The poets leave hell and again behold the stars. ~Dante Alighieri

Kyle gazed around his small office and sighed. The walls seemed dingier than usual, and the buzzing fluorescent lights did little to dispel the gloom he could feel seeping into his brain. He was fed up with his job. Long hours, meager compensation, and often-difficult clients made him wonder why he did it at all. He was rarely thanked and, he thought, quite underappreciated. He stirred his coffee idly with one bony finger. It was cold, but he drank it anyway. The dregs were bitter, and he finished them off with a grimace. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one, taking a long, contemplative drag.

He was lonely. It was as plain as a nose on a face. Sure, people came and went in a never-ending stream, but never long enough for him to really get to know them. He saw them at their most vulnerable—frightened, confused, disoriented and sometimes angry—but it wasn’t his job to counsel and comfort. He was a guide and nothing more, as laid out in the corporate handbook.

It wasn’t a very big handbook, but the rules were immutable.

“Get them where they need to go; up the stairs or down below!
Question not the destination; judgements are not part of your vocation!”

The meter was all wrong, Kyle thought. It bothered him.

He had met some pretty big names along the way, not that it mattered. Actors and politicians and bestselling writers and famous artists and fashion designers—they were all the same to Kyle. Politicians were the worst, though, churlish and childish and combative. They thought everything was up for debate, and some even offered him money to get out of the arrangement. Money! He snorted. As if that would make a difference.

He had yet to meet The Boss, through all his long years of faithful service, and Kyle wondered if the guy even knew who he was. The handbook said that he could talk to him about his problems. He could send an email to his supervisor and request a visit to the immense and plush office with the polished floors. He could ask for a vacation. He thought about it, but always managed to talk himself out of the idea. Rumors around the office were that The Boss was prone to fantastic bursts of anger.

A soft ping from his computer notified him that his services were needed at the county hospital. He rubbed his forehead, grateful for the interruption to his dismal thoughts, and wondered what manner of soul was awaiting him. Putting his coffee cup down and snuffing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, he stood, his leathery wings unfolding with a dry whisper. He grabbed his scythe with one skeletal hand and left, closing the office door quietly behind him.

~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day. Cherryvale County wasn’t exactly Miami Dade, but the work wore him out regardless. He could have been promoted to supervisor if he had shown any interest in the position, which might have afforded him a break now and then, but ambition was not his strong suit. As it was, he went where he was needed and did what the job required, one reaper out of a legion that spread across the globe. But today had been especially hard. Kyle poured himself a shot of whiskey and slugged it, enjoying the burning warmth as it spread throughout his ribcage.

The kid’s name was Tristan. Only fifteen, and he had lost the will to live. He was a delicate, artistic type with long, elegant fingers and a pale, thin face. He wrote a lot of dark poetry. Not that it was bad poetry, mind you. He had recited some to Kyle as they made their way downstairs, and Kyle had thought it better than most. He was sorry to leave the kid with Minos; The Seventh Circle was an inhospitable place at best, and a nightmare for a sensitive soul. The harpies would have a field day with him; they loved those types. Easy marks for their particular sort of torture.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it; his job was his job, and that was it. He tried not to get attached to the souls he shepherded to their destinations, but damn if Tristan hadn’t struck a chord. A poetic chord, with perfect meter and a catchy rhyme scheme. Kyle lit a cigarette and puffed, blowing smoke rings into the air as he leaned back in his chair and put his tarsals up on his worn oak desk. The more he tried not to think about Tristan and what he was suffering now, the more the thoughts crowded his mind.

The knock on his door surprised him. He sat back up, stashed the whiskey in a drawer, and crushed out his cigarette. His supervisor was the only one who ever came to call, and he approved of neither drinking nor smoking. Kyle waved his hand in the air to dissipate the smoke. He opened the door, expecting a reprimand for not turning in the day’s paperwork.

He hated paperwork.

It was not his supervisor, however, who stood on his doorstep; it was a human teenager. The girl was short and brown-skinned, with wild, curly hair and thick, smudged black eyeliner rimming her red eyes. Despite her obviously recent crying jag, she was looking up at him with a defiant air.

“Can I help you?” Kyle asked.

“You sure can,” she said in a combative tone. “Let me in and I’ll tell you how.”

Kyle swung the door wide and admitted the girl into his office. She glanced around the small room, the cluttered desk, the cigarette smoke still hanging in the air, and looked at Kyle with narrowed eyes.

“Won’t you sit down?” he said, gesturing to the tattered office chair.

“I prefer to stand, thank you.”

“What can I help you with?”

“You took a boy today. His name was Tristan.”

Crap. Another angry mortal come to chew him out for doing his job. He was in no mood to defend himself after the day he had, but he sighed and sat down on the other side of his desk. Just because she wouldn’t sit didn’t mean he couldn’t. He lit up again and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah? So?”

“So he was my friend. You couldn’t leave him alone to recover? You had to take him?”

“It’s nothing personal. When the orders say it’s time to go, it’s time to go, get it? And it was your friend’s time to go.”

“You took him! I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Look, kid,” Kyle said, leaning across the desk to wave his hand at her. “I didn’t take him, I simply escorted him to the Gates of Hell. Minos did the rest. It’s just my job, see? It sucks, but I’m not sure anyone is hiring reapers to deliver flowers or give out puppies.”

“He was my best friend,” she shouted, tears falling. “And now he’s gone and it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?”

It wasn’t the first time Kyle had heard the accusation, but this time it felt different, coming from the girl’s trembling lips. He felt tired, tired of his job, tired of his public image, and tired of being misunderstood.

“Your friend killed himself with a bullet,” he said with a sigh. “For the last time, I had nothing to do with it. He was gone before anyone could say goodbye. You think his parents feel any differently than you?”

“His parents are hysterical. They’re too upset to do anything about it,” she said, voice hard and cold once more. “But I’m not going to sit around crying. We all know where he’s gone. And I’m here to get you to fix it.”

“Fix it? Fix what? He’s in the Seventh Circle, as per The Boss’s orders. Once you go in there there’s no getting out, everybody knows that. Rules are rules.”

“I don’t care about the rules. The rules are outdated!” the girl shouted. “Tristan doesn’t deserve to be in the Seventh Circle, even if he did kill himself. It’s totally unfair. He was sweet, and kind, and gentle, and would never hurt a fly. I’m not asking to bring him back to life; I just want him in Heaven. He deserves to be in Heaven.”

“So what are you going to do? Waltz down to the Seventh Circle and haul your friend out of there? Fight the harpies? Not to mention Cerberus, the minotaur, and countless other demons?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Kyle laughed.

“You’re crazy, sweetheart. I admire your spunk, but you’re crazy. You wouldn’t last two seconds. And even if you could, nobody’s going down there without clearance.”

“That’s why I need you.”

“You want me to take you?”

“Yes. I do.”

Kyle studied her face for a moment. She certainly seemed serious, but it was time to put this conversation to bed.

“What’s your name?”

“Grace.”

“Well, Grace, you might be interested to know that even I am not allowed past Minos. I’m a delivery man, not a tour guide. Same as the UPS guy.”

“You’re lying. I know you can go down there; you just don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to?” Kyle snorted. “Of course I don’t want to! It’s Hell. It’s like, the worst place ever. Worse than a seventh grade P.E. class. Nobody wants to go down there.”

“I do! I have to get down there; you don’t understand. I have to save Tristan! I can’t leave him in the Seventh Circle. He’ll…he’ll be in pain…over and over again…forever…”

Grace buried her face in her hands with a sob. Kyle remembered the boy’s face as he dropped him off at the gates of Hell, his luminous brown eyes and somber expression.

I’ll be a tree he had said. That’s gotta be better than a human, right?

Kyle was pretty sure being a tree made of human flesh and getting eaten by harpies every night wasn’t better, but before he could answer, Minos had ushered Tristan through the gates. The last thing he had seen of the boy was his tremulous smile as he waved goodbye.

He waved goodbye. Like he was going to summer camp, or Grandma’s house.

Goddammit.

“Please help me,” Grace hiccupped through her sobs. “I’ll do anything. What do you need?”

“A vacation,” Kyle muttered.

Grace stared at him, sniffling.

“I’ll do your job,” she said.

“You’ll what?” Kyle was startled.

“You can retire. Just give me the scythe and I’ll do it.”

“Are you crazy?” Kyle asked. “You know anyone who touches my scythe is stuck here. You don’t want that to happen, trust me.”

“I’m dead serious. If we can get Tristan out of the Seventh Circle and into Heaven where he belongs, then I’ll do it.”

Kyle looked down, his head tilted to one side as he studied Grace. Her eyes were steady, and practically blazing with conviction. How long had it been since he felt passion like that? Decades. Centuries, maybe. He remembered his early years as a reaper, his starry-eyed enthusiasm, his excitement at meeting people from all walks of life. So much had changed since then, but that wasn’t the problem. His current enervating ennui was telling him something, something he had been unwilling to admit: he was burnt out. He found no purpose in his job anymore, no joy in being of service. But here was someone who could take his position and be the kind of undead escort people deserved.

He considered the proposition. It could take days to navigate the underworld, which meant departed souls in Cherryvale would start piling up. Souls without escorts tended to float mournfully through town, which upset the general population. His supervisor would be incensed. He held back a smile. He could see him now, face red, wings trembling with rage as he berated Kyle. But it wouldn’t be Kyle. It would be Grace. He could disappear, go to the Bahamas, or even Bali, and sip Mai Tais on the beach.

He had always wanted to see Bali.

“Well? Are you going to stand there forever?” Grace demanded. “Are you going to help me, or what?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, kid,” Kyle said, extending his hand. She shook it. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

~~~~~~~~

Hell, Kyle mused as he drank his coffee the next morning, was a place of no return. He had never heard of anyone getting out. In order to get to the Seventh Circle one would have to first make it through the first (unguarded), the second (guarded by Minos), the third (guarded by Cerberus), the fourth (guarded by Plutus), the fifth and sixth (navigating the River Styx), and finally, to enter the seventh, one must battle the Minotaur, and get to the second of three rings to find the unfortunate Tristan.

Not to mention that at any given time one could meet the Furies or an almost endless number of demonic forces, none of whom were apt to look kindly upon a living human interloper, even with a reaper as escort. Only one mortal had ever made it through all nine circles and come out on the other side, and even then it was by the skin of his teeth and a measure of Divine Will.

Divine Will. Now there was a thought. Perhaps there was a way to get some of that. He would have to talk to Gabe.

A knock on his door brought him out of his reverie, and he opened it to find Grace, wearing a backpack, leather jacket, and combat boots, her kohl-rimmed eyes gazing up at him expectantly. Her wild curls had been twisted into coils and pinned to her head, though they looked prepared for tonsorial rebellion should the opportunity arise.

“Are you ready to go?” she demanded, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently.

“Just about,” he said as she pushed past him into the room. “Let me finish my coffee.”

“Finish your coffee? While Tristan is getting eaten by harpies over and over? We can’t waste any time.”

“What does it matter if he gets eaten ten times, or twelve?”

“What are you, heartless?”

“It has been said.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m not! We need to get moving.”

“About that. How do you plan to get Tristan to Heaven? I assume you have a plan? You know how it goes; suicides go to the Seventh Circle. End of story.”

“The Seventh Circle of Hell is reserved for the violent,” Grace recited. “I know. And suicide is violence against yourself. But people who commit suicide aren’t in their right minds; they think dying is the only way to stop the pain they’re in. Tristan was sensitive, too sensitive. He got upset over roadkill, and mousetraps, and people who squish bugs for no reason.”

“I get it,” Kyle said with a nod. “The world is pretty difficult for people like that.”

“We had a band. Just a few of us, but we were getting pretty good. I play the bass, and sing, and another kid from school is lead guitar. Tristan wrote the lyrics for our songs. I noticed they were getting darker lately, but I told myself it was just for effect. He told me he was okay, and I believed him. I should have made him get help!”

Grace’s eyes brimmed with tears again, and she dashed them away angrily.

“It’s not your fault,” Kyle said. “I see a lot of the living blame themselves for the deaths of their loved ones, but in the end, it’s pointless. When it’s time, it’s just time. Those are the rules.”

“Sometimes rules are stupid,” Grace said. “And the suicide rule isn’t just stupid, it’s cruel. Can’t you talk to somebody about changing it?”

“The man upstairs isn’t likely to alter things at this point.”

“But he’s your boss. Can’t you go see him, at least talk to him about it?”

“You don’t understand. These things have to go through the proper channels. I can’t just go knock on his office door.”

“Well then, we’ll have to do it my way.”

“And what’s your way, again?”

“I’ve been studying the levels of Hell and I know all about them. Each circle is guarded by different people. We just have to find their weak spots.”

“People, you say?” Kyle gave a short laugh. “Would that it was just people we’ll be dealing with. You’re taking your life into your hands, you know that, right?”

“I’m a first-degree black belt. I’ve been taking karate classes since I was six years old. I know a few things about fighting. And I brought this.”

She opened her backpack to reveal a ten-inch kitchen knife. She snapped the pack closed again and slung it over her shoulder.

“Now, can we get going?”

“I guess we’d better,” Kyle said. He knelt down and bent his angular frame towards her.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked, brow furrowing.

“Did you think we’d take an Uber?” Kyle said. “Climb up, sweetheart. Contrary to what you might have heard, there’s no elevator to the spiritual realms.”

Grace nodded and stepped one foot on his knee, taking his hand as he swung her onto his back. After an awkward scramble and considerable grunting, she was situated above his wings, her arms around his neck.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good,” she said.

Kyle waved his scythe in a circular motion in the air, and a swirling portal appeared, a doorway shot through with flashes of white light and boiling, dark clouds.

“Hold on tight,” he said as he shook his wings and took flight into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel stood at the entrance to Heaven, twirling his flaming sword and keeping the long, restless line of people in order.

“No pushing” he shouted. “You’ll all get in just as soon as Peter processes your papers. Try to be patient, for God’s sakes.”

“I’ve been standing here for half an hour,” someone complained. “I want to see my mansion!”

“Quit your bellyaching,” Gabriel said. “You can’t rush these things.”

Suddenly there was a swirl of cloud, the sound of distant thunder, a flash of white light, and a reaper stood before him. He blinked. Was he hallucinating, or was there a waifish human girl on his back?  

“Hey Gabe,” Kyle said. “How are you?”

“Kyle,” Gabriel replied, trying to find words to frame his astonishment. “What the heck?”

“Oh, this?” the reaper said, gesturing at the girl, who nodded her head in greeting. “This is Grace. We need a favor.”

“A favor! For what? You know what, I don’t even wanna know.” Gabriel pointed his sword at a man who was moving surreptitiously around a small girl in front of him. “No cutting!”

The man took a hasty step back.

Gabriel rubbed his temples. Kyle took out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out. He extended it to the angel, but Gabriel shook his head and pointed to a small, clear square on his bulging, tattooed bicep.

“You trying to kill me, or what? You know I’m trying to quit. I got the patch and everything.”

“Sorry.”

“Waddaya want, anyway? I know you ain’t here to chit-chat.”

“We’ve got a kid down in the Seventh Circle that we’d like to see in Heaven instead.”

“Suicide?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how it goes, Kyle. Rules are rules.”

“I’m getting really sick of hearing that,” the girl burst out. “Rules are rules, no matter whether they make any sense, or are antiquated, or fundamentally ridiculous. It’s like in Wisconsin it’s illegal to carry a fish down Main Street on Saturdays in the summertime. Rules like that need to be wiped from the books, not supported.”

“What’s her deal?” Gabriel said, arching his thick eyebrows.

“She’s the kid’s friend.”

“His best friend,” she corrected. “And this is bullshit.”

“She’s got a point, don’t you think?” Kyle said. “Anyway, all we’re asking for is that you have a little chat with The Boss, you know? Tell him the kid doesn’t belong there. Get a dispensation, or an indulgence, or whatever you call it.”

“I dunno, man,” Gabriel said, looking dubious. “I hate to bother him with stuff. He’s pretty busy.”

“I know, I know. But he’s bound to at least give you an audience. It would take me months to see him.”

“Okay, so I’ll give it a try. Is that all? I gotta do my job.”

He turned to survey the line and raised his sword again.

“What did I say? Wait your damn turn!”

“Damn?” Kyle smirked.

“Lay off me, would you? It’s just an expression. Are you going, or what?”

“There was one more thing,” Kyle hedged.

“What? Spit it out and get outta here.”

“Can we get a Hell Pass?”

“Kyle,” Gabriel sighed. “I can’t just give those out like candy. I gotta get permission.”

“That’ll take too long. We’ve got to go now; the kid’s being eaten by harpies as we speak. Just one, for the tough spot. We’ll do our best with the rest. C’mon you owe me one; remember the cherub I caught you with? And I kept my mouth shut, didn’t I?

“All right, all right,” Gabriel groaned, looking furtively over his shoulder. “Keep it down, huh? One pass. But you didn’t get it from me.”

The angel reached into a pocket, pulled out a glowing golden square, and handed it to Kyle. Kyle took it and tucked it into his robe.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Have fun. Say hello to Satan for me,” Gabriel said, shaking his head and turning back to the saints.

“Hey, when do I get my harp?” someone called.

“For the last time, there ain’t no harps!” he shouted back. “Sometimes this job really sucks,” he muttered.

“I feel ya, buddy,” Kyle said, as he and Grace disappeared.

~~~~~~~

It was not a trip for the faint-of-heart, Kyle thought, as he and Grace shot down the vortex to Hell. It was downright nauseating, and he didn’t even have a stomach. By the time they hit the ground and emerged from the portal, Grace was puking all over his robes. Kyle stopped to let her catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped with a mortified look, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve had way worse, I promise.”

The sulfurous stench filling the air didn’t help. God help this mortal. Literally he thought, looking down at Grace with pity. She had asked for this, however, and she was about to find out all that she hadn’t bargained for.

“’Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?’” she said, glancing at the placard above them. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

Without a word, Kyle clapped one hand around Grace’s eyes and dragged her through the antechamber, where worms were devouring the blood and tears of the uncommitted, and past the First Circle, where groups of people (pagans, presumably) wandered endlessly and aimlessly in a monochromatic wasteland.

The last thing he wanted was for her to take up their causes as well.

“Let me go,” she cried, struggling vainly beneath his bony grip. When they had safely arrived at the Second Circle, Kyle released her. Glaring at him and panting, Grace straightened her jacket and turned to face The Guardian of All Levels, Minos.

To say that Minos was formidable would be not only a gross underestimation, Kyle thought, but a blank disservice to his might and bulk. A titan of immense proportion, he was not quite human but not quite animal, a frightful beast with a serpent’s hindquarters and a gaping mouth full of huge, sharpened teeth. As they stood watching, Minos wrapped his tail around the nearest soul and counted its sins.

“Five measures,” he roared in a voice that rattled Kyle’s bones. “Angry, are ye? Ye shall see what true anger is. Get thee to the fifth circle, ye cursed being, and be seen no more.”

With that, the soul was swept away in a flood of black, grasping demons.

Kyle shrank behind a nearby boulder reflexively, out of some dim memory of violence, some visceral fear that was no less acute for his lack of viscera. He had not been human for centuries, and yet the sheer terror of Minos’s appearance was not diminished.

Grace, however, seemed to feel no such apprehension.

“Hey!” she shouted, above the shrieks of the damned. “How do I get to the Seventh Circle, you big, ugly poop nugget?”

Minos stopped in the middle of reaching for the next soul and turned to stare at the teen. Kyle gripped his scythe tighter, wondering if it would yield any power against the god, wondering if he and Grace stood a chance, wondering why he even cared. Minos leaned down, looming over Grace like a bird with a bug, and roared.

“WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION YOUR GOD?”

The words reverberated off the cliffs and echoed in Kyle’s ear holes. He felt the full implication of Minos’s words: Grace was miniscule, unknown, powerless, useless, insignificant. Why should Minos care what she had to say? This was over before it had even begun.

Grace, however, did not seem to hold the same opinion.

“My name is Grace,” she said simply. “And I’ve come to rescue my friend.”

The god seemed to grow larger still, a vast, swirling cyclone of menace as he towered above everything below him. The atmosphere grew thick with a choking mist that caused Kyle’s eyes to burn, yet Grace stood with her hands on her hips, face upturned, chin forward. How long before they were both obliterated, Kyle wondered, awaiting the blast of energy that would reduce them to ash.

Just as suddenly, however, the air cleared, and the darkness evaporated into a single sphere of light that encompassed Grace and Kyle. A small, balding man stood with them, dressed in a corduroy blazer with patches on the elbows.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Go on, then. The Seventh Circle is beyond the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, of course. Each one with its own hazards, you know. But you’ll get no trouble from me. I don’t care.”

“Minos?” Kyle stammered. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, you nitwit,” the small man replied. “I can’t always be a giant, grotesque monster. It’s exhausting.”

“Okay then,” Grace said, straightening her shoulders and adjusting her backpack. “Let’s get going.”

Kyle hurried after her, turning only once to glance back at the god, who stood waving as they went.

“Go on,” he called, a smirk on his face. “Good luck. You’ll be back here in no time. Dead.”

~~~~~~~~

The Third Circle was miserable, by all accounts. Kyle and Grace trudged, heads down, through a torrential, foul, and icy rain, muck sucking at their feet. The moans and cries of the souls who were relegated there filled the air, their bloated and naked bodies struggling to rise from the mud in an undulating mass. Kyle followed Grace as she picked her way carefully through them, grimacing as she tried to clear the rain from her eyes.

“Shit!” she cried suddenly, looking at her hands in horror. “Is this…shit?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Kyle replied. “One of the joys of the Third Circle. Poop rain.”

“But…why?”

“Some statement against gluttony, I suppose.”

“So why not rain down brussels sprouts, or kale?” she asked. “That’s gross enough.”

A body pulled itself up from the ground and lunged like a dying sea lion towards Grace, one rotting, meaty hand wrapping around her ankle.

“Help…me…” it rasped. Its face was twisted and grotesque, its teeth green and decaying. Maggots tumbled from holes in its skin. “So…hungry…”

Grace shrieked and kicked, stumbling backwards. Kyle grabbed her arm to steady her. The soul sank back to the ground with a low moan. Grace was pale beneath the layer of grime covering her.

“Sure you want to keep going?” Kyle asked.

Before she could answer, a high, wavering howl filled the air. They turned to see an enormous, three-headed creature approaching them on stealthy paws, each one the size of a truck tire.

“Cerberus,” Kyle said, cursing. “I was hoping we’d get through without him spotting us. Run!”

“No,” Grace said, darting ahead of him before he could protest. “I planned ahead!”  

“Grace, stop!” Kyle shouted. The hound of Hell was known for both its aggression and its fearsome appetite. The girl would be gone in one swallow. He wondered wildly if his scythe would make any impression through the creature’s thick pelt.

“Here, puppy!” Grace shouted. She was unslinging her backpack and rummaging through it as the beast bore down upon her. “Does the puppy want some treats?”

Cerberus tipped his gigantic head up and howled again, the mournful wail sending a cold shiver down Kyle’s spine. Rather than take Grace in his teeth, however, Cerberus leaned his nose down and sniffed violently, Grace’s entire body rising slightly off the ground with the force of it. Undaunted, she found what she was searching for and held it triumphantly aloft.

“Does he want some Thin Mints?” she crooned. “Does Cerberus like cookies?”

She tore open the box and tossed a dark morsel, which Cerberus caught in one mouth and gulped down with enthusiasm. Grace poured the contents on the ground and the monster immediately began devouring the cookies, each head growling and snapping at the others in an attempt to garner them all. Grace backed away and motioned to Kyle.

“Now we can go!” she whispered.

Together they carefully stepped past Cerberus, who was already snuffling the ground for crumbs.

“Have you got any more boxes?” Kyle muttered.

“No,” Grace answered, panic in her voice. “I didn’t realize he’d be so huge!”

Cerberus, after a frustrated whine, whirled around with a low growl that reverberated under Kyle’s feet.

“Go!” he shouted.

They bolted away, but with one snap of his teeth, Cerberus grabbed hold of Grace’s backpack and lifted her into the air. She screamed, her legs kicking, as the dog shook her like a rabbit. He dropped her into the mud and opened his jaws, head swinging like the bucket of a John Deer backhoe as it bent to swallow her whole.

Kyle lifted into the air and flew towards the Hound of Hell, shouting and brandishing his scythe with more desperation than conviction. Cerberus, with one swipe of his paw, sent him tumbling back into the mire. He struggled to his feet again and prepared to launch another attack, but Cerberus abruptly sat back, licking his three sets of lips with an anxious whimper. He trembled. He belched. He began to drool copious ropes of mucous atop Grace, who scrambled away.

“What’s going on?” Kyle asked, helping her up.

“The Thin Mints,” she gasped. “They’re…chocolate.”

“Do you mean—”

Before Kyle could finish his sentence, Cerberus vomited volcanically, heaving chunks of steaming stomach contents onto the ground. He hacked, paused briefly, turned in a desperate circle, and began to vomit again. Praying the attacks would continue, Kyle scooped Grace beneath one arm and took flight, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the fourth circle, and the limit of Cerberus’s domain.

Unfortunately, the sounds of splashing spew faded and were followed by a strangled, enraged cacophony of barking. Cerberus gave chase.

“We’ll never make it!” Grace wailed. Kyle turned his head to see how close the dog was and spotted a tumble of boulders lying at the foot of a blackened hillside, a dark cleft between them. He felt the wind of Cerberus’s nostrils on his back as he banked sharply towards the rocks, and together he and Grace shot through the mouth of the tiny cave and crashed into the opposite wall.

Outside, there was the terrifying sound of monstrous claws clattering over the stones as Cerberus whined and attempted to dig his way after them, but the stones held fast and the noise finally ceased. Kyle heard the creature plodding away. He slumped against the cave wall with a groan. Grace was shivering beneath his cloak but grinned up at him when he looked down at her.

“Piece of cake,” she said.

“Piece of cookie,” he said, smiling back at her in spite of himself. “Thin Mints, huh? You don’t look like the Girl Scout type.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

She crawled to the entrance to the cave and peered out.

“He’s just sitting there, staring this way,” she said. “Ugh! How will we ever make it past?”

“We’re probably the most excitement he’s had in millennia,” Kyle said, examining their surroundings. “Who can blame him for wanting us to come back out? But look here; there might be better way after all.”

At the back of the cave there was another opening, from which eddied a steady, cool, malodorous breeze.

“It’s a tunnel, I think,” Kyle said. He shook his scythe and a light flickered at the tip of it, then began to shine steadily.

“I didn’t know it could do that,” Grace said in surprise.

“We reapers go through a lot of dark places,” he said with a shrug. “The scythe’s light comes standard with every model.”

He held the scythe aloft and illuminated the space. The opening was definitely a tunnel, but how far it went and to where was more than Kyle could guess.

“It might vomit us out in a churning pit of eternal strife, where we’re mauled by gorgons,” he said. “Or it might get us straight to the Seventh Circle.”

“What are we waiting for?” Grace asked. “Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~

The tunnel was blissfully quiet after the shrieks and moans that had accompanied them every step of the way so far. Still, it was oppressively humid, and tangled roots jutted from the ceiling, dripping a thick, sticky moisture onto their heads.

Kyle became aware after a while that the darkness was fading as another light was growing stronger, and he saw the end of the tunnel ahead. Grace went through the opening without hesitation, and he cringed. Would she never learn caution? As he poked his head out, however, he breathed a sigh of relief. Before them lay a vast river, and he realized they had managed to skip past circles four and five.

At least we don’t have to deal with the greedy or angry he thought. But it’s only going to get worse from here

The Styx was a vast, rippling, fetid, poisonous, dark, ominous channel of despair. It separated the lesser side of Hell from the greater, as every circle on the other side was three times as hideous as those they had already passed. One touch of its inky black water and a mortal would meet certain death.

Kyle glanced at Grace, about to warn her, then stared.

“What?” Grace asked, wiping her brow.

“You’re covered in snot,” he said.

“Ewwwww,” she said, looking down at her hand and then back up at him. “So are you.”

“The roots in the tunnel. Apparently they were dripping with mucous.”

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What else?”

“Don’t touch the water,” he said. “Make sure not even one drop splashes on you. You’ll die if it does.”

“Fantastic,” she said, backing up. “So how do we get across?”

“The boatman,” Kyle said, nodding his head towards the river, where a craft was making its way steadily towards them. “Charon.”

He squinted through the gloom, trying to discern what he was seeing. Despite his trepidation, he was curious about Charon’s appearance, as descriptions of the god were inclined to vary wildly, from old, decrepit man to fearsome, tusked creature. There was even one rumor that suggested his entire body was the boat itself, guided by an enormous, sentient head at one end.

As the vessel drew closer, he was shocked to see that the ferryman was well-built and almost astonishingly handsome, with a mass of dark curls hanging to his shoulders and an enviable jawline. His posture was relaxed yet powerful, his bare, muscular arms rippling as he steered the boat with one long, thick pole. He might have been mistaken for a model, had the surroundings been less eldritch horror and more Abercrombie and Fitch.

If Abercrombie and Fitch models had crimson, flaming eyes, that is. Kyle glanced at Grace, who was staring at Charon, her mouth hanging open.

“You’re going to catch flies,” he said, elbowing her. She elbowed him back.

“Look at him,” she whispered. “He’s…beautiful! What’s he doing down here?”

“Nobody really knows,” Kyle whispered back. “He’s the son of Erebus, who is the son of Chaos, who is the daughter of no one at all. Older than time itself, they say. His mother is Nyx, which is to say, night. I guess he feels at home here. Or maybe he just likes to be the best-looking guy in the room.”

A huddled group of souls on the riverbank recoiled as the boat docked at a small, ramshackle pier jutting out from the slimy bank.

“There now, you lot! Come aboard then,” Charon called in a jovial tone. “There’s no getting out of it. Better to get it over with.”

“Over with,” someone grumbled. “More like barely started.”

“Time to pay for your crimes,” the boatman continued. “Get in or you’ll have to swim, and believe me, you don’t want that.” His scarlet eyes flashed at them and as one body they began to climb into the boat.

“Hurry it up, please,” he continued. “Damnation waits for no man.” He waved at Grace and Kyle before doing a double take. He pulled himself up to his full height, which was considerable, and pointed at them with his dripping staff.  “What in the name of Satan are you doing here, reaper? And accompanying a living mortal? Are you insane?”

“Just about,” Kyle said, striding forward. “We need to cross. We’re on our way to the Seventh Circle.”

Charon put his head back and laughed far longer than Kyle thought was necessary. He laughed until tears formed in his eyes, which instantly evaporated with small sizzles and wisps of vapor.

“That’s great! Just classic. Thank you; it’s been a long time since I heard anything so funny. I don’t get a lot of chances to laugh down here.”

“It’s not a joke,” Grace said, frowning. “Let us board. We can’t waste any more time.”

“Well, I’m sorry, missy,” he answered. “But not since Dante have I let a mortal on my ship, and I’m not about to get in trouble for that sort of thing again. I was grounded for weeks; had to do KP duty in Hell’s kitchen. It’s no fun peeling the flesh off the dead, let me tell you.”

“Please,” she said, desperation filling her voice. “I need to save my friend.”

“Yes, Charon,” Kyle said. “We’ve already made it this far. Let us cross. No one needs to know.”

“Oh, but they will,” he answered. “And I’m not about to lose my license again, not for any money. You’ll have to swim.”

Charon turned to prod a latecomer onto the boat and Grace looked at Kyle, her face a mask of despair.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” she whispered. “Will he take a bribe of some kind?”

“You can’t bribe the boat keeper of the River Styx,” he muttered. “But don’t worry. You’re not the only one with tricks up their sleeve.”

He strode forward and stood before the boatman, who towered over him, his chiseled features stony.

“I hate to do this,” Kyle said, drawing from his robes the glowing golden square. “But I have a Hell Pass.”

Charon’s face fell as he gazed at the square, his mouth hanging slightly open, his perfectly-groomed eyebrows raised in surprise.

“How,” he asked. “Did you manage that?”

“I’ll never tell,” Kyle answered. “Now let us on.”

Charon groaned, snatching up the pass and stepping aside. Kyle gestured to Grace and she came, carefully stepping over the muddy bank and onto the pier, where the reaper helped her into the boat.

“Mind you stick to the middle, girly,” Charon said, face grim as he pushed away from the land with his staff. “One splash and you’re toast.”

Grace did as she was told. Kyle came close and wrapped her in his cloak, spreading his wings over her to protect her from the droplets of oily water coming up from Charon’s staff as he navigated across the river. From within the water’s depths, tormented faces emerged and submerged again and again, choking on thick black mud that erupted from their mouths.

“The souls of the sullen,” Kyle told her. “They grumbled in the light of day so now they are punished in the river.”

“I’ll never complain again.” Grace shuddered and pressed closer into him.

Before long they were on the other side. Grace hesitated before debarking and looked up at Charon. He wore an expression of practiced boredom, but something flickered behind it when she took his hand.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you, she says,” he replied, turning to Kyle. “For what? You’ll never make it out of the Seventh Circle alive. I’ve done you no favor.”

“You’ve done as much as you could,” Kyle said. “And that’s more than most people can say. If we succeed—”

“When we succeed,” Grace interrupted.

“She’s certainly not lacking in conviction,” Charon said, his bored air falling away. “I forgot how noble humans can be.”

“We’re going to rescue Tristan,” Grace said. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t possible.”

“Maybe,” Charon said. “But there’s a lot still ahead of you.”

“Just the sixth circle, and then we’ll be there.”

“Just she says. Well, missy, I guess if anyone can do it, it’d be you. If you get up to Heaven with your friend, put in a good word for me, will you? Maybe I can get a pass on KP duty.”

“I sure will,” Grace answered. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of us.”

“I’ll be peeling souls for a long, long time,” Charon said. “Count on it.” With that, he pushed off again, headed back to the other side, where Kyle could make out a new group of damned souls awaiting his services.

~~~~~~~~

Towering before them as they got safely away from the river was a sprawling city, its fortifications rising up from the barren ground, a wooden door with a small window set in the middle of the stone wall. A line of souls was being herded towards the entrance by a hulking creature with a dirk in its hand. Kyle ducked behind a dead tree and pulled Grace along with him. Peering around the trunk, he whispered to her.

“It’s Dis.”

“This?”

“No, Dis. The Hell-city.”

“Oh, right. I read about it. We’ll have to get through it.”

“Grace, you’re alive. Living beings aren’t allowed. They’ll probably throw you straight into the Styx if they see you.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Climb onto my back again,” Kyle said. “Under my cloak this time.”

Grace did as she was told, scrambling up and gripping his bony scapulas with both hands. He folded both his wings over her.

“Keep quiet and still.”

I hope the gatekeeper buys this he thought, as he strode towards the entrance. He’d take a page out of Grace’s book and be the most confident person in the Hellscape. Fake it til you make it he told himself. He pushed his way to the front, scattering the souls beneath him and passing the creature who was pushing them forward.

“Hey,” the creature said, without any conviction.

“Hey yourself,” Kyle answered.

The souls hardly made a sound of protest, none of them seeming too keen to enter the city and meet their doom on the other side. He knocked on the door and a face like a smashed pumpkin appeared in the window.

“A reaper!” it exclaimed in a high, nasal voice. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to drop souls off with Minos.”

“I’m alone,” Kyle replied. “I’m here to bring a message to Satan.”

The face looked taken aback and disappeared for a moment. Kyle could hear whispering. In a moment the demon returned.

“What’s the message? One of us will take it.”

Kyle did his best otherworldly cackle, long and loud; the one he reserved for rapists and murderers and people who stood right in the middle of doorways. It was impressive and terrifying, and he felt even Grace shudder against him. It seemed to make an impression on the face too, as it drew back momentarily, biting its scabrous lip.

“You will, will you?” Kyle chortled. “And what demon wants that job? You know it’s certain punishment to go before Satan without permission.”

“And you have permission, then?”

“Of course I do! Would I come all the way down here to your filthy rathole if I didn’t? Stand aside or you’ll answer for this delay.”

The face disappeared and the whispering continued, followed by a scuffling sound. Slowly, the door swung open. The imp bowed low and ushered Kyle inside. The gate slammed behind them with a crash. Kyle assessed his surroundings, trying to appear nonchalant.

The streets that lay before them were crowded with all manner of demonic creatures, riding on the backs of cursed souls and beating them with bone-tipped whips as they begged for clemency. The windows of the shops that lined the lanes were filled with hideous wares: severed heads, mangled bodies, human skin, and entrails hanging in swags from lintels like macabre Christmas decorations. Kyle was glad that Grace was hidden beneath his wings and unable to see the sights, as he doubted that even her stout constitution would bear up well beneath them.

He moved straight ahead swiftly, ignoring the cries of the damned who shrank back from him as though afraid he would take them to a more frightful place yet. The demons shouted after him, calling to ask why he was there and what business he had. He did not turn aside for any of them, keeping his face composed and implacable.

Suddenly there was a shifting beneath his cloak and a frantic whisper.

“I’m slipping! Kyle, help!”

He didn’t know what to do. If he slowed there was a chance that she would fall out from her perch, but if he went faster there was an even greater chance that she would be dislodged. There was the exit gate, some fifty yards ahead. He stopped to allow her a chance to regain her footing, when suddenly a shout rang out.

“Hey! What’s under your wings, eh? What are you hiding there, reaper?” A demon ceased whipping the soul beneath him to look with narrowed eyes at Kyle, who strove to think of something to placate it, but his mind went blank. Just then, with a cry of despair, Grace hit the ground.

For a moment no one moved. The entire surrounding city went quiet, staring at the spectacle of a reaper with a living human girl at his feet. Then, as one, the demons rushed towards them with a roar. Kyle scooped Grace up, spread his wings, and flew for the outer gate.

Flaming arrows and wickedly sharp spears filled the air around them, along with the cries of get them! and traitorous reaper! and mortal scum!

Kyle flapped his long wings desperately as the wall drew closer and closer. As he rose to crest it, a spear shot through his right wing, and he tumbled helplessly over a rampart and onto the ground below. Still clutching Grace, he rose again and ran from the city as if his afterlife depended on it.

~~~~~~~~

It was some time before Kyle stopped, breathing heavily, to collapse amidst a field of flaming tombs from which arose terrible cries of pain and anguish. The tombs stood around them like foul sentinels, burning with a stench so overpowering that Grace looked as though she might faint, or throw up, or both. Instead, she reached out and caressed the shreds of Kyle’s wing, looking at him in sorrow.

“Does it hurt badly?” she asked, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Kyle patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t feel pain like you do. It may never work again, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay. Good. Is this the sixth circle? It smells worse than my dad’s farts.”

“Yes. It’s for those who intentionally lead others astray from the truth.”

They wove their way through the tombs, Grace reading some of the names out loud as they went.

“Pope Alexander the sixth. Pope John the twelfth. Reverend Stanley D. Idziak.”

“Idziak,” Kyle said, filled with a sudden loathing. “I remember him. What a piece of work he was.”

“What did he do?”

“What didn’t he do? He was a child molester, and a liar, and he tried to tell me he was innocent the whole way down here. Screaming that the kids made it all up, that they were delusional and that he’d never hurt anyone. Well, he learned pretty quickly that there’s no way around judgment day.”

From the tomb came a particularly hideous shriek of agony.

“He’s feeling every bit of his punishment now,” Kyle said, hurrying Grace along. “I think we can both imagine what it is.”

They emerged from the tombs and stood before a ridge of jagged mountains that stood like broken teeth surrounding a circular body of water that boiled and steamed with dark, viscous fluid. From within it, bodies leapt and gasped, splashing and crying out for help. On the banks stood a group of centaurs, shooting flaming arrows at those that emerged until they sank beneath the surface once more.

“Well, that’s charming,” Grace said. “What’s all this, then?”

“This, my dear Grace, is a boiling lake of blood full of murderers and those who were violent against others. The perfect place for a summer home. It’s the first ring of the Seventh Circle. There are three, as you know. All have to do with violence.”

“The middle one is for the suicides, because they were violent against themselves,” Grace said, nodding. “I know that much. But people who commit suicide have a disease. Depression is just as deadly as cancer. It’s not their fault that they kill themselves.”

“So you say, and so I agree. But this is how it’s been for thousands of years.”

“Today all that’s going to change,” Grace said, and Kyle had to admire the steel in her eyes. “Today I’m getting Tristan out.”

There was a fearsome roar and a massive creature with a man’s body and the head of a bull charged towards them.

“Duck!” Kyle shouted as the minotaur sailed over their crouching bodies. It crashed into a rotting tree, which exploded into a cloud of splinters, and lay still, apparently stunned. The duo sprinted towards the lake of blood, ducking behind the nearest centaur and breathing hard.

“Help us!” Kyle pled. The centaur looked down at him in surprise.

“Are you Kyle?” he said. He had a noble, if slightly arrogant mien, and Kyle remembered what he had heard about centaurs being a proud and uncompromising race. He wasn’t at all sure this was going to work.

“How do you know me?”

“We had word there was a reaper down here, and with a mortal to boot. They said his name was Kyle, but I thought it was a crazy rumor. You could be torn to shreds and hanging in a shop window in Dis by now. What are you doing?”

“We’ve got to get to the second ring,” Grace said. “I have a friend there I need to save.”

“Words I’ve never heard uttered,” The centaur said. “Now I know you’re crazy.”

“We’re nearly there. Won’t you please help us?”

“I’m just about to get off my shift and go home.” The centaur lifted his bow and shot an arrow cleanly through a struggling body. It groaned and sank below the surface once more. “You have no idea how draining this job is.”

“It looks awful,” Grace said. “Why do you do it?”

“There aren’t a lot of jobs for centaurs these days,” he replied. “And the pay is decent.”

“This will only take a minute,” Kyle said, glancing back at the minotaur’s prone form.

“Why should I help you?”

The minotaur was sitting up and shaking his beastly head, rubbing it with one hand.

“Please,” Grace pled. “Please, help us. Have you never had a friend? Have you never known what it’s like to lose one, and to know he’s being tortured for something he had no control over?”

The centaur gazed at her for a long moment. The minotaur was looking in their direction. Kyle was just about to give up and tell Grace to make a break for it when the centaur spoke in a soft voice.

“My own mother was lost to suicide. She was distraught after my father’s untimely death and never recovered.”

The minotaur was rising to its feet.

“Tell me her name,” Grace said. “We’ll get her out, too.”

“It’s insanity,” the centaur said, but his face lost some of its sternness.

“Do I look sane? Love makes you crazy sometimes.”

“I want to believe in you as much as you believe in you.” He knelt down. “Climb up. I’ll get you over the mountain.”

With a bellow, the minotaur spotted them and raced across the terrain with a speed that defied all laws of motion. Kyle and Grace scrambled onto the centaur’s back as he shot forward but, like a freight train, the minotaur gained on them. They dashed up the jagged mountains as the creature snorted and scrambled but it was no match for the centaur’s gazelle-like leaps. Soon its roars faded away and they were on the other side, looking down upon the wasteland of the second ring.

“Thank you,” Grace said as she slid down the centaur’s side and stood on tiptoe to put her arms around his torso. He looked distinctly uncomfortable but did not move to dislodge her.

“There are harpies here, and possibly gorgons, not to mention the Minotaur may yet find a way over the rocks and gore you to death,” he said, looking from one of them to the other. “And your friend and my mother, as you may know, are trees. How do you plan to get them out as human souls?”

“I…I don’t exactly know,” Grace said. “I didn’t really expect to get this far.”

“Really?” Kyle said, amazed at her admission. “You’ve been so determined, so certain of yourself. I thought you had a plan.”

“What can I say? I’m a great bullshitter.”

Kyle looked at her staunch expression, her smudged black eyeliner, her mucous-crusted hair, her befouled clothes, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, that’s you all right.”

“My mother’s name is Marisol,” the centaur said. “And I hope with all of my heart that your mission is successful.”

He bounded back up the mountainside and disappeared over the ridge. Kyle turned with Grace and walked towards an inhospitable-looking forest full of gnarled, ugly trees of all sizes. As they entered, a thick sense of hopelessness washed over them, and Kyle staggered slightly beneath its weight. He suddenly felt that all was most certainly lost.

“Tristan!” Grace called softly, touching each tree gently as she passed. “It’s Grace. Where are you?”

The trees rustled and moaned, filling the air with cries and pleas for mercy.

“Help me,” one whispered as they stood beneath its broken limbs. “Don’t let them eat me!”

“I’m looking for my friend, Tristan,” Grace said. “And someone named Marisol. Do you know them?”

“I’ve been here for one-hundred and thirty-two years,” it said with a wretched sigh. “I’ve been eaten every day and grow back every night only to be eaten again. I can’t keep track of the newcomers; there are more every day.”

“What am I going to do even if I find them, Kyle?” Grace said, turning to him with tears in her eyes. “I don’t think there’s any point. I feel like there’s no point to anything.”

Kyle was battling the very same thought, though he tried desperately to push it down. “Let’s just concentrate on finding them first.”

They pressed their way through the trees as the darkness became ever more oppressive.

My God Kyle thought. It’s too much. How can anyone bear it?

The air was filled with screams of terror and the beating of leathery wings. Descending from the sky was a cloud of creatures with grotesque, twisted female features and cruel talons that glinted like knives. Their black, matted hair streamed behind them as they beat their bare breasts and shrieked. Kyle and Grace dove onto their stomachs.

The harpies flew into the forest and landed in the trees, where they began tearing at the fleshy leaves and breaking off the brittle branches. They stuffed them into their mouths as they gibbered and burbled with glee. The sounds that the trees made as their bodies were decimated was the worst thing Kyle had ever heard, and that was saying something. They were weeping with rending sobs and begging for help which never came.

Beside him, Grace was crying as well, shuddering with gasping breaths. He closed his eyes and waited for the assault to be over.

Eventually, the beasts had their fill and flew away one by one, still shrieking. The air was filled with wailing and as Kyle stood, he saw every tree covered in dark blood as it seeped out from the fresh wounds and puddled on the ground. Grace rose beside him, her face pale beneath the dirt and filth, closed her eyes and fell into his arms.

“Grace? Grace!” Kyle said, patting her cheeks, shaking her inert form and smoothing her hair away from her face. “Grace, don’t do this to me. We’ve come so far; we can’t give up now.”

Yet he felt he was on the verge of the same collapse. The air was laden with such sorrow as he had never imagined, and the deep despair that hung around them was settling into his chest as insidiously as poison. He slumped to the ground with the teen in his arms and put his head down, feeling tears he didn’t know he could cry welling in his eyes.

A sudden, faint call met his ears at that moment, and he strained again to hear it, thinking it must be his imagination.

“Grace?” it said. “Grace are you there?”

The girl’s eyes fluttered open and she stumbled to her feet.

“Tristan, is that you?” she called. “Where are you?”

“This way,” the voice said, cracking and tearful. “Come this way.”

They followed the sound until a small break in the trees revealed a sapling bending in the dim light, stripped of leaf and branch.

“Tristan,” Grace sobbed as she knelt before it. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. I’m so, so sorry.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” the tree whispered. “It’s too late to do anything. You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know,” Grace said, her tears soaking into the damp earth. “But I thought I could save you. I thought I could get you out. But I see now that it’s hopeless.”

“We are all doomed,” Tristan said.

A tumult drew Kyle and Grace’s eyes away from the broken sapling. From every direction there were crowding vile beings; all the foul creatures they had met along the way, and more that they hadn’t seen before. There were goblins and demons, harpies and gorgons, monsters and furies who flew above them with serpent bodies and human heads. The minotaur burst into the clearing and lowered his horns, ready to gut them on the spot.

“You actually thought you would succeed?” the company jeered at them and pointed. “Your pride has been your downfall. We’ll tear you limb from limb and eat you! We’ll vomit you out and put you back together and do it again for all eternity!”

Kyle felt fear: real, consuming fear, maybe for the first time. What could he do? His scythe might take out one or two, but he knew they’d only evaporate and reform faster than he could dispatch them. Grace reached into her backpack in a flash and drew from it the utility knife, which she brandished with all the fierceness of someone with nothing to lose.

“Bring it, then,” she shouted. “I’m not going down without a fight.”

The company rushed forward, and Kyle struck the first demon to reach him. It burst into a cloud of blackened ash which swept over Grace, who had a coughing fit but still managed to dispatch a goblin with a swift jab of her knife into his neck. The minotaur charged at her and she executed a nearly perfect roundhouse kick to its groin, whereupon it doubled over. She flung herself atop it, stabbing it repeatedly, but it rose again with a roar and flung her to the ground.

They were going to lose, Kyle knew, but he had to admire Grace’s pluck.

He swung his scythe through a clutch of harpies, who evaded and swung back around to claw his face and pick him up by his wings, swinging him into the trees, where he crashed with bone-rattling force. They descended again and he put his arms around his head, prepared to have his skull wrenched from his spinal column.

An enormous clap of thunder scattered the harpies like so many bits of confetti. Lightning split the sky as every eye looked up to see what fresh hell was happening. From the rent in the boiling clouds there came something Kyle could never have hoped for.

A subway train, with Gabriel at the helm.

The gathered mob cried and cowered at the sight, some of them curling into fetal positions, while others tripped over one another in a desperate bid to get away, falling and flailing as they did so. The subway wound down through the sky and, with a squealing of brakes, came to a stop in the glade.

“What’s all this, then?” Gabriel roared, pushing his halo back on his head and brandishing his flaming sword. “Back up, you lot, or I’ll take you to Satan myself! He’ll be gobsmacked to hear how you let these two get past you, I can tell. And you’ll all be frozen forever in Cocytus!”

The company squealed and ran like a herd of pigs, scattering through the trees and out of sight as Gabriel shouted epithets of destruction after them. As their wails faded, the archangel spat on the ground in disgust and turned to Kyle and Grace, who staggered up to face him.

“Looks like I came just in time,” he said, straightening his halo and rolling down his sleeves. “You two were about to be tortured. For all time. With no way of escape. Ever.”

“We get it, we get it,” Grace said wearily. “But how…what are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you that your antics caught the attention of The Boss, who asked to see me before I could ask to see him. Turns out he’s been thinking for a while on what to do about this whole suicide business. He’s gonna let your friend go. Not only that.” He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted into the forest. “You’re all coming with me.”

A rapturous joy filled the air, dispelling the oppressive gloom. There could never be a more grateful audience, Kyle thought, leaning on his scythe and smiling. Grace leapt up and down and hugged Gabriel, clinging to him as she thanked him again and again.

“It’s my pleasure,” the angel said. “I do like to make an exciting entrance. It’s the most fun I’ve had since the last time I visited Earth; that’s always a good day. Well come on, climb aboard.”

“But what about them?” Grace asked. “Do they have to stay trees forever?”

“Oh, right.”

Gabriel brought out a trumpet from the train car and put it to his lips. With one triumphant blast, the trees shimmered and shook. The bark and limbs tumbled to the ground, and in their places stood the souls of the joyful, the hopeful, the sanguine and glad.

The suicides.

In the glade, Kyle watched as Tristan the tree transformed into Tristan the boy, as slight and sensitive as he remembered him, but with a smile lighting up his thin face. Grace rushed to embrace him and ran right through him, of course, but as she turned back the two of them doubled over in laughter. Kyle and Gabriel looked at one another and grinned.

“It’s been a good day’s work,” Gabriel said.

“Yes, Gabe. It sure has,” he agreed.

“Remind me to patch that wing up when we’re done here. You’re gonna need it.” He turned toward the glade. “Everybody in,” he roared to the gathered souls. “And no pushing!”

The whole company scrambled to get into the subway cars, laughing and singing and talking. Grace sat between Tristan and Kyle, the three collapsing in exhaustion against one another.

“Next stop, the Pearly Gates,” Gabe called, throwing a switch on the dash with a dramatic flourish.

“Now then,” Grace said, smiling up at Kyle with her teeth shining in her grime-streaked face. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

~~~~~~~~

Tristan was safely home; he gave Grace an air hug before he stepped forward to greet Saint Peter and cross the threshold into Heaven.

“Thank you for coming after me,” he said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Someday,” she said, a tear tracking down her cheek. “In the meantime, I’m really going to miss you.”

“Shoot.” He tried unsuccessfully to wipe the tear away with his thumb. “You’ll make other friends.”

“Maybe.”

She cast a furtive glance towards Kyle, who knew what she was thinking. One touch of his scythe and she’d never see Tristan again. She’d be committed to an eternity of guiding souls to their final resting places. An eternity. It was a long time.

“You’d better get going, kid,” Kyle said, gesturing towards the gates. “Don’t want to keep Peter waiting.”

“Next!” Peter shouted. He looked down on them from his perch, shuffling papers and muttering. “This new paperwork is a pain in the butt.”

“I love you, Tristan,” Grace said, smiling through her tears.

“I love you too. Promise me you’ll keep our band going.”

“I promise.”

And then he was gone, passing through the gates and out of their sight. Grace sniffled and wiped her eyes. Kyle put his arm around her and squeezed. She turned to him, hand outstretched.

“Give it to me” she said.

“Give what to you?”

“The scythe. A deal is a deal, right?”

“Who says?”

“What’s your problem? Hand the thing over.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t even like Mai Tai’s.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not giving it to you, Grace. You have a life to live, and people to love. When it’s your time to go, I’ll escort you to Heaven myself. Hopefully that won’t be for at least seventy more years.”

“Eighty.” She grinned.

“Even better.”

“All right,” she said, wrapping her arms around his ribcage in a tight hug. “Can I come visit you sometime?”

“I’d love that. Now let’s get you home. You smell terrible.”

~~~~~~~~

Kyle sat at his desk, feet up, pondering. There had been three souls haunting Cherryvale when he had returned, and he suffered the browbeating of his supervisor, as he had predicted. The man had done his best to make him regret his actions. Kyle smiled. As if. In fact, the Earth-wide community of reapers had made him something of a hero; he was receiving messages of admiration from all over the globe.

He plucked a cigar from a box and cut the tip before inhaling its sweet aroma. The reaper for Havana had sent them. He had also received (thus far) chocolates from Switzerland, coffee from Brazil, Macadamia nuts from Hawaii, and a case of Wagyu beef from the reaper over Matsusaka.

Ah well. It was nice, but Kyle knew the hubbub would die down eventually. Work would continue as always: people would transition from one world to the next, and reapers would be their guides. Nothing would really change. He had already transported five souls in the last week, each one sinful and guileless and loving and mean and proud and confused and helpless, all at the same time. He had done his best to be a comforting presence as he met them, encouraging them and answering their many questions as they traveled. And nobody had been doomed to Hell, thankfully. He had heard from Gabriel that The Boss was determined to do less of that, going forward. Maybe one day those gates would be closed to humans forever.

It was a nice thought.

It was holy work, being a reaper. And endlessly fascinating. Something had changed after all—he had. He no longer felt lonely. Grace’s optimism and courage had rubbed off on him and given him a renewed sense of pride in his work. He could see that he hadn’t appreciated what a gift he had been given. All things considered, he thought, as he blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling…

It was a pretty good gig.