Page 2

Chapter two

“ W ho the hell cooks tuna in the microwave? The entire floor smells like fish!”

“I’d rather deal with the fish than have to listen to your screaming every night.”

“It’s not screaming! It’s throat singing!”

“I know throat singing, and that’s not it.”

“You’re one to talk. Banging on the walls at all hours of the night.”

“Both of you are annoying as hell, and I’m damn tired of the fish.”

Standing in the middle of the Tower’s eighth-floor corridor, Rune Calix dropped his head and rubbed the tension forming at his nape.

The residents closed in around him, their four-way argument escalating in both volume and creative insults.

It wasn’t even the first time he’d heard the complaints.

And since the length of time the souls had been in the Underworld directly correlated to which floor they lived on—the lower the floor, the longer they had been there—it was a very old disagreement.

The scent of warm tuna did indeed permeate the hallway from the unit directly behind him.

Which he found kind of amusing.

Most of the souls who occupied the floor had departed the mortal world before surnames even existed.

Forget microwaves. Esther had definitely needed someone to teach her how to use a can opener at some point.

Jiro had been renovating his apartment for millennia.

Hence the late-night banging.

Since the spaces were magical in nature, however, it always reverted to its original layout come morning.

Still, he kept trying.

Dolma’s singing was…

bad. And loud. And everyone knew it except her.

Then there was Sergei, the perpetually “over it” neighbor who just wanted everyone to shut up and leave him alone.

Rune could relate.

“Esther can eat what she wants,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“Light a candle or something.”

He received a few grumbles, but since they had all heard the speech before, no one disputed him.

“Dolma, no throat singing after dinner. And maybe try lowering the volume.”

“I’m communing,” she muttered under her breath, even as she bobbed her head in understanding.

Who she thought she was communing with, he didn’t know, and he didn’t dare ask.

“Jiro…” He trailed off with a sigh, rubbing his fingers against his forehead as if he could iron away the headache forming there.

“Return the tools to Geoffrey.”

He made a mental note to stop by the blacksmith’s shop later to follow up.

He considered it a testament to how often his implements went missing that Geoffrey hadn’t even reported the incident this time.

Technically, no one had lodged a complaint against Sergei, but experience told him a little proactive scolding wouldn’t go amiss.

“Stop being a dick to everyone,” Rune told him.

“Don’t booby trap the corridor. The middle elevator doesn’t belong to you. Everyone can use it. No, I can’t relocate you.” He waved his hand to encompass the other residents and added, “I can’t relocate them either.” He glanced around the group with an arched eyebrow.

“We good here?”

They neither agreed nor disagreed.

They simply disappeared back into their units with huffs, grumbles, and one irritated growl from Sergei.

Honestly, probably the best outcome he could have hoped for.

Once the doors had closed, he waited for another minute, making sure all remained quiet before making his way to the bank of elevators.

Selecting the call button, he smirked when the doors of the middle lift immediately slid open.

Like a lot of things in the Underworld, he didn’t know precisely how the Tower operated.

Rumor had it that Hades himself had built the structure to house the lost souls who refused to cross the river and face judgment.

Whether true or not, it seemed to him that the building had been constructed to be self-sustaining.

Over the many centuries, however, he had also come to believe that the Tower had a mind of its own, along with a whole lot of personality.

The inside of the cab looked like any he might find in the mortal realm.

Only, instead of a mirror, the back wall was comprised entirely of glass, giving him a view of the village beyond.

He wouldn’t necessarily consider the cobbled streets and crooked huts in varying degrees of disrepair a pleasant view.

Still, rather than gloomy or depressing, he found something oddly peaceful about the perpetual twilight that illuminated the town like clouded moonlight.

The doors parted again, opening onto a cavernous lobby, the space well-lit despite no obvious light source.

As he exited the cab, he couldn’t help but glance at the row of primary-red phone boxes lined up along the back wall.

Even after twelve hundred years in the Underworld, he still didn’t know what purpose they served.

He’d heard whispered speculations that ranged from summoning rituals to disembodied voice hauntings, and frankly, they all sounded ridiculous.

Not once in his countless passes through the lobby had he ever heard a phone ring or seen anyone approach the booths.

Which led him to believe that they didn’t actually do anything.

The more likely explanation for their existence was purely for Hades’ twisted amusement.

Outside of the Tower, he followed the winding path toward the main part of the village.

He passed a handful of residents along the way, and he spotted others through the dusty windows of the thatched huts.

Still, for a place that housed thousands of souls, it felt too empty.

Too quiet.

It hadn’t always been like that, though.

When he had first arrived on the shores of the River Acheron, there had been absolute stillness.

Since he’d followed his prince into the Underworld through magical avenues rather than normal means—like death—he and his fellow Guardians hadn’t been able to see or interact with the souls there.

Until they had been granted the sight by Hades.

For the first few hundred years, the Village of Lost Souls had been a lively place.

The streets had always been bustling with activity, with people packed into the ramshackle businesses, especially the pub and the diner.

Since then, he had seen the community wax and wane, watching the pendulum swing from boisterous to depressed and back again.

It had never been this bad, though.

While he would like to believe his presence had something to do with the emptiness, it would be both arrogant and factually inaccurate.

Well, not his presence specifically, but somewhere adjacent.

When Prince Orrin Nightstar had relocated to the Underworld to be with his mate, he had taken up the mantle of Guardian of Lost Souls.

For the past millennia, it had been his job to connect with souls and help them move on, to leave the village and cross into the unknown.

He didn’t want to diminish the importance of the position or undermine Orrin’s success, but frankly, it wasn’t enough.

For every soul the prince convinced to cross the river, two more arrived to take their place.

Hell, just the previous week, a new level had appeared in the Tower, a new floor of apartments to accommodate the growing population.

Over time, he had come to understand that everyone had their reasons for staying, but those justifications boiled down to just two things.

Love and fear. And while he understood the desire to give these souls choice and agency, he also felt that allowing them to stay stuck in time was more damaging than helpful.

Then again, what did he know?

He was just the guy who patrolled the riverbank and dealt with noise complaints.

Once a tactician and a warrior who defended kingdoms, he had been reduced to little more than a glorified neighborhood watchman.

To be fair, he didn’t hate his life.

He hadn’t fallen into the trap of existential despair like some of the souls.

Or Tyr.

Although, the Guardian’s verve had seemingly been reawakened by the arrival of his mate.

At the very least, he had found his purpose again.

Rune just wished that purpose hadn’t taken him across the river.

Damn, he missed the surly bastard.

But he had never really wavered in his own resolve.

His priorities had simply shifted.

He had adapted, and for the most part, he felt fulfilled.

He was just…tired.

At the end of the stone path, set slightly apart from the other shops, the diner welcomed him with squealing hinges and sand-strewn floors.

Maybe because it had been the first structure built on the hill, the place acted as something of a hub, the very heart of the village.

It had become Orrin’s preferred meeting place, and long-time residents meandered through daily.

The newly deceased also found their way to the stone fireplace set just off the entrance, where they were welcomed with a cup of coffee and a kind word from the owner.

Orrin greeted him with a smile when he approached the booth situated next to the only window.

“Rune.” He shook back the sleeves of his sapphire blue robes and motioned to the bench seat across the table.

“Please, join me.”

“Have you ever considered dressing like the locals?” he asked, only half joking.

Darned in bright colors, with his fair skin and silver hair, the prince stood out like a ray of sunshine in a dark cave.

“I have.” Orrin nodded thoughtfully as he filled a chipped mug with freshly brewed coffee and slid it toward him.

“It would be disingenuous, though.”

He said nothing more on the subject, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

When he had renounced his claim to the throne of the elven court, the news had sent ripples throughout the paranormal world.

No one who knew him, however, had been surprised.

He had the skills and knowledge of a leader.

Maybe even the temperament.

He didn’t, however, have the heart or capacity to make the hard decisions.

Rune had no doubt that, given time, he would have become an excellent king.

But it never would have been authentic or sincere.

A male arrived at the table, fresh faced with rounded cheeks and untamed honey curls.

While Cian appeared young, he’d been in the village longer than anyone, the original lost soul, as it were.

At least, that was what people whispered about him.

He always wore an amiable smile when he greeted his customers, but it never quite reached his eyes.

Instead, they always looked a little lost.

Haunted.

“Can I get you anything?”

Rune shook his head.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

He wouldn’t say the food at the diner was bad.

Just bland. No matter the dish, it all kind of tasted like soggy cornflakes.

Cian smiled and dipped his head, then drifted away to resume his place behind the counter without another word.

Rune watched him go with a slight frown.

Everyone loved the guy, and for good reason, but interactions with him could sometimes be a little unsettling, feeling almost like residual energy, an echo, rather than any kind of meaningful connection.

“So, what brings you here?” Orrin asked, leaning back in the booth as he sipped his coffee.

“Nothing.”

Well, nothing he could articulate.

He had been headed to see the blacksmith when he’d left the Tower, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up in the diner.

At the same time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The prince studied him over the rim of his cup, his pale gray eyes sharp and piercing.

“Problem at the high-rise?”

“Not really.” He shrugged.

“Same shit. Different day.” Holding his mug in both hands, he slouched against the back of the bench seat and sighed.

“Do you think those four will ever move on?”

Orrin considered him for a moment before echoing his sigh.

“No, I don’t think they will. They have been here too long. And while I wouldn’t call their existence comfortable, it is familiar.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?”

“Because you were thinking the same thing. You probably know the residents here better than anyone.”

Rune smirked.

On the surface, it might have sounded like a compliment, but he had known the elf for too long to be fooled.

Orrin wanted information.

“The new female, Cassidy, is already regretting her decision to stay.”

“I see.” Though he spoke in neutral tones, Orrin’s eyes lit up, and the hint of a smile played over his lips.

“And Ziggy?”

“Not happening.” He snorted at the very idea.

“The kid loves it here. He thinks he’s multilingual now.”

In reality, it was more like an enchanted translator.

Souls didn’t suddenly start speaking a variety of languages when they arrived in the Underworld.

The innate magic of the place just interpreted it for them.

Ziggy didn’t care.

Nineteen, full of vim and vigor but lacking any shred of self-preservation, his cause of death had surprised literally no one, including him.

Still, taking a nosedive off a cliff in pursuit of a selfie sounded like a pretty brutal way to go.

“How are our long-time residents doing?” Orrin asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“You might want to talk to Alice.”

The shopkeeper at the pottery had lived in the village for centuries, and she’d always seemed pretty content.

Recently, however, something had changed.

Rune couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a restlessness about the female these days.

That didn’t necessarily mean she was ready to move on, but it was worth a shot.

“I’ll stop by the pottery later.” Orrin angled slightly in his seat and glanced out the dingey window.

“What about Finn?”

Rune followed his gaze to the figure standing near the dock, his plain white tee a stark contrast against the obsidian sands.

Newly dead and a fledgling vampire, Finn Truitt was a bit of a mystery.

Technically, he had died twice.

Once as a human and again as a vampire, but he had no recollection of the second one.

For the love of Hades, he hadn’t even known he was a vampire when he’d first landed on the riverbank.

According to Cian, it used to happen a lot back before the Ministry of Otherling Affairs had existed to police the paranormal population.

Sometimes by accident from a clueless vampire.

More rarely, the final death had been intentional.

Yet the result was always the same.

A soul popped up in the Underworld with no knowledge of being an Otherling or any understanding of what that entailed.

Having lived through the Awakening—the big reveal of the paranormal world to humans—Finn had been a little better equipped to deal with his new reality.

His laid-back personality didn’t hurt either, and for the most part, he had taken the news in stride.

Of both his death and his supernatural upgrade.

“He’s adjusting.” The guy struggled with urges and cravings, and he probably would for the next year or so, but he was learning to manage them.

“I think having something to do helps.”

With Tyr off across the river, living his happily ever afterlife with Sunne, it had disrupted the routine and fucked up the schedule of their shared duties.

Finn had volunteered to fill some of those gaps.

At the moment, he was patrolling the river, watching for any arriving souls so he could give them the rundown of what to do, and more importantly, what not to do.

“That’s good, but I still worry. Let me know if—”

Orrin cut off, and they both turned toward the window again.

A new soul had arrived.

Except, this one wasn’t confused or disoriented like the majority who came to their shores.

From the sound of his shouting, he was pissed.

Rune sighed. It happened sometimes.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed dealing with it.

“I better go check it out.” While he trusted Finn, the guy’s impulse control was already shaky at best, and things could go sideways fast.

Another high-pitched scream pierced the quiet, making his right eye twitch.

Orrin winced as well and inched toward the end of the booth.

“I’ll come with you.”

He didn’t argue, knowing a little magical backup couldn’t hurt, just in case.

Without warning, the world went black, and the air leached from his lungs.

The sensation lasted only a heartbeat, and when he blinked open his eyes, he found himself standing at the end of the pier.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Fuck, he hated phasing, but he did appreciate the expediency.

“Where is he?” the newcomer shouted.

“I have to find him!”

Finn held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Just calm down and—”

“Ugh!” Shoving past him, the male marched straight toward the river.

Thankfully, Finn moved faster, catching him around the waist and hauling him back from the water’s edge before he could permanently erase himself.

“Get your hands off me!” The guy kicked and flailed, doing his best to inflict as much damage as possible.

“Let me go!”

“I’m trying to save your neck, you damn fool.”

When Finn’s face turned to stone after catching a heel to the knee, Rune figured he should probably intervene.

He had made it only a few steps when the newcomer jerked around and stilled, his wide hazel eyes locked on Rune across the distance.

His shaggy golden hair fell around his face like a halo, emphasizing a pair of high cheekbones and an angular jaw.

He was gorgeous, no doubt, but that hadn’t been what stopped Rune in his tracks.

“Noah?” He hadn’t seen the male in weeks, and he had kind of assumed the guy had slipped across the river in the middle of the night.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The new arrival took a jerky step forward, his head tilting to one side.

“You know my brother?”

“Brother?” Okay, he had definitely missed something.

“What brother?”

“Noah. You called me Noah. Do you know him? Where is he?”

Rune growled.

He didn’t know what the hell was happening, and he didn’t like it.

“Who are you?”

“Keegan.” He took another step forward.

“Noah is my twin. I have to find him.”

Okay, well, that answered one question, and it made him feel a little less like he might be losing his mind.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do to help the male.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where your brother is.” He gestured toward the dock behind him.

“If you take the ferry across the river, though, you might find him.”

“He’s not on the other side of the river!” Keegan paused and shook his head.

“At least, I don’t think he is.” He fisted both hands in his hair and pulled at the locks.

“I don’t know! He’s gone. He went through the mirror. And I know that sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.”

Honestly?

Yeah, he sounded batshit, and Rune didn’t know what the hell to think or believe.

“I think you’re confused and—”

“I’m not confused!” Marching through the sand, he stopped right in front of Rune and poked a finger in his chest. “I’m telling the truth! I watched him get sucked into a mirror right before I died, and it’s my fault. I have to find him.”

But Rune wasn’t listening anymore.

The scent of honeysuckle and something wilder filled his head, the fragrance invading his senses.

Consuming him. Pumping adrenaline through his veins as his canines elongated and a deep, possessive growl rolled in his chest.

Nothing else made sense in that moment, but he knew one thing with absolute clarity.

For better or worse, this human, with his big eyes and outlandish stories, was undeniably his.