Page 1 of Seduction of a Psychopomp
Chapter 1
Grim
There’snosuchthingas a real immortal.
At least, not in the way that most people assume. Those of us that live longer than memory—longer than myth—would eventually be called home to the Creator, whether by his own design or the heat death of the universe. The immense boredom of wandering the planet, even among the various planes of existence, would be too much for any of us to bear for an actual eternity.
That was what I tried to remind myself of as I stood on the wet pavement in front of a single-story craftsman house in a quiet neighborhood in North Seattle. Death—the end of one’s corporeal form—eventually came for us all, in one way or another. I didn’t know the name of the man who owned the house, had never met him, but as I climbed his steps and passed through the locked front door, I watched the moments he held dearest in my mind’s eye. It was never the grand events that these souls broadcasted out into the universe as they separated from their mortal bodies. Not the weddings or the graduations, though occasionally the birth of a child made its way in. It was the quiet moments—the man’s wife handing him a perfect cup of tea, an afternoon nap on the couch with his favorite cat, his daughter’s giggles as he pushed her on a swing, the scent of the perfume that his mother had favored when he was young.
I did not know him, but in that moment, Ilovedhim. Just as I loved thousands of souls that I had escorted safely into the afterlife over the years. I never knew their names, didn’t know where they came from, or where they were going, but I knew them for a few brief moments. Knew the shape of their soul and who they were at their core. Saw them in their final moments and bore the duty of protecting them on their steps to the other side.
The tug of his soul pulled me through the darkened front room of the house. If I’d possessed the ability to broaden my focus, I would have noticed the favorite cat perched on the arm of the sofa, watching me as I crossed the room in silence. Or the progression of family photos that showed children becoming adults and having children of their own spanning the length of the hallway. Or the soft, even breaths from the man’s wife, still sleeping peacefully beside his now unoccupied body, unaware her beloved was with her no more. But his soul called to mine, and everything else was unimportant.
I stopped at the end of their bed, one foot in the natural world and one foot in the ether. His spirit hovered directly above where he had slept, his presence illuminated by a faint white glimmer, invisible to anyone who couldn’t see into the spirit realm. It’s common for people who don’t realize they’re dead to remain in the same spot they died in, perhaps even going about the same tasks they were performing when they passed. A faint sense of relief stole through me to find that he had not gone wandering. He was still safe.
Well, as safe as a dead man could be, in any case.
My magic was already thrumming through me, wrapping my body in a cloak of shadows to keep me hidden from everything—except for the occasional house cat—and allowing me to step through physical objects. I drew more magic into myself and reached into the darkness around me to pull my lantern staff from the shadows, producing the nine-foot rod with practiced efficiency. It was a good weapon, one I could morph into any number of useful objects, but for now I simply required its light. I planted the end of the staff on the floor and pushed my magic into it, lighting the lantern with a soft glow that mimicked the glimmer and swirl of the man’s spirit. Noticing me for the first time, his essence rose higher and drifted toward me, everything in him focused on the light I held.
“Come with me,” I instructed.
Itwasstilldarkwhen I returned to my apartment that morning. The air was cool and damp, with a hint of chill that signaled the end of summer as I made my way back to my one-room apartment. This unit was considerably smaller than the one I’d shared with some friends a few years ago, but after they’d moved on, I’d downsized rather than find new roommates. It was comfortable, quiet, and centrally located in the Seattle neighborhood I’d been assigned to. It also drove my mother to drink. She couldn’t stand the thought of me living out here in the Void, the human world where there was no magic. I didn’t mind it.
There were other assignments that reapers could take. We were often placed as guardians within the Boundlands, the magical realm that I came from. But the strongest, most powerful reapers were needed to collect souls within the Void. This place was considered one of the more dangerous for an unprotected soul, and there was something about attending to someone in their final moments here, protecting them as they made their last journey home, that engaged a primal part of me. When the request had been made, I had accepted without question, much to my mother’s displeasure.
I paused in front of the door to my home, noting the familiar feel of my sister’s magic, before turning the knob to enter. “Yelena,” I said, by way of greeting.
“Victor,” she returned, greeting me with the name that only my family or those who knew them ever really bothered to use. I had many names, and that she had chosen “Victor” over the diminutive “Vitya” spoke volumes about her mood.
Yelena was daintily perched on my couch, reading one of my books in the dark. Since neither of us needed much light to be able to see, I didn’t bother to turn it on, moving to the kitchenette instead. “Cabernet?” I offered.
“Not for me, thanks. You have a very strange relationship with your friends.”
I glanced up from pouring myself a glass of wine to find her gesturing at a photo that hung on my living room wall, not bothering to look up from the history of elvish languages she’d pilfered from my shelves. I lifted my gaze to the object of her curiosity—a large, framed photo of me holding my friend Levi in a bridal carry. Redecorating my space with odd objects was a common amusement for him, but he’d raised the stakes on the financial cost of his pranks in recent years. After I’d moved in here, he’d launched himself into my arms one day and convinced our other former roommate, Jordan, to snap a photograph, then had the thing blown up and framed. I came home one evening to find it hanging on my wall.
I had never been in the habit of locking doors since my entire family shared my ability to walk through walls. My sister Yelena, in particular, has no respect for any form of physical barriers, and so I’d never bothered. It was something Levi found great delight in, often sneaking in to place objects he found humorous in my space. Yelena had never seen the appeal of befriending a mortal, and most mortals found our presence somewhat disturbing anyway, so she had no real impetus to understand.
I leaned against the kitchen island as I took a sip of my drink and ignored her remark. “Why are you here, Yelena?”
“Grandmother wants to see you,” she said, finally snapping the book shut before standing to replace it on my shelf.
I considered her words, watching my sister as she scanned the spines of my other books. Our grandmother was the functioning matriarch who doled out assignments within our little section of the family; this wasn’t a social call. Spectral messengers didn’t travel here in the Void, but she could have sent a hired runner to find me—cell phone technology was too ‘new’ for her to even consider utilizing it. But she wouldn’t have sent my sister for me at—I checked the clock—four in the morning.
“Why areyouhere?” I repeated quietly, stressing the part she hadn’t answered.
Yelena straightened from my bookshelf, flipping her chin-length dark hair behind her ear and glaring at me as she crossed her arms defensively in front of herself. “I’m making sure you don’t go to this meeting without me.”
I took another sip of wine before thinking better of it and draining the glass. “You know what it’s about,” I surmised.
“I have my suspicions.” She watched me carefully as I set my empty glass on the counter. So whatever it was, she wasn’t happy about it. Yelena had always been protective of me, even though we didn’t have a typical sibling relationship. With age gaps as large as my family had, I didn’t think anything was truly typical in our family dynamics. She’d been over four hundred years old by the time I was born and had never really seemed to know whether what she felt toward me was maternal or sibling rivalry. Stubborn as she was, I had no desire to get between her and our grandmother.
We might as well get it over with. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she stepped back to make space in my living room. My magic rose as I approached her, pulling shadows around me and reaching into them to draw out my staff, the column solidifying in my grip instantly. I thumped the end against the floor, lighting the lantern that hung from the crook at the top with its soft, flickering glow, and simultaneously ripping a hole in the veil of reality.
Most magical people who could survive traveling between the Boundlands and the Void used large, permanent Gates that connected specific cities in the two dimensions. Since reapers could make our own portals both into the Underworld and out of it, we used it as a midway point to step between wherever in the various realms we wanted.
The portal settled in front of us in a swirl of purple and blue light, opening to reveal the gently sloping bank of the Mahajarem—the celestial river that carries souls and spirits of all kinds between the lands of the living and the dead. I held my hand out to my sister, gesturing her ahead of me, and waited for her to pass through before following behind.
Chapter 2
