3 Celestial Lobby

Lily

Lily stared into the swirling expanse of everything and nothing for a few seconds, for an eternity, and felt…nothing.

Odd.

She was supposed to feel too much. After all, that had always been the problem before. She remembered struggling to express her feelings, but she’d never lacked them.

In any of her lifetimes.

Oh. She remembered those, vaguely.

A child, huddled against the sharp bite of cold until it wasn’t so sharp or cold, but she was so tired. A young woman with flames licking up her skirt, skin melting, acrid air searing her lungs. A teenage girl in rags, starving, starving, starving. The newest face, her face, older than she’d ever been, but sick and thin and pale.

What fucking bullshit. She hadn’t managed to grow old at least once? Unacceptable.

There. Not a feeling, but something. Enough to propel her toward a door that had always and never been there. It swung open soundlessly, revealing…she didn’t know, but she stepped through it anyway.

She blinked. Blinked and—oh thank fuck— felt . Emotions and sensations washed over her like a cooling rain, grounding her, reminding her that she still was . The apathy of the in-between hadn’t been bad, but it hadn’t been good either. It, like her, hadn’t been anything.

Lily pressed her palm against her chest, searching for the reassuring pulse of life, but it was nowhere to be found. A hollow, jarring quiet sat in its place, her heart still beneath her hand. Grief, potent and swift, stole the air from her lungs in a rush.

She’d been no more or less aware of her heartbeat than anyone before her diagnosis, but ever since she’d found out that her beats were more numbered than she’d thought, she’d savored each one. The silence under her palm was just another reminder of the fight she’d lost, of her failure.

Lily dropped her hand, squeezing her eyes closed. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

When she felt a little more like herself again, she opened her eyes and took in her oddly familiar surroundings. It was reminiscent of a cathedral, though it was built on a scale that human hands could never hope to achieve, with a ceiling towering so high above her that its shape and details were hopelessly obscured. The shifting golden light emanating nebulously from it was pretty, gilding the edges of delicate puffs of mist that wafted like clouds high above.

Sounds trickled into her awareness, and she pulled her gaze from the ceiling just in time to see a man in a suit appear next to her, walking through a door that quickly disappeared. He looked around for only a second before reaching up and tugging his tie loose, striding forward with languid ease. Lily watched him go, then studied the room. Eclectic rows of seating stretched into the distance, armchairs, pews, cushions, prayer mats, benches, some of them occupied by people—souls, she realized—who were, for whatever reasons, waiting. On the far side of the space, she could make out a line of what looked like, and what instinct told her were, desks.

Lily took one step forward, then another, marveling at how easy it was to move again. Missing heartbeat aside, she felt like she had in her late twenties when she’d been at her most athletic and moving her body had been fun . Damn, it had been so long since she’d had fun.

Some of the seated souls that she passed had a crackling, angry energy to them. Others were so serene that peace radiated from them like light. Still others were twitchy, or stunned, or sad, or looking around curiously. Lily didn’t stop to talk to any of them, just kept heading towards those oddly important desks that weren’t actually that far at all.

Stretching in an unbroken line from the wall on her right to a set of pillars framing the entrance to a massive hallway off to her left, the desks were a hive of voices and activity. They were set up like bank teller desks, with rich, dark wood and solid dividers separating the desks and their occupants from their neighbors. People of all ages, nationalities, and, seemingly—if their attire was an indication—time periods, sat behind the desks, talking to the equally diverse souls that sat in the lush, comfortable-looking wingback chairs before them.

A red-faced man slammed his meaty fist on the desk of a woman in Victorian dress, who simply arched an unimpressed eyebrow over her oversized mug of tea and repeated herself in a crisp, no-nonsense voice.

A little boy, barely more than a toddler, hugged a teddy bear tightly to his side, staring wide-eyed but unafraid at the androgynous person who held his hand and spoke gently to him as they walked toward an elevator made of light.

“It takes a moment to get used to, I know,” a soft, cheerful voice said.

Lily looked down, startled to find herself standing directly in front of one of the desks.

A Middle Eastern woman wearing a hijab in a delicate shade of pink smiled up at her, gesturing to the wingback chair. “You’re welcome to sit if you like and take as long as you need to process.”

Lily sank down, dimly noting that it would make a wonderful reading chair. “I remember this. A bit.”

The woman smiled. “It’s not so bad if you’ve done it before, is it?”

Lily smiled back. “Not bad at all. I’m Lily.”

“I know.” The woman chuckled, holding up a file. “I’m Siedah.”

“Nice to meet you, Siedah.” The chair really was comfortable.

“I’ll help guide you through your options for the Afterlife when you’re ready. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have if you need immediate answers to help you adjust, or we can just sit together for a time.”

Oh, she had questions. But as she considered which to ask, a vague recollection came to her about her previous deaths.

“If my memory serves me right, this process is fairly thorough and self-explanatory. Though”—Lily frowned, annoyed that her memories were so hazy—“I can’t quite remember what that process or explanation is.”

“That’s very normal,” Siedah assured her warmly. “You’ll find that impressions and feelings of past lives are going to be far more prevalent than details or fully formed memories…unless you are looking through your soul file, of course. Your most recent life will remain clear to you until you decide to reincarnate.”

Lily nodded, eyes dropping to the file in Siedah’s hand.

Her soul file. A tangible, unfettered manifestation of everything she’d ever been.

Not exactly light reading.

“Then can you remind me of the process, please? I’m a ‘more rather than less information’ type.”

Siedah smiled before answering. “Your options are as varied as the beliefs of humanity. There are a few, shall we say umbrella beliefs—Christianity for example, with all of its different denominations and offshoots and adaptations. There isn’t a dedicated Judgment system and Afterlife for each, but there is a generalized process based on the core, essential values outlined by the Universe and in the case of that belief, God. This keeps things like cults from gaining legitimacy for their corrupt values and actions.”

Lily tilted her head back, absorbing the implications of what Siedah had just said. “So, in the case of, say, Hinduism, does the Universe work with the Hindu deities to decide the Judgment system and process?”

Siedah brightened. “Yes, precisely.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “Although, while each belief system has its own system of Judgment, there are a few Universal Constants, such as valuing kindness and condemning extreme cruelty.

“There is also Universal Judgment, which is based on no specific faith or creed, but leads to the same basic results as anything else. The realm of Paradise doesn’t have any particular faith attached to it, and souls who reside there have their own unique Paradise.” Siedah paused, smiling softly. “It’s easier to see it than to have it explained, but does that make sense so far?”

“It does. So, all the deities and beliefs in history…” Lily trailed off, looking at Siedah expectantly.

She beamed. “If you can think of it, it’s here, as long as it wasn’t based in cruelty.”

The white-knuckled grip Lily had on the armrests loosened a little. The confirmation that the Greek pantheon actually existed, and that the Polynesian pantheons did too, was pretty fucking cool. She’d wondered if all religions had been a little right and a little wrong. “Okay, so what happens after Judgment?”

“After passing through Judgment, souls who have been judged well will go to the ‘paradise realm’ of their preference. Using the example of Islam, this would be the levels of Jannah. For Christianity, it would be Heaven, and so on. That is, unless the soul prefers otherwise. These souls are free to move about the Afterlife and its many realms as they wish, within the bounds of respect and courtesy of course.

“Think of it as a neighborhood. You have your own home, your perfect dream home, and you can walk out the front door and visit a friend or a different neighborhood any time. If you find a neighborhood you like to live in more, you can move there. If you are judged well, there are very few places that you cannot go.”

“Such as?” Lily asked.

“Well—”

A loud clatter interrupted her. Two desks down, a chair had toppled over backwards when the woman occupying it had stood abruptly. Clearly upset, she stood with her hands pressed to her face. Lily raised her eyebrows and braced for a possible tantrum.

“I can’t deal with anything else until I find out what’s going to happen to my dog! I don’t have an automatic feeder for him, and I lived on my own, and now he’s all alone and I can’t...I… please .”

Oh. That was a fairly reasonable thing to be concerned about.

The attendant said something that seemed to calm the woman down enough that she righted the chair and sat.

Siedah cleared her throat. “Are you alright?”

Lily nodded, hoping the woman’s dog would be okay. “Yeah, I’m good. So, where can’t souls go?”

“The Void, which is a final option for all, regardless of how they are judged.” A thread of sadness entered Siedah’s tone. “The Void is where souls go to stop existing, as much as they are able. Often those who choose the Void are souls that have lived hundreds of lives, or souls that have lived many hard lives and find themselves tired in the way that only souls can be. Sometimes souls who have lived perfectly normal lives choose to go there, because it’s their peace. Some atheists choose to go there because that is what they believed in. If you are judged favorably, you can go there temporarily; some find comfort in not being for a short while. That’s the only place in the Afterlife that you cannot visit someone. Contact between the other Universes is exceptionally rare, but they are off limits as well, unless you are an ambassador to one.”

Lily decided to inquire about the “other Universes” bit later, focusing on the information at hand. “So, it really is all a choice?”

“Oh yes, the Universe is quite big on choice. Now, you can’t choose to go to one of the paradise realms this very moment . You can choose how you wish to be judged, and then if you go to a paradise, then you can choose which one. Most souls stay within their beliefs, but some like to shake it up a bit.”

Lily studied her. The mental picture Siedah had painted was intriguing, but there were a few glaring omissions from her explanation that had prickles itching up her spine.

She steeled herself before asking, “And if I don’t go to Paradise?”

Siedah’s smile grew sad. “Souls who are judged unfavorably can make a limited choice. They are given a handful of options of so-called punishment realms to choose from. If they refuse to choose in an attempt to avoid consequences, they will be sent to Hell. Much like Paradise, its existence predates all religions and myths. It has long served as the faith-neutral realm of justice.”

She set Lily’s soul file on the desk and clasped her hands on top of it. “So, there technically is a choice, but there is no way to escape consequences. Full freedom of choice is reserved for souls who won’t abuse that power.”

“Good,” Lily said.

Siedah’s eyebrows lifted. Her dark, pretty eyes were considering.

Lily shrugged, once agonizing memories merely aching as they flickered through her mind. “Too many people abuse the power of choice. Too many people take the power of choice away from others. I like justice. Especially when it can’t be argued.”

Siedah studied her for a long moment. Lily held her gaze, not sure what the other woman was seeing or what she already knew.

Siedah looked at the file on the desk. “I haven’t read this, you know. I only get the first page, which is your basic information and outstanding notes. I don’t know your story, and I won’t pretend to know you.” Siedah gently slid the file across the desk. The glimmering metallic letters of Lily’s name shimmered in a kaleidoscope of colors across the smooth, dove-gray paper. She nodded at the file. “Your story is yours to keep. Yours to share.”

“Thank you,” Lily said.

“I would like to, though,” Siedah added softly.

Lily frowned up at her.

“Know you, I mean.” The other woman inclined her head slightly, her hijab rustling as it moved over her shirt. “I believe I would like to know your story too. This is Eternity, and you can never have too many friends.”

Lily shot her a wry grin. “I could be a terrible person. Like, a Universally certified terrible person, depending on how this next part goes. I’ll be the first to tell you that I can be mouthy.”

Siedah cocked her head, amused. “Mouthy doesn’t automatically make you a bad person. If it did, I would have far fewer coworkers.”

An Asian man leaned around the divider behind the desk, grinning impishly. “How boring would that be? You would miss us.”

“I would,” Siedah agreed, waving him back to his side of the divider before returning her attention to Lily. “Terrible sometimes doesn’t mean terrible all the time. I’m not the Universe, or even a deity, but even I can tell that you aren’t truly terrible.”

Lily’s smile turned genuine, and she reached to pull her file closer, the dove-gray paper warm under her fingertips. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“We all need one sometimes,” Siedah said. “I certainly did when I arrived.”

Lily hummed in agreement, tracing the letters of her name with her left hand, which looked—

Ice rushed through her veins, freezing her in place, and sucking the air out of her lungs. She shoved the sleeve of her shirt up, a new wave of horror hitting with every inch of revealed skin.

No.

Her tattoos were gone. They had been one of the first things in her life she had done purely for herself, and getting them had helped heal her in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. They had been a celebration of her passions, of her interests, of her . She’d had them all done in black and gray, and had spent years carefully curating the ones on her arm to be a cohesive patchwork.

A delicate filigree, woven from wrist to shoulder, to help the designs tie together. The stack of books twined with her favorite flowers on her forearm. The illustration of a dragon and a mountain from The Hobbit , as well as a round door with a little backpack beside it. A line from one of her favorite songs near the crease of her elbow. The Evenstar from Lord of the Rings on her inner biceps. A quote from one of her favorite books above that. The snake coiled among lines of filigree and stargazer lilies trailing along the outside of her upper arm.

She didn’t need to look to confirm that her back, ribs, hip, and thigh were all missing the ink she’d loved so much.

All of them. Gone.

A slender brown hand settled over hers, snapping her out of her spiraling grief.

Siedah’s eyes were understanding but firm. “Tattoos?”

Lily nodded, not trusting her voice.

“You can get them back after Judgment. They can be the same, or they can be different, and you can change them at will. As a soul, your appearance isn’t as fixed as it was when you were alive. But only after Judgment.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Lily forced herself to relax and flash a smile. “And a hell of an incentive.”

“I once had a man come through who had been heavily tattooed and was inconsolable for an hour before I managed to explain the situation to him. I’ve never seen someone leave the chair so quickly. I saw him in the Universal Hallway some time later, happy as a clam and covered in his art again. Personally, my incentive was the potential of limitless spice cakes.” Siedah grinned.

Lily’s smile turned genuine. If Judgment went well, what awaited her? What would coffee be like in the Afterlife? Oh, the books . There had to be so many new books!

She picked up her file, a thrum of reality disrupting her hopeful train of thought. She knew herself, who she had been, who she had become. The good, the bad. All of it. Siedah seemed to have faith that she would be judged favorably, but Lily wasn’t so sure.

She sucked in a deep breath that she didn’t need, but the habit sure felt good.

Fuck it.

“In that case, I’ll go with Universal Judgment.”

Siedah beamed. “Excellent. Would you like some company?”