No, he was shot by the bul et of the armed gunman who would have kil ed a busload of people--except that Ron Niece was there to prevent it. He rushed the attacker, and in the scuffle, he was shot. Rather than his soul passing by unnoticed, the lords of Valhal a cal ed for him. Since the Valkyries only gather the souls of true warriors--and not al heroes are warriors--they asked the Autumn Lord to al ow one of us to harvest him before he could get away.
He wil sit with honor in the great hal s for a time."
"Do you harvest al souls with a kiss?" I didn't know if I was going to like that. What if I had to harvest a demon and kiss him? Like Karvanak or someone equal y filthy? Or some perv?
She gave me a sudden shy smile. "Heroes are given a death that removes the pain and loss they both remember and fear. Our kiss leads them into the afterlife in the most pleasant of ways. You wil see that we give other souls--ones with less to be proud of in their lives-- distinctly less enjoyable transitions.
But to answer another unspoken question: yes, sometimes we do kil for the Harvestmen when they request it."
I stared at her, realizing what she was saying. We truly were the harvest women for the Autumn Lord. We could make the transition easy or--I had no doubt--deathly painful.
Shuddering to think what infractions might befit the latter, I looked back at the dais. "Do we always come here to do our work?"
Greta sat down on the edge of the bronze circle. It was no longer glowing. "No, not always. But this is the easiest way to train you. When you travel to where our chosen actual y are, you must contend with seeing everyone gathered around them, even though they can't see you. It is . . . difficult . . . at first, to see the spouses sobbing or the emergency workers who so desperately want to keep our chosen bound to life."
"How do you deal with it when there's so much pain attached to the death? When you know it's going to hurt the ones left behind?" I couldn't imagine ripping the life out of someone whose wife or girlfriend or children might be watching. "How do you harden yourself enough so it doesn't hurt?"
She shook her head. "You are new to the life, and being alive gives you an added disadvantage. You have not passed through the veil; you're stil vibrant with the flush of youth." With a sigh, she reached out and closed her ghostly hand around my fingers. Unlike Menol y, her touch was not cold, but warm and invigorating.
"Help me understand."
It was futile to resist; this was my fate, and one day I might be sitting here holding some young woman's hand, teaching her what it meant to work for Hi'ran. He was my destiny, I might as wel accept and embrace it. Whatever amount of time remained between now and the day I joined his harem, I'd eventual y end up here, beside Greta.
She squeezed my fingers. "You seem so resigned. I know what you are fighting in your world--worlds, rather. I know what you face. So much, and yet it won't matter a whit once you join us. But for now, just know that you wil learn. I promise to help you. And soon, you wil understand what it's like to breathe the breath out of one of the chosen."
"Tel me. I want to know. It's important for me to learn correctly. This is a sacred trust, and I don't want to make any mistakes."
The tattoos on her arms flared as she squeezed my hand. "When you breathe out their lives, you can touch their souls. You feel them and rock them and cradle them. The ones who are violent, we don't entangle--we have no need unless we want to reassure ourselves that they are truly the monsters the gods say they are. But Ronald--I felt every inch of him, I felt his love and his sorrow, his memories. His joys and his disappointments. I washed them clean for him and left him ready to leave the world. We give solace to those who have done something with their lives, who have made a difference. We give them the gift of a blessed transition.">"What did Chase say?"
I shook my head. "Honestly, I blocked it out. He was so stiff, so aloof. Right now I can't deal with his angst. That makes me a bad girlfriend, right?"
"No, that makes you half-human. If you were ful -Fae, he'd be long gone by now." Iris sat on the ottoman next to me. "Honey, Chase needs more help than you can give him. Let Sharah work her magic. She has the training to deal with matters like this."
"I guess he's in better hands with her. I'l back off." The thought stil stung, but I couldn't waste any more energy. I was exhausted by trying to help when my help wasn't welcome.
As we sat there, a tableau il uminated by the Tiffany-style lamps that Morio had found in a thrift shop, the door opened, and Camil e's laughter echoed through the hal . I slowly picked myself off the floor and moved to one of the chairs, but stil , when she darted into the room, she took one look at my face as she tossed her cloak over the back of the rocking chair and sat down beside me, grabbing my hand.
"What's going on? Bad news? Was there news from home?"
That was her way of asking if our father had left a message through the Whispering Mirror. Reluctant to burst her bubble, I gave her a quick shake of the head. "No hon, no messages. Not that I know of."
She stopped short, staring at me. "What the fuck happened to your hair?" And then she burst out laughing. "I love it--you're so punk! You look great! But man, Iris was right." Waving her hand in front of her face, she grimaced. "You got skunked bad, babe."
"Yeah, but it was worse before." As I stood up, Camil e's men came trooping in. At least they were polite enough to avoid commenting on my brand-new do and perfume, though I noticed Smoky's lips curl into a smile, and Morio's nose twitched. Tril ian just offered to take the tray of debris from Iris and carry it into the kitchen for her.
