Chapter One

Lilah

" Last call. " He doesn't have to raise his voice for those lingering to hear over the hum of scattered conversations. Bodies begin to shuffle, but I don't move from my spot at the end of the bar.

The Ferryman is an establishment that operates outside the parameters of conventionality, on the outskirts of a quaint—as cliche as it is—town that looks far prettier in the light than it does in the shadows. Few are truly aware of what is hiding in plain sight, but the town's not named Styx for nothing.

"Boss, it's still early!" Darrow, a regular, slurs even though he, too, makes his way to the door. By normal standards, closing before midnight is early for any bar, but it's just after 10 PM and no one questions it. After all, this is how it's always been.

Boss runs this place. It might not be his given name, but it's the one he gives and goes by. A man of few words, and limited tolerance for the living, he doesn't respond to Darrow, and I have a feeling Darrow didn't expect one either. No one does.

Darrow stumbles and reaches out, using me to regain his balance. I tense when his hand squeezes my shoulder, and risk a glance at him. "Alright there, Darrow?" I ask. He's harmless, but Boss's intolerance for the living may have rubbed off on me after so many years.

Darrow leans in close, his face flushed and stares at me intently, "Lovely Lilah, you should smile more," he mumbles through his intoxication, "so pretty if you smile…" his hand comes up like he's going to pet my head.

"Darrow." Boss's voice booms and Darrow flinches. He pulls his hand away from me and mock salutes while his friends scoop him up under the arms and carry him the rest of the way out.

When the door closes behind the last person, I stand and slip on my apron, tying it around my waist. I step behind the bar and brace myself for the suffocating power that Boss uncloaks once the mortals have left.

"Lilah." Decades of nights just like this one, and he doesn't need to say anything more than that.

"Yes, Boss."

We work in tandem. He pulls out and swaps various bottles of drink while I wipe down the bar top and make a sweep through the main room—wiping down already clean tables, righting chairs and stools that aren't actually out of place.

I pause briefly in front of the mural that spans the entire length of the back wall. A skiff is tied at the shore of a dark river that seems to expand beyond the wall itself. The sheer size of it feels like it could engulf you just by looking at it… and it very nearly did once.

As the clock strikes 11, the mural ripples along the exposed brick causing the building to shutter. Voices pick up in the distance, growing closer with every swing of the clock's pendulum.

At least the dead don't tell me I'd be prettier if I smiled more, like the living do.