“Excuse me?” Luke asks.
“Well, Edgar’s shenanigans have thrown off the soul balance. Most souls are recycled, but at least ten percent are not. We must maintain that percentage because there are only so many vapid bodies to go around.” Doris clasps her hands in front of herself and continues, “Edgar is supposed to be here right now. At least one of you should have gone to the Death Shadow.” She gives a pursed-lip grin and says, “I think we all know which one of you that is.”
I grab Luke’s hand, wishing I could squeeze it.
“How is it out of balance if the Shadow got Edgar? That’s just one soul instead of another, right?” I ask.
“Sort of. He was also scheduled to send one more of his incoming souls to the Death Shadow to fulfill his requirements.”
“What are you getting at, Doris?” Luke asks.
“One of you must be sacrificed.”
We look at each other, both of us in a special kind of panic.
“It doesn’t have to be one of you two, but it can be. But it can also be Nolan or Louisa.” Doris smiles like this news is better than it is.
“You want me to sacrifice a fifteen-year-old girl?” I ask.
“I don’t want you to do anything. I’m just telling you what has to happen.” She turns her gaze directly on Luke. “It should have been you. Your grief watch was disgraceful.”
“He made it through in time.” I would punch this bitch if she would feel it.
“You are correct, Naomi. And he has taken to mentoring very well. It seems he is redeemable.”
“Thanks?” Luke responds.
“You two are free to work this out. Let me know whom you choose, and I’ll tell you what to do from there.”
I open my mouth to argue, and we’re back in the food court. This time there are a few other souls around us.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to go. It’s only fair,” Luke says. He puts his hands over mine across the table. “It’s okay. I wanted Oblivion before I met you. That really wasn’t that long ago. I think.”
“Fuck that,” I say. “That’s not how this is going to go down.”
Chapter 15
Naomi is pretending we have a choice in this matter. It’s kind of endearing. I would be more impressed if I wasn’t busy being terrified.
“What choice do you really think we have, Naomi?” I keep my voice steady, pretending I’m brave and not wondering if I’ll be able to hear myself screaming as I’m being sucked away by the Death Shadow.
“We’re going to throw Nolan under the metaphorical bus. The ‘death bus.’”
“No way.” I lean forward and look at her.
I’m sad that I won’t have a chance to get to know my son. But Alex and Daisy seem to have it covered.
“He lived to over sixty. That’s better than you or I did.”
“He’s an artist. He does woodwork.”
“Then you can learn woodwork in your next life to make up for any art the world will miss because he’s gone.” She leans closer to me, too. But she does it to make sure I can see her rack.
“I can’t do it,” I say, my eyes not leaving her cleavage.
“You have to,” she says.
“Why do you care so much?”
It’s a legitimate question, but I can tell it hurts her.
She leans back and crosses her arms.
“I like you. We’ve bonded. I kind of thought we would do this vapid body thing together. Maybe help each other out so we don’t make the same mistakes again.”
“Look. I get that. I like you, too.”
No way would a girl this hot have liked me before I was dead. But that’s not a good thing to point out right now.
“Maybe you can get his consent,” she says.
“How do I do that?”
“Convince him that he’s making a noble sacrifice. He’s going to Oblivion so the younger of us don’t have to. We can’t lie here, so however we do it will be the honest way.”
I hold out my hands and she places hers on them.
“I’ll try,” I say. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Nolan is standing next to our table. I don’t know how long he’s been there. I wish there was some kind of alert when someone transports to you. Maybe there’s a suggestion box I could submit that to. Probably not.
“Hi, Nolan.” I pull my hands away from Naomi’s. “This is Naomi.”
“Hello,” he says, but doesn’t sit down.
He seems so tall standing over us. A giant, lumbering force like Ron Perlman but softer.
“Would you like to join us?” Naomi gestures to an empty chair.
“Sure.” He pulls out the chair and sits. “This grief watch shit is trippy.”
“It really is. It’s tough work. Not everyone can do it,” Naomi says.
“How did you make the bartender cry?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I just kind of hung out with her until she felt me there.” He’s staring straight ahead, reliving what he just did. “She was pouring my favorite beer. And then she started crying. Didn’t even let go of the tap. The beer overflowed and she didn’t stop the tap until beer ran all over her hand.”
“I’m sorry,” Naomi says and leans toward him. “I know it’s tough.”
“She’s not even twenty-five. Too young to be so sad.” He looks down and says, “I did that to her. I made her feel that way.”
“If you don’t want to do it anymore, you don’t have to. You can give up,” Naomi says.
She’s a viper. A hot little blonde viper.
I’ve never understood exactly what it is that makes attractive women wield such power. Is the hope of getting laid? Or is it just a man’s desire to please a beautiful woman? Why are we so weak?
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You can die. Completely. Instead of finding another body.” The words come out of me quietly. I hate myself for saying it.
“That doesn’t sound like a good option,” Nolan says.
“That’s what you wanted in the first place, right?” Naomi asks. “To die? To be without pain?”
“Well, yeah. But now I’d like that second chance.” His resolve is growing before our eyes. He is immune to Naomi’s hot-girl charm. Probably due to the absence of flesh.
“One of us has to go,” I say.
“Why?” Nolan asks.
“That’s a fair question.” Naomi smiles at him like he’s the star student. “Our mentor screwed up and now things aren’t balanced and one of us has to go to the Death Shadow.” She describes it like a trip to the grocery store.
Nolan sits back in his chair and stares straight ahead again.
“Nolan?” Naomi reaches for his arm, and then he’s gone. “Well, shit.”
“I can’t help but feel that we’re screwed,” I say just before Naomi disappears, too.
“For fuck’s sake. I was right in the middle of something.”
“Sorry to disturb you, princess melon-tits,” Louisa says.
We’re behind a couch. A plaid tweed couch. It’s the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. Louisa is sitting with her knees to her chest.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My dad’s house.” She unfolds her legs and props them against the back of the couch. It would probably be uncomfortable if she could feel it.
“Where did you go the last time I saw you?”
“My mom’s. That was easy. Sad. But easy.”
My best friend in high school had an abortion when she was 14. If she had kept the baby, she would have a kid the same age as Louisa. It’s crazy. I couldn’t even take care of a cat when I was alive. No way I could have been a mother to a teenager.
“My mom was easy, too. I think she blamed herself,” I say for no clear reason. The thought had never entered my mind until that second. “When I was alive, she would barely talk to me. Always busy with church or coffee or shopping. She was the whitest white woman I ever knew. She had the best pills of anyone.”