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Those who might be questionable are sent to me. It’s what some call purgatory, but those souls don’t linger here long. They’re brought before me and one of two things happens:
I either judge them unworthy and into the river they go where they will suffer unending torture and suffering.
Or, I give them a second chance to make things right. A reincarnation into a harder life than what they had before. An opportunity for them to do penance and save their soul. I hand those out rarely because frankly, I don’t give much of a fuck if people get second chances.
Calix motions to the fae guards, and they drag a man forward kicking and screaming. He’s maybe in his fifties, wearing a track suit with pizza sauce on the front, and has the disconnected look of someone with no conscience. Doesn’t mean he’s not emotional as tears stream down his face. He looks intermittently over the side of the flat bridge as his socked feet slide across the slick obsidian. The guards shove the man ahead until he’s standing before Calix and then return to their post.
Under Kymaris’s rule, Calix had been granted nominal powers to help make his servitude easier on her, not him. One such power is the magic of conjuring, and with a flourish, he twists his wrist, and an ancient-looking scroll appears in his hand.
It’s over-the-top embellishment, but Calix likes his flair. He pulls it open and clears his throat. “Jordan Baxter. You appear before King Amell to be judged on the crime of murder where you knowingly and without conscience put a pillow over your mother’s face and smothered her until she was dead. You did this for the inheritance money. How do you explain your actions?”
The man clasps his hands and falls to his knees, tear-filled eyes pleading with Calix. “That’s not true. I didn’t do it. She died of natural causes, and her life insurance was only ten thousand dollars. I would never do such a thing. I loved my mother.”
Calix angles his body and points to me. “It’s not me but King Amell you should beg to.”
The man opens his mouth, but I make a shooing motion with my hand, my magic slinging him off the bridge. He hurtles over the side, screaming all the way down until he hits the river.
The lava flow incinerates the soul with a wild shriek of approval and a spray of sparks. The Underworld rumbles slightly as it receives the sacrifice.
The Dark Fae across the river cheer in approval, and the humans at the end of the bridge start screaming and begging for mercy.
Just another day in Hell.
Judgment Day moves quickly as I don’t need to hear pleas and excuses. Whatever charges Calix reads off are the absolute truth. No mistakes are made. You either belong in Hell or you don’t. The only reason we even bother with this is because once in a blue moon, extenuating circumstances pop up that might please the gods to award the accused another try at life. Zora is the one who gets credit for such generosity.
After tossing a good thirty people over the edge, the guards drag forward a young woman. She’s incredibly beautiful, and based on the way she’s dressed, I’m guessing incredibly wealthy. She died in designer clothes, dripping with expensive jewelry. I can tell she once held power and sway over many people because of her looks and money, but now, she’s just a terrified woman on the verge of pissing her fancy lingerie.
Calix reads out her charges, which include over two decades of gluttony, narcissism, bullying, taking advantage of weaker beings, cheating, and drug use. It was an overdose that caused her death. Ordinarily, a bad personality wouldn’t end you in Hell, but her repeated unsavory behavior, along with the knowledge that she enjoyed hurting others, has her standing before me.
“How do you answer these crimes?” Calix asks.
The woman’s pained stare comes to me. “Please… Your Highness.” Tears slip from her big blue eyes. “I may have led a selfish life, but I haven’t murdered anyone. I haven’t raped anyone. Eternal damnation is too strong a penalty.”
“You never helped anyone either,” Calix points out, scanning his scroll.
“That’s not true,” she insists. “I donated to many charities.”
“Only for the tax break.” Her jaw drops that he knows all her dirty little secrets. “You were mean, self-centered, and vindictive your entire life. You not only took advantage of people, but you enjoyed causing their suffering.”
She changes tack and surprises me by admitting it all. She purges her sins. “Yes, you’re right. I was an awful person. I was raised by awful parents and surrounded myself with horrible friends. I didn’t have any good role models. But if you give me another chance, I swear I’ll do good. I’ll be everything I wasn’t in my life.”
It’s a pretty speech, but I don’t hear any truth in her vows. She’s desperate and thinks she can manipulate me like she has others. Besides, she blames others for making her the way she is, and I can’t suffer people who don’t take responsibility for their crimes.
I give her my verdict with a subtle hand motion, and she goes hurtling over the edge with a high-pitched scream of terror. The river hisses its pleasure, the ground shakes, and the fae cheer.
I motion for the next person to be brought forward.
CHAPTER 4
Nyssa
This nightmare isapparently very real. I’m in Hell.
Another person—an old man who bilked money from people in a Ponzi scheme—gets tossed off the edge of the bridge, flipping end over end. I watch with fascination as the churning lava river reaches tendrils of molten liquid up to catch him, as if it’s plucking a meal out of the sky. I swear it even lets out a satisfying belch when the man disappears beneath the fiery liquid and the creatures across the river—a mix of human-looking and monsters—cheer their excitement.
“Move it, human.” I’m jabbed in the back by one of the massive guards.
It appears I’m next, and while I know it’s a 99.99999 percent certainty I’ve got no hope of escape, I won’t go down without at least trying to make a run for it. I immediately dart between the two guards who are so stunned by my move, they don’t react quickly enough to grab me. No one had tried to run yet, and they’d gotten complacent.
