Page 99 of In Between Death and the Devil

My eyes went wide as the sand started to drain. The last time I’d done this it hadn’t been timed. “Wait. What are the rules? How many weights can I use?” Failing was not an option.

“Weigh your soul. You may use as many or as few weights as you like,” came the unhelpful, almost bored reply.

My legs shook as I approached the box of weights. They looked the same as Death’s, but they were a different color—muted black instead of silver. They bore the same words: to only love at a distance; never achieving one’s goals; great hardship; cycles in the Devil’s care, and more.

How best to atone for the life I’d lived, for the things I’d done? The question was somehow harder to face, more tender than it had been when I arrived in the In Between. Maybe it was because I now knew that Colt had been paid to frame me for his own murder. Pushing away his death had been an accident. I could accept that now, but it didn’t change the result. My family was still dead. I had to live with that every day for the rest of my existence, but none of that helped me here. I had to decide on a sentence as if I were returning to the World of the Living.

I reached for the weight of a life of little means, something I surely deserved. It felt so small in my hand, and yet so heavy. This was how a soul’s future life was decided. A life reduced to a handful of pieces on a scale, the consequences of our actions, which had in turn been shaped by a different handful of pieces. It felt so impersonal. So lonely. My throat tightened, and the light in my hand flared, turning the weight to ash.

“No,” I whispered. My eyes flew to the Guardian. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

They said nothing, their expression unchanging.

I looked back at my hand, my heart racing. The glow had faded, but maybe I could fix this; I knew how to create things now. But before I could concentrate on what the weight had looked like, the ash faded from my hand. I frowned. It hadn’t slipped through my fingers, it had disappeared. Looking at the box, I watched as a new weight materialized in the place I’d plucked it from.

My lips parted. Either the Guardian had been prepared for my meltdown, or their weights were as otherworldly as they were. Did that mean I hadn’t screwed up?

“Proceed.” Their voice made me jump.

Giving a shaky nod, I eyed the hourglass. Just over half my time was already spent. I needed to focus, but my mind was scattered.

I thought I’d escaped this. My work with Fen had forced me to reckon with what I’d done, but I still shrank at the prospect of sentencing myself to any of these things, even though I knew I deserved it. Giving myself a sentence that I would never experience seemed pointless and cruel, especially since it would never be carried out.

Pointless. My breath caught as the word rattled around my head like a wobbly echo. I looked back to my heart on the scale. This whole thing was pointless. The sentence was one that would never be carried out.

Death had told us it was a way of assessing our sense of justice, so they knew where to start our training. Bea had told me only one other person had failed, someone who also hadn’t completed the exercise. If that was true, making the scales balance didn’t matter. I could put anything on the scales and the task would still be completed.

My gaze shifted to the Guardian. Unless the rules were different this time.

The emptiness of their gaze made me shiver and look away. I’d already asked for clarification, and they hadn’t provided any. I didn’t want to waste the little time I had left on a futile query. Besides, I wanted to get this over with, if only so I didn’t have to be in their presence any longer.

I eyed the hourglass again. Only a quarter left. Looking over the weights, my pulse kicked into a gallop. This wasn’t about getting it right. It was about confronting our previous life and making an effort, I was sure of it. The first I’d done many times since I’d arrived. The second was what I needed to do now.

I hurried to grab a handful of weights—compassion for others, loving at a distance, a life of service, a life of little means, and five cycles in the Devil’s care. Understanding Fen’s work as I did, I could imagine no better place to spend time before my next life. There was no time to worry about their meaning or contemplate whether or not I deserved them. By the time I set the last weight on the scale and stepped back, my heart was pounding.

“Are you ready to see if the scales balance?” the Guardian asked as the last of the sand fell through the hourglass.

“Yes.” My heart beat in my throat as the pin keeping the pans in place disappeared, and I said a silent prayer that my effort would be sufficient.

The scale swung into motion, the pan with my heart on it slowly rising while my “sentence” fell. They didn’t balance.

I looked up at the Guardian. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as I waited for my real sentence to fall.

“Your soul has been weighed,” they intoned in that emotionless voice. “You may remain in the In Between.”

I let out a shaky breath, and my lips curled into a small smile. I was right.

“To challenge Death, you will need to prove yourself worthy,” the Guardian said. “Three trials you must pass, and one witness from each castle you must gather to vouch for you.”

“I understand.” I was almost dizzy. This was really happening.

“When you are ready, go to the Pool of Memory to begin your first trial. Trust what has been.”

I opened my mouth to ask where the Pool of Memory was, but a blaze of light sent me staggering back. When my vision returned to normal, the Guardian was lying back on the platform, still as a statue once more.

“Maeve?” My bond with Fen roared back to life. A potent mix of fear, anger and pride slammed into me. His hands were on me an instant, gentle passes over my back, my arms, my waist, as if to reassure himself that I was unharmed.

“I did it.” It came out as a whisper. “I initiated the challenge.” My knees wobbled with relief, and I clung to Fen to stay upright.