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Please, I whispered to myself as we ran, please, don’t let us be targeting one of them. I couldn’t bear it if I had to take part in transitioning one of my good friends across the veil. I didn’t want my face to be the last they saw.
But we turned before we reached the street leading to Katrina’s, and we were still well out of distance of Siobhan’s house. I sucked in a deep breath—even though out here on the astral I didn’t need to breathe—and watched as Greta sped ahead toward a little house on a corner lot. The lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence. A chaise lounge and small side table sat out in front, both soaked through. Greta stopped by the gate and turned to me.
“Do you recognize this place?” She waited for me to take a long look at it. I frowned, taking it in. I didn’t remember ever coming here. After a moment I shook my head.
“I don’t think so, and yet, there is something familiar about it.”
“That’s because you know the owner and you can feel his energy even out here. And here, on the astral, this house—this yard, all have his signature embedded into what you see.” She motioned for me and I followed her as we slid right through the gate and headed toward the house. The next moment, we were standing inside at a man who was watching a late-night science fiction movie. And then I knew.
“Wylie.” I swallowed, hard. Wylie’s mother had a sense of humor when she named him. She was a coyote shifter. And so was Wylie. He had become a regular at the Supe Community Meetings. Strong, lean, and a little rough around the edges, he’d still thrown himself into helping out with planning committees and everything else we might need. He was a loner. As far as I knew he didn’t have a girlfriend, but he never had a harsh word for anybody, at least that I had seen.
“Is it really his time?” I didn’t want to believe it. Wylie was still young, as far as Weres went.
Greta turned to me. “There is much more,” she said softly, her eyes dark as the ocean. “You need to take his soul through yours. This one, you cannot just consign to the afterlife. He’s not headed for an easy end, Delilah.”
I started. “What? You want me to…” Pausing, I strove to remember what she had taught me. Some souls we collected for the gods when they couldn’t, for one reason or another. Others, we helped transition to the afterlife because they deserved it. And still others, we condemned and sent to oblivion. All of this, we did when the Autumn Lord sent down orders.
“Wylie Smith has upset the balance, bringing too much chaos into a situation. The Hags of Fate have decreed that his soul be sent to the cleansing fires.” She stood back, crossing her arms. “You must collect his soul, Delilah. There are things you need to know. Grandmother Coyote spoke with the Autumn Lord, and he has ordered it be done.”
Grandmother Coyote and Hi’ran? This must be big. I stared at her, nervously tugging at my robe. I didn’t want to do this. “How is he going to die?”
“He has a weak heart. As he watches his movie, the rhythm will begin to falter, then seize. He is due for cardiac arrest and will not have time to get to the phone. You will be waiting to collect his soul as he dies. You will examine the images, then consign his soul to the abyss.” Her words came out, a neutral flow of information. This was old hat to her.
“You’ve done this so many times…does it get easier?” I glanced over at Wylie, who didn’t seem to have a clue that within a few minutes, he’d be dead and his soul cast into oblivion to be cleansed and returned to the primal pool. Part of me wanted to warn him, to give him a chance to right whatever wrongs he’d done, but that wasn’t an option.
“No. But each time, I understand my place in the world a little bit more. And so, in time, will you. Do you remember the rites I taught you?” She waited patiently, not pushing me.
I nodded, slowly. I remembered them, but it hadn’t fully registered that I’d actually have to use them. Now, there was no avoiding the reality: I was a Death Maiden and while I was still training, my days of standing by as an observer were over. I couldn’t very well wear the title without earning it.
“Yeah, I do. You said I have to take his soul through mine?” I’d done this accidentally a couple of times, but never deliberately.
She nodded. “Grandmother Coyote decreed that you need to do this.”
When the Hags of Fate made a suggestion, it was an order. Even if you were a god. Or a Death Maiden. I steadied myself, running through the steps, until I was sure I remembered their order. As I stared at Wylie, I tried to see him as something other than a friendly acquaintance. If he truly did have secrets and had upset the balance, maybe there was something I didn’t know that would make it easier. But the only way I’d find out would be to go through with the rite.
I looked over at Greta, who was watching me carefully. “This is a test, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “No. If I were to test you, I’d make it a friend—someone dear to your heart. To see if you could go through with it.”
“Have you ever had to…collect the soul of a friend?” Our eyes met and I held her fast. Wanted to see her reaction.
She gazed steadily at me, and then slowly blinked. “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper on the wind, the rattle of dried corn husks. “My own mother.”
I lowered my head. I couldn’t imagine doing that. “I’m sorry. I…that would be hard to bear.”
“It was difficult. I learned too much about her. Things I didn’t want to know. But she went on to the afterlife, and I was able to let go after a while. It helped that she was beloved by many, and that her secrets weren’t the kind to make me sorry she’d birthed me.”
Greta put her hand on my arm. “You will not be sorry you do this. And truly, you have no choice. You are the Master’s servant. He has appointed this task to you—and Grandmother Coyote asked for you to do it.”
I straightened my shoulders. It was time to man up.
Motioning to Greta, I said, “I’m ready. When…?”
I had to wait until he was on the verge of death before I sucked out his soul. I could do so several ways. With the courageous and those who deserved a hero’s death, it would be with a kiss. With Wylie, it would be different.
She closed her eyes briefly. “You have…when his clock strikes three twelve, his heart will fail, and you will collect his soul.” She motioned to the mantel, where a chiming clock sat. It read three ten.
I prepared myself, standing beside him, waiting. He had no clue I was here, waiting. He had no knowledge, no sense that he was about to die. As I stared down at him, trying to corral my emotions, I felt a spark flare from deep within. There it was—the trigger that Greta had taught me to look for.
