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| Fallen Fisticuffs by Beki Yopek |
Contressa Vexus jammed a flask of Devil knows what into her too-tight jeans, then spread her leathery bat wings and launched off The Reaper’s office balcony. From underneath it, I watched her and her wispy hair flap toward the red, green, and blue traffic rings above the dividing line between North and South Fountainia. She blended with the flight traffic in the hellbound bottom circle and flew through an iridescent hell divide. Once I knew she wasn’t coming back, I swung out from under Reap’s office balcony, gripped the railing, and twisted to land like a gymnast.
The Reaper emerged and slammed his newly repaired office door the second I touched down. His hood was up, and he squeezed Seversoul’s haft over and over. I checked my Hades watch-2:05pm-and dusted off my pinstriped blazer and grey blouse. "I know it’s Saturday, but was Contressa drinking on the job?"
His grunt was the grinding of an engine. "That flask of hers is a component in Surface Magic similar to your folio. Didn’t you go to Styx Academy Of Sin with her?"
I grunted right back at him. "Phlegethon-U. I double majored. Blood Magic and Assassin Combat programs."
"Oh, right. I must have forgotten. When did you tell me this?"
Crossing my arms, I eyed him the way Nia eyed me when I’d brain farted. "Job interview, 1880, after the Acheria Conference. Your brother Death interviewed me late in the day and you and I started work right away. Well, among other things. Nia was there. How could you forget her?"
Reap chuckled the way dry leaves scraped together. "Pardon my absentmindedness. Prudence’s fall means you and Contressa will be working four hours of overtime a day."
"Until we find a new bodyguard. How about we ask Nia to hook us up? Or maybe Hildariel could jump in as a temp."
"Nia’s bouncer?"
"That’s right. I used to spar with Hildariel when she visited Phlegethon-U."
"Can she handle hundreds of demon thieves at once?"
"She’s a go-for-the-kill type. I admit she’ll bide her time in a fight, but that’s just because she doesn’t grapple or strike unless it’s a finishing blow."
"And her magic?"
I glanced around to make sure none of the banker angels from the Soul Fountains below were flying up toward us. Then I leaned in and breathed, "Brimstone Chemistry. She loves her weapons, and she has connections on the Vice Market."
The Reaper harrumphed. "So she spends motes on weaponry and makes them explode?"
"It sounds so insignificant when you put it that way," I said, mimicking his voice. " 'Oh, Hildariel only blows demons up. When I interview her, will her job history be all splodey splode splode?' "
Reap’s cackles filled the air, echoing off the Motery Center and the dozen skyscrapers and pyramids in the near distance. "As long as she doesn’t use firearms, I would be content to interview her. Perhaps we should visit the Down South Lounge again soon?"
"For the interview or a stiff drink?"
"Both sound appealing. Now let us begin writing. We will be too fed up to care about it after our shift, so now is the time."
Reap opened the door for me and I strode in. I dug new folders, paper, and pens out of the file cabinets along the walls, then took a seat across from his glass-topped desk. He placed Seversoul on the desktop, then sat in his carved-out chair and spun it so he could gaze at the Soul Fountains below us. Bone scraped bone as he rubbed his hand back and forth along his forehead.
I breathed deep and thanked whatever lucky things I had that he hadn’t asked why Hildariel and I stopped sparring. I had a new partner now, and I chased thoughts of him out of my mind by asking, "Have you ever thought of updating your wardrobe?"
The Reaper shrugged and plucked at his hood. "What’s wrong with my robes?"
"A handsome, professional look with the right dress clothes attracts potential employees."
"But if one robe gets destroyed, I can acquire another from home."
"I can ask Nia to pick out a few classier outfits that would fit you."
"I’ve got three dozen robes at the Vault Cabins in the Sixth Circle."
"We’d have to go the big-and-tall route," I said, sizing him up.
"We are both of us digressing."
"But this is for the Soul Fountains, Reap. That getup screams medieval wrestler monk."
"It makes me more frightening. A thick, flowing robe announces my presence and sparks fear."
I tilted my head at him. "Until a demon thief grabs it and drags you around."
The Reaper seemed to realize he wasn't going to win this one. "Ready your pen, Avaline. It was well after World War One and we had just finished building the Volunteer Guardian Angels." I grinned at his silent surrender as he continued. "While they patrolled big cities and battlefields to report on Pneuma Coalition activity, you and I were visiting Rum Row in New York for news on their newest recruit."
Oh great. Prohibition. That era wrecked demonkind almost as badly as the Industrial Revolution. Not to mention The Reaper fired me that day.
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