Page 125 of Sins of the Heart

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This part of the Underworld was Osiris’s domain, a

place where Sutekh did not venture. None of the gods

and demigods ventured into the territory of another.

Talk about an Underworld faux pas.

Except Lokan. He’d had what amounted to a free

pass, crossing borders with ease because he’d been an

emissary. An ambassador.

A pawn.

Now it was Mal’s turn to do the job, because Lokan

was dead. The fact hadn’t quite settled. He still expected to feel a bruising punch to his shoulder and turn

to find his brother standing behind him.

But if Lokan were alive, Mal wouldn’t be here at all.

Rules were rules.

Osiris suffered the company of only one of Sutekh’s

spawn at a time. And he was no gracious host. He

didn’t welcome the presence of a soul reaper on his

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turf, only grudgingly tolerated it because someone had

to keep the peace between Osiris, Hades, Satan,

Xaphan and a slew of lesser demons and demigods.

Rulers of the Underworld could be so territorial at

times. So someone needed to be a politician: part

power broker, part impartial negotiator. Part god-whisperer.

That had been Lokan. He could charm the scales off

a snake or the shell off a scarab beetle. Not to mention

the skirt off one of Xaphan’s concubines. But Lokan

was dead. Butchered. His body parts scattered like

leaves in the wind. Which made Mal the youngest by

default.

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