Page 29 of Devils and the Dead
Ugh, heaven sounded just as horrible as hell. I was hearing a theme here and wasn’t sure purgatory would be any better. “What do you call it? The afterlife you designed for yourself, that is.”
“Hades’s Underworld.” He shook his head with a laugh. “Not very inventive, I know. My creativity clearly begins and ends in architectural design.”
“Hades’s Underworld.” I smiled. “I’d love to see it sometime. I’ll bet it’s amazing.”
“I’d love for you to visit someday.” He sat for a second in contemplation. “Although I had great joy in designing and building it, I want to be able to share The Underworld with others. My work tends to be solitary in nature, but I like being around others. I like hearing voices in the background, seeing demons and spirits as they come and go, taking breaks to have conversation. Living in The Underworld wouldn’t be much fun unless others lived there as well.”
I shot him a quick glance. “Would that be poaching? From what I’ve heard, heaven and hell tend to take their soul acquisition seriously. You offering an alternative might bring unwelcome competition.”
He sighed. “I’d need to consider that. Perhaps I could serve a niche audience. Mine would be an afterlife for those who feel out of place in heaven, hell, or even purgatory. There are other niche afterlives available. One more that served a very small group of people shouldn’t be significant enough to cost me my contracts with the big guys.”
He was so easy to talk to, so interesting and thoughtful. I would love to hear more about his design ideas, his work.
“Should I change the name?” he asked. “Maybe I should call it something like The Meadows?”
I laughed. “That sounds like a suburban housing development—the upper middle-class kind with a super restrictive HOA and neatly manicured lawns.”
He smiled over at me, taking away any worry I had that he might be offended at my teasing. “I’m not very good with names. Perhaps you have some suggestions? There are wide-open, grassy spaces, but also wooded areas. There’s an eternity of sunsets, fields of flowers, lakes and streams. The homes are magically hidden, only visible when the residents and visitors both want to see them. If a resident wants to be alone, they won’t encounter anyone. If they want company, the others will be visible to them.”
Interlocking dimensions, constructed so every single resident’s wishes were taken into consideration. “It sounds wonderful,” I told him. “I’d totally live there. As long as I could continue to work my magic, that is. And for what it’s worth, I think The Underworld is a perfect name.”
There were so many afterlife options closed to me because I was a necromancer. I doubted I’d meet the criteria for heaven, and even if I did, I doubted if I’d be allowed to have a skeleton army of rats, or zombie birds. That probably wouldn’t be allowed in purgatory either. Given my familial connections, I was pretty sure an afterlife in hell would be fairly cushy. I’d probably end up with a nice condo like Hades had, and post-death employment opportunities would probably take advantage of my necromancy skills.
Still… I didn’t want to torture souls with zombies and skeletons, even if they deserved it. And it seemed like torturing souls was the only job in hell. I’d have a hard time finding meaningful work or any activities I enjoyed, and I’d probably have to spend most of my afterlife wearing noise-cancelling headphones so I wouldn’t need to listen to the screaming twenty-four/seven.
“What about you?” Hades pivoted in his seat to eye the dead opossum in my backseat. “You chose to live away from your family, but you said you don’t have a community of necromancers that you work with. Do you have a secondary magical ability in potion making? Is that why your other career is crafting special beverages for others and not in an industry that deals in the spirit world or in the bodies of those who have passed?”
“A necromancer working in the funeral home industry always felt so cliché,” I told him. “It may sound weird, but I truly enjoy being among the living. And although I don’t make potions, creating tasty and fun beverages, watching people be social and happy, listening to bands play their music and seeing customers dance and enjoy their night, makes me happy.”
That wasn’t the entire answer. I’d always been the weirdo growing up, and I hadn’t wanted to stay in that weirdo-corner by opening up a séance business or working with the dead. Being a bartender made me normal. And I liked being around happy, celebrating humans. There was great purpose in providing closure for grieving families, but it wasn’tmycalling.
Hades’s architectural talent was a solitary pursuit, but he loved being around others. I was the same. Bartending gave me that much-needed jolt of human celebration. Necromancy could be such a lonely art, and I found that I needed the living around me.
I turned into the parking lot for the Disco Diner.
“Wow,” Hades remarked.
I nodded in agreement. The place had originally been one of those silver-clad, bullet-shaped diners, but new owners three years ago had put a quirky twist on the place. On the roof of the long silver building they’d erected a giant spinning disco ball. Colored lights were trained on it from the side, and the result was a seizure-inducing display of moving colors all over the parking lot.
“Is it the same inside?” he asked.
“Only when someone’s having a birthday, or when they playStayin’ Aliveby the BeeGees,” I assured him.
I parked my car and got out, amused to see Hades painted in a wash of moving reflected colors as he climbed out the passenger side. The front door of the diner opened, and as a customer walked out, we heard the faint sounds of Abba’sDancing Queen.
“It’s not my birthday,” Hades informed me. “Just in case you had any ideas.”
I chuckled. Good-looking. Kind. Artistic. Interesting. Sense of humor. This guy was downright perfect.
“The food here is actually good, in spite of the quirky theme. They use local grass-fed beef, and cage-free eggs from a nearby farm. It’s all farm-to-table.”
We headed across the parking lot. When we got to the door, Hades hopped a step ahead and opened it for me. Inside, the disco theme continued in more ways than just the music. Everything was chrome and mirrors. The bench and seat upholstery was shag carpeting. The wait staff wore bell-bottom, white satin pants and shirts bedazzled with rhinestones and colored gems. Both men and women had their hair in the iconic ’70s styles that resembled feathered wings. The hostess had frosted plum eyeshadow in varying shades that curved up to her eyebrows, and lips so glossy they looked as if they’d been lacquered.
Those eyebrows shot up when she saw Hades.
“Usual booth, Lonnie?” she asked.
“Yes. Thanks, Shelly,” I replied.
