Anathema Pt. 01

He'd told me once the ropes ocassionally like to be tossed. Said it reminds them of the times when travelling by hand drawn ferry was a lot more common. I had never known ropes could have such deep thoughts, but if it tickled the fancy of the things to be tossed through the air every now and then I was happy to oblige.

"All the luck for your hunt, Predator," Charon holds out the piece of the soul I'm searching for. He never wishes well or even good luck. Just luck. I hold my hand out and he tips the piece into my palm, careful not to touch. Anything that puts off enough heat to keep a person warm from several feet away should not be touched.

"Thanks, Charon. Think about what kind of coffee you'd like on my next trip through," I step off the boat and onto the dock.

The Underworld is green and lush this time of year. Back home, in the middle of December, it's still too warm for anything more than a hoodie and long pants. Which means Persephone is home and she likes things pretty. The temperature never changes, though. Unlike the River Styx flowing with souls, here the specters of people roam like their lives never ended. The Afterlife just keeps going on and on. Sometimes there's a flash as a soul is selected for reincarnation, but I've only seen it once. Kind of looks like a falling star in reverse.

It's also seemingly stuck in time sometime around the Roman hey-day. The roads are paved with flat stones and are wide enough for four or five carts to ride side by side, yet all the traffic is by foot. Nobody has been able to tell me where the souls of animals go, but it's not here. I would give a lot for a horse right about now.

The only thing I know about the soul I'm hunting is he was American, which limits the places in the Underworld the soul might go. There had been nothing in the file about him studying theology of any sort, so I doubted I would find him at a Bacchanal or running around with satyrs and dryads. Turning, I head toward the more modern looking bars and pubs, holding onto the piece in my left hand. It tugs me this way and that through the streets, and the souls wandering around instinctively avoid me. The wraith guards watch for a little while, but as long as I stay phased they'll leave me alone.

At a crossroads, the piece in my hand jerks and vibrates so harshly I almost drop it. I phase completely, letting my fangs down and drawing in the scent of the soul I'm after. He's in one of the buildings to my left, so I turn and stalk over the stones.

The moment I phased completely into my Predator form, the souls around me scattered. But the one I was looking for wouldn't run. I had a part of it. In a way, hunting souls here was so much easier than hunting a living being topside. The soul would want this piece back and wouldn't be able to run away, no matter how far from the dock they were.

I find him straining to get away at the door to the second building on my right. He's average in every way and had I not been able to taste in his scent that he had been a witch he could have passed for pure human. Most of us could pass. Those who couldn't used glamours.

"What the hell are you?" Spittle flies from his mouth with the amount of strain he's exerting trying to get away from me. Most souls just do their best to avoid my kind without knowing why. A soul without a body is an easy meal for me, though I have better control than that. They know that, even if they don't know they know. He's fighting his need for the piece of his soul that I hold and trying to get away. It's almost pitiful.

I pull my badge from a pocket. "Bureau of Inhuman Affairs, Agent Jackson. I need you to tell me where your body is topside. You left at a real unfortunate time, and didn't get the chance to answer some questions." I hated having to identify myself, but if the medium who called his specter into a courthouse asked who found him in the Underworld, he would need to know that information.

"I'm in the river," he says. The look of shock that crosses his face is normal. He doesn't want to answer, but a soul always answers true. "They strapped concrete to my feet and dropped me off a dock near Seguin. Didn't even have the decency to kill me first."

"Which dock?"

"It was a vacation spot. Off highway 123 just outside town to the south."

I nod and toss the tooth into the air at the man. His mother had had it tucked away like some sort of parental trophy from his younger days. It amazes me how many people do that, but it was helpful in this case.

He snatches the piece of his soul from the air, flickering a little brighter for a moment. The tooth falls to the ground to become part of the streets of the Underworld. Once he has his little piece he runs like the wraith guards are after him. Runs like he would be able to get somewhere down here or he thinks I'm going to follow.

No. I don't have to chase souls down here.

I stroll back through the streets toward the dock to find Charon still waiting. My phase starts to regress until only my eyes and hair show what I am. Charon is silent for the trip back across the river, but he does let me stand close enough to stay warm.

At the dock, he finally speaks, "Anubis is looking for you, Predator."

"Right now? Why didn't he catch me on the other side?"

Charon says nothing more, but I look around. When a death deity is looking for you, you damn well stay still so they can find you. Sure enough, a man dressed almost identical to me in black leather pants and trench coat steps out of nowhere beside the dock.

If Charon is pretty, Anubis is beautiful. Anubis is also one of the few death deities who aren't anathema, so when he holds his hand out I take it and give it a good squeeze. "Walk with me, Kaya."

Yep. I'm not anybody who can disobey a god. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Anubis?"

"A soul is missing from the Underworld." He says it like he's discussing the weather, or ordering a cheeseburger. Souls don't leave the Underworld. That's kind of the rule.

"It wasn't me," I say.