Always Carry Your Scythe – Pip Paisley

Fortunately, the irresistible urge to skip had quickly faded, and we’d settled into a steady, ground- covering walk. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any sign of Hell’s Soul Processing facility. There were only poppies, grass, and more golden road. We kept going. As we walked, we talked. About our Westmount Academy days and people we both knew. About our encounter with Esther and Jack. About creepy pink Vaina and weird golden Alec. About Aunt Harry and Uncle Dave and how I hoped they weren’t going out of their minds with worry because they hadn’t heard from me.

About how much Maybell missed seeing her mom everyday now that she worked Heaven-side. And we talked about “what if”. What if we couldn’t find Soul Processing? What if we couldn’t get in? What if Zuzi wasn’t there? What if Zuzi was there but they wouldn’t tell us anything? If, if, if… The “what if-ing” always ended in “it depends” and “I don’t know”. So, we stopped talking about it. And then we ran out of chitchat altogether and we walked in silence.

My feet hurt, my muscles were sore, and I was hungry and thirsty. Walking to Hell was no picnic. “Do you think it’s much further?” I asked, pulling on my leather jacket. The sun had dipped in the sky and the air had a definite nip. “Hard telling,” Maybell said, buttoning up her short blazer and re-tying her iridescent bowtie. “I really hope we don’t have to spend the night in the poppy field.”

“Me too,” I agreed. Shielding my eyes, I looked towards the setting sun and the ongoing, never-ending road. I saw a dark blotch on the horizon. “Hey, are those clouds or…?” I asked, pointing. “Umm…” She answered, a hint of alarm entering her voice. “It looks like it’s moving this way.” And it was. What started as a smudge was now growing into a large, dark mass.

It looked ominous. “Run!”

This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce, or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices. Thank you. ———- This is a work of fiction.

eBook ISBN: 979-8-9892770-0-1 1kitap1.com/en To KQ All my love 1kitap1.com/en CONTENTS Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue The End 1kitap1.com/en CHAPTER 1 Death’s Daughter It was Saturday night, and I was waitressing at Quandors, Aunt Harry’s Chanter pub in Seattle’s Pioneer Square.

The place was bursting with customers both living and alternative-living. Carrying a tray of empties, I skirted a boisterous group of retro-grunge vamps. Narrowly avoided a zombie rising to make a death-day toast. Then sidestepped a passing werewolf, stumbled in my new elf-made clogs, and almost dumped the tray of dirty glasses onto a table of Gorgons. As one, the three sisters broke off their conversation, and fixed me with stone-cold glares, snake-hair hissing furiously.

“Sorry,” I said, corralling martini glasses and dodging tiny fangs. “Hmph,” one Gorgon groused, calming her snake hair with a taloned hand. With final disdainful looks, the sisters turned away and resumed their discussion. “Look, iPads will never replace a good scrying mirror. I’m just saying,” one Gorgon opined.

“But you can’t get Candy Crush on a mirror,” another replied. Tray secure, I beat a hasty retreat to the mahogany bar, feet throbbing with each step. Damned elf clogs. They were wobbly and painful. Magically soothe your feet, my ass. Lesson learned. Never buy clogs from elves. Especially not online late at night. “Hey Trixie,” Zuzi greeted as she slid a pint under a brass tap.

“Looked like the Medusa crew almost made you into a serpent snack.” Zuzi Gonzales was Quandors’ bartender and my longtime best friend. “At least it’d be an interesting death,” I quipped, close-call sweat trickling down my back.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Title: –
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