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The scent drew him toward a part of town still busy long after dark, a main avenue full of cafes and clubs. He quickly scanned the street for alleys and dimly lit crannies—places he could lurk without being seen—then padded off in the direction of the scent.
But then something happened. Something unexpected. Something terrible.
Jix felt the crash before he heard it—smelled it before he saw the flying shards of glass. The skinjackers’ Cadillac had plowed into the front of a café.
Against all caution Jix loped forward to get a closer view.
The entire glass front of the café was gone, and the scene was full of panic. The scattering living, the groaning injured, and the silenced dead. Although Jix had no particular attachment to the living world, he could not help but ache with sorrow at the scene before him, and he knew instinctively that this was no accident—it was intentional! These eastern skinjackers were like angels of death, slipping in and out of flesh as the whim suited them, creating mayhem. His heart, which had pounded steady at the pace of his chase, now quickened, fed by both terror and fascination.
He leaped onto the hood of the Cadillac, and looked through the spider-webbed glass of the windshield into the car. Air bags and seat belts had saved the lives of the four passengers. They were as panicked and confused as everyone else—which meant that the skinjackers were gone. They had crashed the car, then had left their human hosts.
So where were they now?
Jix could no longer smell them, which meant they were no longer skinjacking. They were back in Everlost, and could be standing right in front of him, but as long as he was furjacking the panther, he couldn’t see them.
“Oh my God! Is that some kind of tiger?” someone yelled, and Jix turned and growled menacingly, insulted for being mistaken for his brutish cousins. Then he peeled himself out of the panther, leaving the living world and transitioning back into Everlost.
There was a moment of disorientation as he left the world of flesh. The living world became blurry and unfocused around him. He was now back in Everlost, where the living world seemed a little less real, and the only things that were solid were things that no longer existed.
Immediately he saw the portals—four of them standing open before him. He knew exactly what they were, even though he had only seen a portal once—but the passageway to the afterlife is not something one easily forgets. It’s the tunnel every soul sees at the moment they die. Most don’t linger in Everlost—for the majority of people, Everlost is just a stepping stone—a springboard to launch oneself down the tunnel toward . . . well, toward wherever it is one happens to be going.
But every once in a while something goes wrong.
Standing at the mouth of the portals were the victims of the crash—high school age by the looks of them. They had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and had been killed when the Cadillac crashed into the café. They stood in what should have been a brief moment of transition—and in spite of the shock of their sudden crossing, they seemed ready to move on, already reaching toward the light, which seemed both impossibly distant, yet close enough to touch. This moment was so personal, so private, that Jix felt ashamed to be watching it, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
That’s when it happened. Four other figures came up behind the unfortunate souls. It was the skinjackers!
Each skinjacker grabbed on to a crossing soul, and held tight, digging in their heels, leaning away from the light with the full force of their wills, keeping the victims from going down the tunnel. It worked for three of them, but the scrawny one couldn’t keep his grip and lost his victim into the light, cursing as he did.
In the end, the tunnels vanished, and, thanks to the skinjackers, three new spirits were committed to Everlost, collapsing into a deep sleep—the nine-month sleep all new arrivals had to endure before waking up as citizens of Everlost.
“You killed them!” Jix didn’t even realize he said it out loud, until all the skinjackers turned to him.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the girl with wild hair. The one called Milos put up his hand to silence her.
“We freed them,” Milos said. “We released them from a life of pain. We saved them from that world.”
Jix hesitated. Until this moment, it had never occurred to him that people could be brought into Everlost on purpose—or that a forced crossing could be a desirable thing. He wanted to think about it, let his mind see it from every possible angle, but there was no time for thinking now.
“C’mon, c’mon, Milos. Let’s get out of here,” said the squirrelly one.
“No,” Milos said, “I will not leave more of a mess than I have to.” Then he turned back to Jix. “Are you alone? Are there others like you?”
But before he could answer, a scream rang out from the living world and a situation that was already bad, suddenly became a whole lot worse.
Jix had always been careful to leave the great cats he furjacked in places where they could do no harm, but in the heat of this extraordinary and terrifying moment, he had released his beast in the middle of a crowd. Confused and frightened, the animal did what frightened predators do. It attacked.
The cat turned on a girl who was no older than twelve. She wore a crimson dress. It was probably the blood color of the dress that got the cat’s attention in the first place. Her life ended quickly with the panther’s first pounce, then the cat bounded away, disappearing into the night. Jix wailed at the sight of his deadly mistake.
Now the girl’s spirit stood in Everlost at the mouth of her own afterlife tunnel—and all because of him. Her eyes were fixed on the light, and she was already moving toward it.
“I got thish one,” said the skinjacker in football gear, then he surged forward, and tackled the girl out of the tunnel like he was sacking a quarterback. She landed right at Jix’s feet and her tunnel disappeared. Jix knelt down cradling her head in his hands.
“Lo siento,” Jix said. “I’m sorry. . . .”
She looked up at him, her pupils wide and dilated, not yet understanding any of this. “I’m sleepy,” she said. “Tell my parents I’m taking a nap. . . .” Then her eyes closed and her soul plunged into a nine-month slumber.
Milos knelt beside them. While the wild-haired girl seemed impatient, the squirrelly one just scared, and the football player proud of his accomplishment, Milos appeared to have genuine remorse. “What’s done is done,” Milos said. “At least she is at peace now. And when she wakes up, she will be young and beautiful forever, yes? Maybe someday she will thank you.”
