Page 4 of Against All Odds

“Let’s just say it’s a place where nothing but pain and fear exist,” he said grimly.

I shivered involuntarily – fire might just be my worst fear. “Well, that’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? Does anyone actually choose the lower realm?”

Jurrian closed his eyes for a moment. “Most people choose to accept the challenge, but very few succeed. You said it yourself: who says you’re fit to save another soul if you couldn’t even save your own? Especially given your record of swindling, scamming and stealing from vulnerable people in your twenty-nine years of life.” He paused, skeptically eyeing me up and down. “So, which will it be?”

I didn’t answer immediately. As much as his comment about my questionable life choices stung – wasn’t judgement also a sin? – he wasn’t wrong. I was far from an angel, much less a guardian angel.

But then the buried memory flashed before my eyes. My family home going up in flames as the neighbors, who had watched me that day, held me back from running toward it, my throat hoarse and my vision clouded – and I knew I didn’t have a choice. Not really. I would sell every pitiful thread of my tainted soul for a chance to escape the hellfire.

I forced a smile that surely didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m up for the challenge.”

“Are you sure? Do you even know what it entails to save another’s soul?” His brow furrowed. “You do realize you don’t get the easy assignments, right? Pure souls – those who enter into the guardian arrangement willingly out of a desire to share the love they’ve felt in their lives – they get to guard the humans who are already on the right path. Those who have chosen the light and aim to spread it through others, and only need a little guidance.” He exhaled slowly. “But damaged souls get damaged souls. The cynical, the destructive, the morally ambiguous. Those who might be saved, with the right guidance and if the odds are in their favor, but are not strong enough to pull themselves back from the darkness and toward the light, not on their own. And you can’t use force to guide them toward the light. All you can do is tilt the odds in their favor. They still have to make the decision themselves.”

“I don’t care what it takes,” I replied, with a determination that surprised me. “I choose the assignment.”

“Figured you might say so.” Jurrian sighed. “Well, assignment it is. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

With fascination, I watched him pull the threads from the scale, mumbling a string of incomprehensible words as they lifted to twirl around his hands once more before dissolving into air.

“Now…” He raised his staff, and the clouds on his right dissolved to reveal a breathtaking mirror, its frame made of glistening gold. My jaw dropped – in my tragically short life, I hadn’t been easily impressed, but everything about this strange world felt unreal. “Let’s see what your assigned soul is up to, shall we?”

Chapter 2.

Raya

My roommates and I were playing ride-the-bus with homemade cocktails.

A seemingly innocent game, yet the perfect excuse for a group of college students to get drunk on cheap booze at home before hitting the city’s expensive bars. You guess whether you’ll draw a black or red card. If it’s correct, nothing happens; if it’s wrong, you take a sip. An odds-based game, no strategy needed – except for how strong to mix the mojitos.

And clearly, I was good at this game – because three rounds in, I was already feeling it. More than Emmy, Tracy and Rebekah – my three roommates – and their friends they’d invited. They were here to socialize. I was here to get drunk.

As I struggled to keep up with the cards Kyle drew me, my buzzed mind caught glimpses of the conversations around me.

“Are you all quite done?” Rebekah let out a dramatic sigh – not her first this evening – before blinking her long lashes at Parker. Despite the annoyance, her voice held a playful undertone – subtle, yet impossible to miss. Only Rebekah could do that. “We only have thirty more minutes before Catchphrase opens, the first real club in this dull town. I told you I don’t want to miss it.” She flashed a bright smile, one that made her blue eyes light up. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. “There will be fireworks on the terrace.”

Despite all the time I spent secretly observing her, it was still hard to tell whether she was being genuine or using her charm to play others. We all knew Parker was the one who made the decisions for his friends, and she had him wrapped around her finger. After all, who wouldn’t fall for her?

“Earth to Soraya?” With a grin, Kyle snapped his fingers in front of my face. I glared back at him. “What?”

He winked before lowering his voice. “You’re staring again. I honestly don’t get how no one else notices. I asked: higher or lower?”

“I’m not staring,” I muttered, quickly turning my eyes back to the five he pulled. “Higher.”

I sighed loudly when he turned the card – a three – before gladly taking the opportunity to take a huge sip of my cocktail, then another one.

Kyle and I had made out a few times. He was also the only person in this group I considered my friend, though I wasn’t sure if he liked me or pitied me.

Kyle thought I was in love with Rebekah. I honestly couldn’t tell if I wanted to be her or wanted to kiss her – maybe both. Either way, everyone else seemed to think Parker was the one I wanted, because when we all found out they’d been sleeping together, I completely lost it. I’d drunkenly cursed him out for everything under the sun and didn’t talk to Rebekah for days.

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Emmy stood up to refill her glass.

“Hey. Can I get another one, too?” My speech was slightly slurred when I held out my glass to my roommate.

“Are you sure?” Her brow furrowed. Her disdain prickled my skin. “You’ve already, ehm, had a few.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, because I knew the real reason she didn’t want me to drink. We all knew how I could get. A part of me wanted to snap, ask her who the fuck she thought she was – my mother?

I could usually repress this part of myself, but the more I drank, the more she wanted to crawl out of the hole I tried to stuff her into. And after three glasses of Emmy’s infamous homemade cocktails, her voice grew stronger, and the walls I’d caged her in already started to crack.