Page 15 of Hot Ghoul Summer

“What??” Sera’s clarion cry could bring down several battalions of warrior angels.

“Shhh. I know his type! I know thugs like Nicky Cross. Now that he’s dead, his second-in-command will take over and find Gary Garmin, and he’ll throw Molly at them again!”

“Slow down! Who’s Cross, who’s Garmin? Molly’s the kid?”

“She’s no child, she’s twenty-three, Cross is the one I reaped in the ECNUR incident, and Garmin is the low-life dad who admitted that he was lusting after Molly even when she was a teenager.”

“Ewwww.”

“So, I’ve got to keep her safe until Garmin has been handled.” I tug my hood twice and smile at Sera in my formal wear. “Care to babysit while I run an errand?”

“What? No! Toby, that breaks all the rules.” Sera changes into her “war paint,” her beautiful fair-skinned face with raven locks turning into a beautiful skull with floral patterns running through the bones. “You’re going to get your scythe pulled—maybe for good.”

“I don’t care. I need to save her,” I insist stubbornly.

“What’s gotten into you!? You’re the quietest guy in our branch, and suddenly you want to be Rambo, flying in, scythe a-blazing?”

I grimace and flex my hand. “Garmin!” I hiss. Gary’s scroll pops into my palm, charred and smelling of sulfur. “Well, that’s a dead giveaway.” I cough as pungent yellow smoke rises from the glowing sheet. I unfurl it, and my eyes dart to the bottom. “Sixteen years from now. Drunk driving accident—three cars involved. Kills himself and one other, turns two people—one adult, one child—into permanent paraplegics.” My eyes are burning. I know that right now I look more like the scary Halloween version of myself than is comforting. If Molly comes down right now, she’ll faint in terror—and I’ll be another six feet deeper.

“Toby, listen. You know we can’t fix things just because we want to. That’s not a right we have. If we do that sort of thing, the world will devolve into chaos.”

“Martina Bianchi.” I toss Gary’s scroll down, and it poofs away in a cloud of acrid smoke. Molly’s takes its place, soft and white, glowing and smelling like clouds and roses.

My insides freeze as I pull the scroll open and read the shimmering gold letters along the bottom.

“What?” Sera whispers.

“Three weeks from now.”

Sera’s voice is tight. “She’s not your client. She’s not in your region, I can see the badge number on the scroll. She goes to a member of Local 88. Put it back, Toby.”

I ignore her. “Three weeks from now. Strangled.” I don’t read the rest, but there’s more. I see several names. More than one person will have her blood on their hands. I can’t allow that. In seconds, I can feel blue flame haloing my head, my face transforming into something cold and bony, my ribcage crackling with fire.

Now I look like the Reaper everyone fears, a shadowy thing of bones and retribution. No one would confuse me for a Halloween decoration now.

“She’s going to be murdered. Brutally. Horribly. And this only tells me that it happens, not how she’ll feel during it. If she’ll suffer. If she’ll be afraid. If she’ll wish she’d have listened to me in her last moments.”

“Shit.” Sera winces and looks away.

“I won’t let that happen. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her to trust me—and I’m going to take Gary Garmin’s soul—even if I have to trade what’s left of mine to do it.”

“Toby, there has to be a way to tell her what happens. That’s a much smaller infraction. You might get a suspension without being removed from duty. Think of the people you have left to help. Think of Musketeer.” Sera bends and scoops up my dog, a three-headed Cerberus-Corgi cross. (People in Pine Ridge call it a Cerbi.)

“Using a man’s dog against him...” I frown.

“Just think about what I’m saying. There has to be another way besides taking a soul that’s not yours to reap.”

I do think about it. I think about Musketeer. (Named after the book. Get it?) I should have brought him with me, but he caught seventeen seagulls last year, and if you’ve ever had to catch seagull ghosts, you’d know that it’s easier to hire a pet-sitter. (Even undead, they still poop and peck. They also steal your lunch.)

I love him, but he’ll still love me whether I lose my job or not. In fact, I’d rather my dog know I did the right thing for a woman in danger than the right thing for my career or reputation.

“Toby?” Sera prods.

“Are you going to stop me?”

She hesitates. “Why did you really call me?”

“Because I trust you.”

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