Page 17 of Reaper Unhinged
Cassius must have realized this too because his jaw hardened and he nodded curtly. “Come with me.”
Chapter Six
Cora
Plexus Gymnasium is a dive. It looks like a drug den from the outside, the kind they show in movies, but yes, this is the address Dayna gave me. Dillon owns this place, and when not working on reaper stuff can be found here. Apparently, most of the reapers have regular jobs and live in Necro, finding it easier to stay in the city than travel back and forth from the Underealm.
But this part of the city is less than pleasant. We’re in Crimson Pack territory. Biker gang, Loup domain. Why would Dillon choose here to open a business?
A car swerves way too close to the curb as it passes me, and someone lets out a wolf whistle, and then there’s silence again.
There are only a few stores on this block, and business is slow. Not a soul on foot, well, no live soul anyway. I do spot a young man hovering outside the 7-Eleven holding out his hand for loose change. I can see the sandwich board and the wordsbuy one get one freethrough him.
The dead sometimes get stuck re-enacting moments of their lives, and it seems that this one never registered. I’ll need to let Dayna know about him too.
It begins to snow as I cross the street, and by the time I’m at the doors, it’s a full-on blizzard.
Bloody hell, the weather in this city has a mind of its own. I push on the thick glass and step inside. It’s warm, and the smell of sweat and rubber hits me.
Nice.
There’s no reception. No foyer. Just a huge, high-ceilinged, open-plan space filled with workout equipment and gym mats. There’s even a boxing ring in the center where two guys are sparring.
Grunts and pants and the whirr of machinery fill the air.
Now, where is Dillon?
Is he one of the two guys in the ring? Or one of the couples wrestling on the mats. There’s a man on the treadmill, and then there’s another punching the shit out of a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.
Fuck this. “Dillon?” I walk into the room. “I need to speak to Dillon.”
The guy at the punch bag halts its swing with the palm of his hand and looks over at me.
“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?”
I guess this is Dillon.
* * *
He doesn’t looklike a reaper. He’s not built like Azazel, Mal, or Conah. But there’s an air of power about him. His body is lithe, compact muscle, the kind you find on a sprinter. His face is lean, and he looks kinda mean.
He reads the message on the comm and shrugs. “Nothing new there. Humans go missing all the time.”
“You need to meet up with Ursula.”
“Where’s Azazel?”
“Underealm on important business.”
His mouth twists, and something dark crosses his face. “Saving Lilith.”
My heart stills in my chest. No one knows about Lilith. The guys are keeping it under wraps so as not to incite panic, so how the fuck does this reaper know?
Dillon slings a towel around his neck and crosses his arms. “My days of dancing to Azazel’s tune are over, and soon demons everywhere will be free to make their own choices, to be the gods we were meant to be and have”—he opened his arms—“everything and anything we fucking desire.”
“A Mammon supporter.”
He inclines his head. “And I’m not the only one.” He turns his back on me. “Now get the fuck out of my gym.”
