navigate the gates of Osiris and the lakes of fire. Not
a problem. Dagan’d do fine with any of the above.
Choice D: sweet-talk a female. Not so much.
As though he sensed that he’d made headway, Dagan
pressed. “Mal, you’re the better choice to meet with
Xaphan’s fire genies, and I’m the better choice to face
Osiris. Even if he was the one who took out Lokan, no
way he’ll take out the old man’s firstborn. But anyone—
everyone—else is fair game. Including you or Alastor.
I’m the only one who’s safe here. You know it. I know
it.” His mouth hardened. “The old man knows it.”
Nothing but the truth. Sutekh knew the risks. But
he’d still sent Mal to do the job.
Mal stared at Dagan, and when he spoke, he knew his
voice was raw with all the pent-up emotion he’d harbored
since his brother’s death. “Howdid they take out Lokan?
How could anyone, anything, kill a soul reaper?”
It was nearly impossible. The only way to terminate
a soul reaper was with his permission and by his will.
Occasionally, one got tired of eternal life, jaded, sick
with the endless cycle of harvesting darksouls, and
chose to walk into a lake of fire. That was the key
word.Chose.But Lokan hadn’t been any soul reaper.
He’d had the added benefit of being Sutekh’s son. Half
god. And he’d been full of life, full of laughter. It was
not a choice he would have made. So how the fucking
hell had he ended up dead?
“Alastor’ll brief you about Marin and the kid,”
Dagan said. “Go. Every second we waste arguing
brings us closer to really pissing off Osiris. And given
