Life After Death
Max Logan Series
After artfully arbitrating her return from the dead, Max Logan considers her experience with the afterlife a thing of the past. But she soon discovers her success as a temporary Superintendent of Spiritual Impediment was no accident, and she is, in fact, a Retriever of souls who died before their time. A position she neither believes in nor wants any part of.
When Max returns and learns Roger-the-Proctologist, her current boyfriend and ex-husband, died in a plane crash due to an inept Reaper gone rogue, she has no choice but to venture back into the sweet hereafter in an attempt to rescue his soul before it's too late.
Throw a freak blizzard, a hot Grim Reaper, and a nasty Gate-Keeper into the mix, and Max will be lucky to escape before her time runs out, and she becomes a permanent guest in the Dead-ever-after.
My aching spine seemed to straighten of its own accord as I recognized the calculated, feral gaze. My black wolf! I guess most people would find this discovery shocking and completely unbelievable but given recent events I’d been sucker punched into suspending disbelief. It was cool. I was down with it. No problem-o.
“Oh my God, you’re a freaking werewolf?” I screeched, bounding from my chair and hobbling several long steps away from him.
I freely admit I’d spent a good deal of time feeling sorry for myself over the last few years. Following my death and victorious return to the land of the living, I’d worked really hard at pulling myself away from the precipice of the bottomless pit of self-pity. All things considered, I actually had a pretty good life. But honestly, trapped with a bum ankle in an isolated cabin in the middle of a freak blizzard with a Grim Reaper who was also a werewolf, while planning to cross the veil to the other side to rescue my ex-husband from a D.I.E.? Seriously, why me?
“Hellhound, actually,” he growled, rising to his feet. My back was against a wall, literally. I had nowhere to go. Then again, at least I had a stable surface against which to support my knocking knees. Glass half full, Max.
“Hellhound, huh?” I retorted cynically with far more swagger than I felt. “Well, all righty then, Cerberus. What say I wait here and have another cup of this awesome coffee while you slip into your nifty fur coat and slink on over to the other side to hunt down Roger’s lost soul?”Discretion may be the better part of valor, but in my case the predilection for acerbity doesn’t exactly lend itself to caution. Sometimes even I don’t know what I’ll say next. It’s a gift.
“Cerberus is a distant relative and not one I affectionately seek out at the family reunion.” Morgan Kane continued his slow, deliberate stalk toward me. His green eyes gleamed with an otherworldly glow. “You wanted to know about my scars? Well, let’s just say Cerberus wasn’t too thrilled to see me the last time I paid him a visit.”
“Why?” Yeah, I really did ask. I bought into the whole three headed Guardian of the Gates of Hell thing. It was official. I’d finally reached the point where sanity and psychosis co-exist. It only took a few strides of his long legs to bring us toe to toe. Then he splayed a large palm against the wall on either side of my head and leaned toward me, bringing us almost nose to nose. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Of course, his whole being a product of Hell might actually give his hotness an entirely new meaning.
“Why? Because he has something that belongs to me and I want it back.” For a minute, I thought he would elaborate, but he seemed to think better of it. “Let’s go.”He pushed back from the wall and jerked his head in the direction of yet another doorway indicating I should follow. “It’s time to do this, if you’re still planning to get it done.”
I hesitated long enough to gulp down the remainder of my coffee, before limping after him. As soon as I crossed the threshold I knew there was something different about this room. My initial impression was that of a cluttered office, but I soon realized I didn’t recognize most of the objects scattered on the desk and surrounding tabletops. However, the shiny scythe I glimpsed propped in one corner was pretty self-explanatory. Dark heavy drapes hung at the windows, completely obscuring the world outside, and even the furniture was dark and heavy. The whole room reminded me of something out of a bad horror film. Oddly, there was a row of small, potted dogwood trees blooming along one wall, and I wondered how they managed to survive in the sunless gloom, not to mention the dead of winter. Then again, I was about to cross into the afterlife with a fugly necklace as my vehicle, and the Grim Reaper as my tour guide. A tree blooming out of season in a dark room didn’t seem quite so extraordinary, all things considered.