Page 11 of In Between Death and the Devil

“No deal.” The dark one didn’t take his eyes off the room.

“Oh, come on. If we have to stand here all night, might as well make it interesting. You know it’s just a matter of time before something happens.”

The dark one shook his head, a faint smirk on his face. “Exactly. Tell me who you think will be the first one to throw a punch and I’ll consider it.”

“Anything go down yet?” A willowy black woman with a confident stride joined them.

“Nope. Unless you mean the stick up Marcus’s ass, in which case the answer is still no.” The pretty one crossed his arms.

“No one’s going to do your laundry duty, Titus.” The woman sidled up to the dark-haired one called Marcus and put her hand on his chest.

“You should have more faith in my ability to shirk my responsibilities, Daphne.” The pretty one called Titus gave her a charming smile.

She snorted.

“You don’t have to stand with us,” Marcus said, placing his hand over hers. “Titus and I have this covered.”

“And do what instead? I hate these things. They accomplish nothing. I don’t know why he agreed to it.”

“Yes, you do,” Titus said. “For the sake of appearances.”

Daphne scowled but took up a position between them, watching the room.

I’d heard enough. “Let’s go check out the rest of the room,” I said to Bea.

She made our excuses with a smile and we moved on.

The “he” they were talking about had to be the Devil. They made it sound like the party was to give the appearance that all was well between the two sides. I wasn’t sure I believed that, given the source, but I also wasn’t sure why this night was important to Death. If she hoped it would help us get along better, it clearly wasn’t working. The tension was almost as thick as the lust, but maybe one spurred on the other.

We passed the goddess herself holding court at the other end of the room in another white gown, this one embroidered with gold. The group with her looked sedate in comparison to the rest of the crowd, listening intently to her every word.

A group of trainees nearby were deep in conversation with a couple of Judges, and Bea and I joined them.

“The first day is the hardest,” a man was saying. “The transition is brutal. It’s so different from the convent. You’ll adjust, but give it time. New arrivals always look dazed for the first few weeks.”

I leaned in. This was more promising. “What will we be evaluated on tomorrow?”

The older trainees winced. “Each of you will weigh your own soul.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“All souls who enter the In Between are weighed,” he continued. “Since you’re training to be Judges, you weigh your own.”

“We sentence ourselves?” I asked, my throat tight.

“Yes and no. You decide on the sentence you think you would deserve if you weren’t here as a resident. It’s how they decide where to start your training.”

A buzzing filled my ears. I was vaguely aware of Bea asking a question, but I couldn’t catch what she was saying. I was too busy trying to catch my breath. I would need to face everything, not just what I’d done, but the choices I’d made afterwards. Everyone would see my tarnished soul.

Air. I needed air.

I mumbled an excuse and headed towards the walkway under the balcony. A moan made me jump, and I rushed past two bodies tangled up against the wall, searching for a way out of the Great Hall. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I dodged two more couples and a group of three. There was no door, but I found a set of stairs in the corner. Up, out, I didn’t care, as long as it got me away from the crowd.

My feet pounded up the steps. By the time I reached the last few, there were spots in my vision from lack of air. I stumbled forward and into a pair of arms.

“Hey. Are you⁠—?”

I let out a wheeze and the hands pulled me upright.