Deadly Kisses - By Kerri Cuevas Page 0,1

small stone structure that stood in the middle of the cemetery.

I opened the door to the crypt, which led to the underground river. I gently pushed him through the doorway, and sealed it closed behind us with the power of my scythe.

In the dark cave, water dripped off the edges of stones, making slight ripples in the river. The old man turned to stare at me when he saw my rig by the edge of the water. “Where are you taking me?”

I hated when they stared. I pointed to my gondola. It needed a wax job, and the side was scratched. It must have happened when it skidded over a rock the other day.

My phone rang again. I growled, and the man practically ran. I sent the call to voicemail, which meant Abe would text me to death. No pun intended.

My phone beeped, and I read the text he sent me.

Boy, be ready for your next assignment in 30. The battle is on. I’m on my way to the 14th. Better figure out who the 14th is boy, and fast.

Abraham Lincoln was my Grim Reaper boss. I mean, I’d flunked history twice, and now I was bonded through death to one of the biggest names in American history. Because he reaped me, a small part of his soul lingered in me and I could feel his emotions—when he wanted me to.

I swear Abe lived to torture me. He would badger me until I ascended to Heaven or Hell. For some unknown reason, Abe had issues with Grim Reapers under the age of eighteen.

The old man stepped into the boat, hesitant to sit down. “You’re not going to Hell. We are on a one-way trip to Heaven, so sit.” I lifted the cloak and stepped into my gondola. “Do you happen to know who the fourteenth president was?”

The old man sat down and was as still as possible. He wouldn’t look at me. “Come on, you’re older than dirt. You gotta know,” I said as I pushed off the bottom of the river. We moved with the current at a swift pace.

“Pierce,” he said.

“You sure?” He was old and his memory might not be as good as it could be, so I did an Internet search on my smartphone about Pierce. Sure enough, he was number fourteen. His homestead was in Hillsborough, only miles away. “Excellent. Thanks.”

The moans of the lost souls erupted from the river, filling every crevice of the stone cave. This was the point where the million and one questions began to roll in about Hell.

A skeletal hand reached up from the murky water and grabbed the edge of my gondola. The old man jumped and almost tipped us. I thought of the skeletons as drunken groupies at a concert, but in reality, they had once been Grim Reapers. I smashed the thing with my boot, sending it back into the river, and the old man moved to the middle of the seat. We were almost to the entrance of the Golden Gate.

Low talking echoed over the moaning, and I looked up to see another Grim Reaper through the veil of moss that hung from the stone above. As they moved past us, I could see the person in the back of the gondola hunched over in a tight fog-like ball. A dark shadow hovered near him, ready to devour the negative energy when his soul was returned to him at the Gates of Hell. It sucked to be that person.

I’d rather deal with my drunken mother than the demons of Hell. I shuddered at the thought of it. Their stink was enough to make you gag, never mind the pointy tails and horns. I was glad Abe didn’t send me there often.

I steered the gondola to the right, stopping in front of the Golden Gates. Its warmth washed over me and I felt the enticement to ascend, but it was overpowered by my regret.

The old man smiled as I pointed to the gate. He climbed out and walked away without even a thank you. I yelled to him, “Hope you enjoyed your ride on my rig of death. Please exit on the right and have a golden lovely day. Don’t come back now.”

I opened my mouth to release his soul. It came out white and glittery, following behind him. The gatekeeper collected it. He would return it to the old man later, making him look like a ghost instead of the blurred fog he was now.

I went