Chapter 1

1

TATIANA

T he first thing that Tatiana noticed was the quiet.

It shouldn't have been that quiet, not on Fifth Street and not on Halloween—especially not a rare Halloween that fell on a Saturday night. But it was silent, and when she opened eyes that she hadn't realized were closed, the street was empty. Where a few seconds ago she could have sworn there was a sea of shouting strangers in colorful costumes clogging the sidewalks, spilling over onto the edge of the busy street, now there was nothing.

It was only then that Tati registered the fact that she was sitting in the middle of the road, the pavement cool against her bare legs. The double yellow line that she straddled stretched in front of her until it disappeared into the soundless night.

It all felt weird. Really fucking weird. Mist curled around the sidewalks and blurred the hard edges of the buildings that rose on either side of her. And when a dark, looming shadow of a figure materialized through the haze, Tati didn't hesitate, clambering to her feet and readying herself for whoever the fuck was undoubtedly coming to try to kill her.

She fumbled for the purse that was still slung across her body, undoing the zip with shaking fingers and pulling out her keys. With the familiarity of a woman who lives alone in a major city, she flipped the safety lever on her pepper spray, eyes intent on whoever — or whatever — approached her.

They wore some sort of a black cloak, a draping hood shadowing their face. In one hand they carried a — what was that thing called? She knew it was a farming tool originally, but in her lifetime she'd only ever seen the long pole topped with a wicked curved blade associated with Death. Was it a Sith? No, those were the evil Star Wars dudes.

She found some reassurance in the knowledge that this person was probably as committed to their Halloween costume as Tati had been when she'd surveyed herself in front of the mirror earlier. Murderers didn't dress up on Halloween; they were just their typical creepy selves in khaki pants and zip up sweatshirts.

Still, she held the pepper spray in front of her, pointing it up toward the tall figure who now was close enough that she heard the scrape of the heavy fabric of the cloak dragging against the asphalt. Better to be safe than sorry. When they were about a car's length away from her, they stopped.

"Good evening."

The voice was musical, in a lower register that hummed in the air. The accent was British, aristocratic, even.

When she remained silent, the voice continued. "You must know why we are here."

Dread settled in her sternum. "We?"

There was a rustle of fabric, and a huge, looming animal padded on silent paws from behind the figure. Tati's eyes widened at the glowing golden eyes that stared her down like she was prey. It was a canine, for sure, but it wasn't a breed that she recognized. Shaggy brown and black fur framed a long, dark snout, and tall ears twitched forward and back.

"Apologies," the voice said. "He can be a bit shy."

The dog growled.

Tati blinked. "Who the fuck are you?"

The cloaked figure shifted, their face still obscured in shadow. "Right. We are here to escort you to the other side."

That got Tati's attention. If this fucker thought she was going to be easy to kill, he was in for one. She let out a harsh laugh. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you creepy fuck!" She raised the canister she still gripped tightly in her hand. "I have pepper spray!"

The figure laughed, the sound rich like molasses. "Apologies, darling. I am afraid that you do not have much of a choice."

"Are you threatening me?" She barely remembered the moves from the self-defense class she'd taken in college, but fuck if she wasn't ready to do something. She might be wearing her best black pumps, but she was good in heels. This asshole and their dog had something coming if they thought she was going anywhere without putting up a fight.

The figure turned to the dog, who still stood poised beside them. "I cannot say that I remember them being like this," he said.

The dog raised his head and barked.

"I know, I know," the figure responded. "It has been years since I have done this part."

The dog growled again, nudging its nose into the side of the cloaked figure.

The figure let out an indignant huff. "Shut it. We both know my role is more administrative at this point."

Tati couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. "Are you talking to your dog?"

The figure looked back at her. "Why yes, yes I am."

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked again, remembering that she hadn't gotten an answer the first time she'd asked.

"Well, darling," the figure practically purred, taking a few slow steps toward her. At his side, the dog matched him pace for pace. "People around here call us the Grim Reaper."

Tati shook her head, like that one futile action could clear the fog that felt like it had moved from the air around her into her mind. "What is happening right now?"

The cloak shifted, and two pale, long-fingered hands adorned in silver rings clasped together. "Well it is quite simple, really. You are dead, and we are here to do our job."

T ati laughed. She laughed and laughed, because what else was she supposed to do? Some British guy in a cloak who talked to his dog was trying to tell her that she was dead ? Yeah. Fuck that.

"I can't be dead." She shook her head again, resolute, trying to find the conviction to believe her words. "Nope. Not possible."

The figure was quiet for a prolonged moment. "Unfortunately, it does not quite work like that."

Tati took a deep, shaky breath, taking a moment to look down at herself. She felt ridiculous now in the dainty silver wings and the pale green dress that barely reached the tops of her thighs. She'd curled her hair, put on a fucking tiara, and even applied silver eyeliner across her upper lash line.

All of that work for a blind date on Halloween. All of that work for some guy named Devon who was supposed to be dressed like Captain Hook.

She was supposed to start dating again. She was finally supposed to quit her job now that she'd saved enough to buy the corner property on South Street and Ordell that she'd had her eye on for years. She was supposed to live now. She was thirty, flirty, and she was supposed to be fucking thriving .

Not dead. There was no room for "being dead" in her plan.

"Okay," she said, smoothing her hands down the front of her tiny dress. "So obviously you're taking this Grim Reaper thing very seriously. But I'm over it. I'm sure you have somewhere else you want to be, so let's all move on and try to enjoy the rest of the evening. Sound good?"

The cloaked figure let out a noise that sounded like a frustrated sigh. With those long, pale fingers, he reached up and pushed back the hood, finally revealing his face.

Oh. That was a face .

Pale alabaster skin, pronounced cheekbones, a soft mouth with lips turned down in a frown. Dark brows and lashes that framed eyes so dark that Tati felt she could get lost in them. His hair was an inky black that seemed to absorb the hazy light of the street lamps, and it was combed neatly over to one side of his head.

It was the kind of face that reminded Tati of early 20th century aristocrats clinging to their thrones. There was a harshness to this strange, cloaked man's face, that was so at odds with the symmetrical beauty of his features.

The man stared at her with those dark, hooded eyes, shaking his head. "I am afraid we cannot do that, darling." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the already-dim light faded, leaving only enough to barely illuminate his features, which looked like they were cast in black and white.

Tati's stomach dropped. That wasn't…well, it shouldn't be possible, but then again, everything that had happened since she found herself sitting in the middle of the empty road had been odd. And here was this man, claiming to be the Grim Reaper, informing her that she was actually dead.

Her mind raced. "Okay then," she said, the tremble in her voice betraying her growing unease. "Since obviously you've got some sort of supernatural powers thing going on," she said, waving a hand at him, "Then you should be able to bring me back. Make me alive again."

The man let out a sigh and turned to face the dog.

Tati screamed.

The dog wasn't a dog anymore. The dog was now another man, this one shorter and broader and so much hairier than the other that for a moment she imagined that they were the before and after photos of a razor ad campaign.

The dog-man shook himself in a way that was distinctly dog-like. "You are terrible at this," the dog-man said, his voice rough and graveled.

The cloak-man cuffed the other man on the back of the head, to which the dog-man let out a growl. "You just frightened her!"

Tati looked between the two men, shaking her head. "I'm done. Fucking done. You've had your creepy fun and —"

Her words cut off when the dog-man stepped up in front of her. While shorter than the other, he still loomed over Tati, his broad shoulders and wide girth intimidating in a completely different way. He wore dark pants and what looked like a dark leather jacket. His chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a bun low on the back of his head, and a short but shapely beard of the same color covered the lower half of his broad face. His eyes — his eyes were golden, just as they'd been when he'd stood on four legs and was covered in fur.

What in the actual fuck was happening ?

"We have gone about this the wrong way," the dog-man said, his expression kind. "I take it that you are needing some sort of verification of the fact that you really are dead?"

Wordlessly, Tati nodded.

The dog-man looked like he expected that response. "Great. I will take care of that."

And before Tati could get her mouth to form words, the air around them shifted.

Shifted wasn't the right word. It was like each particle around them froze and became more…transparent? Words failed to accurately describe the scene that unfolded around them.

For one, the bustle of the street that Tati remembered was back, but it was like she was viewing the scene through a grainy lens. People moved around them – through them – like slow-moving shadows. But Tati's gaze was drawn to the crumpled figure that lay sprawled and broken at her feet.

It was her.

Those were her exposed dimpled thighs, her tanned legs, one of which bent out at a nauseating angle. Her dark hair strewn over her face, wet and sticky with… fuck, was that blood?

Subconsciously she reached a hand up to touch her own head. Dry. Whole. Unbroken.

Sounds filtered through the mirage: the wail of sirens, the shouts of people as they surrounded her broken corpse. Tati watched, detached, as paramedics ran to the scene, shoving people back as they bent over the body.

A paramedic placed her fingers on the side of Tati's neck. Tati could do nothing but stare, frozen in place, as the blurry figure began to pump her hands over her chest in a frantic attempt to revive her.

"I'm fucking dead!" Tati wanted to scream. "I'm already gone!" Because she truly was gone. How could she be here with these messengers of Death in a place that defied reason, while clinging to the notion that she was still alive? How could she look at her broken body and not know that she was, actually, super duper dead?

It went on for too long. Finally, they moved away from her body, and she watched as they wheeled over a stretcher. There I go , Tati thought, watching four of them lift her limp and lifeless body.

As quickly as the scene of her death had appeared it faded, the images dissolving until nothing was left but the mist and the silence. Tati was left disconcerted, thrown off by the distinct lack of feeling, as though whatever tether tied her to the physical body she inhabited threatened to loosen.

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and placed a hand on the dog-man's cheek, needing to know if all sensation had abandoned her in death.

No. No it hadn't. His skin was warm, the hair of his beard surprisingly soft against her palm. She pressed, and maybe she imagined it, but she thought that maybe he leaned into her touch.

"Oh," she whispered faintly. "So I'm really dead?"

The other man cleared his throat, and Tati dropped her hand and stepped away.

"Very dead," the cloak-man said, his voice soft.

Tati wasn't sure what she was expecting to feel in the wake of learning that her life was over. Anger, sadness, or maybe pain. But all that she felt was disappointment, a disappointment that plummeted through her like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond.

She was dead, completely and utterly dead, only one day after she'd decided to finally live. Her bank account had finally hit the magic number that would allow her to buy the space for her bakery. The one she'd waited years for.

"I am sorry, you know." Again, the cloak-man's voice was more gentle than it had any right to be. "About your death."

She tried for a smile, but the way she hovered precariously on the edge of crying likely betrayed her. "I, well," she sniffed. "It was just finally supposed to get better, you know?"

This time it was the dog-man who nodded like he understood.

"We should really get going," the cloak-man said, and she thought she caught a hint of regret in his tone. One of his elegant hands extended towards her, fingers long and almost translucent in the dim light. "You will need to hold on to us for this next part," he murmured.

Tati hesitated. "So this is it, then?"

He nodded. She felt the air shift behind her as the dog-man came to stand at her other side. Without asking, he threaded his calloused, rough fingers between hers, his grip on her solid, somehow reassuring.

There was no getting out of whatever was coming. That realization had settled over her the minute the image of her broken, bloody body had faded from view. She reached her free hand forward, taking the cloak-man's hand in hers. His skin was smooth, almost cold to the touch, and a shiver traveled up the surface of her skin.

"Where, exactly, are we going?"

The cloak-man's mouth curved up into something that might have been a smile. "We are going to the Afterworld."