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THERE WAS NO DENYING the summons to ride.

It was impossible to resist the pull to the stable, for the pain of trying to do so was crippling. The spirits that clouded the homestead seemed to whirl in a faster dervish as if they, too, could feel the call to escort a soul to the underworld. Certainly, these wayward entities did not wish to be sent to the pits of Hell that badly. I waved them off like a cloud of hungry mosquitoes, breathlessly jogging to the stable. Abyss was frantic in his stall, kicking madly, shrieking his impatience.

“Coming!” I shouted to try to calm the horse, but he was not to be pacified. I stumbled into the stable, my sight flickering from the horse tossing not only his head but the soft blanket that lay over a blanket bar beside his large stall. “Hotheaded are we?” I asked as a sharp glimmer to my left made me glance at the carriage. The lantern that hung off the side was now illuminated. The flame within a disquieting yellowish-green. A solid double-footed rear kick to the stout wooden walls pulled my attention from the carriage. Oddly enough, or possibly not odd at all, the pressure in my chest lessened here in the barn. “Easy, Abyss, before you knock the boards free.”

Abyss stamped his feet as I neared. The latch on the gate was barely open before the stallion pushed through, his snowy eyes glowing in the gloom. He trotted to a hitching ring secured next to the main doorway, where he then stood impatiently. Whoever had raised this horse from a colt had done a grand job with his training. Then again, maybe the beast had been birthed from the fiery pits fully grown. Yet another question for my new boss to answer when he returns. If he returns.

Moving quickly and with the speed of one who had harnessed horses for years, I set to work. Lugging the heavy leather harness and other tack from the storage room—a small area fitted out with a worn saddle as well as all the gear needed to hitch the horse to the carriage—to the eager horse took time, and sweat was beading on my brow by the time I had Abyss ready. He nickered softly, nipping at me when I paused to wipe the perspiration from the back of my neck. I’d taken too long, I was sure, but checking every piece of equipment before placing it on the dancing horse ensured the animal would not have a sore rubbed onto his flesh. Is it possible, deep down, Abyss understood that? He nipped at my shoulder.

“I cannot move any faster,” I told him. He seemed to understand, somehow, but still gave me a shove as if to speed me along. Once he was ready, I untied him, took his reins, and readied myself to ask a horse that didn’t know me from Adam—and wearing blinders—to walk in reverse. Much to my great delight, the stallion backed himself to the carriage, stopping neatly between the shafts. I ran a hand over his side, brushing my fingertips over the heavy collar then giving the girth one final check before hoisting the shafts up, one by one, and secured both hands to the neck yokes.

“This is ass backward,” I complained to the horse and carriage. When I returned from this ride, I would park the carriage outside. That was how Norman had done it, so it was how I would also do it. The pull of the summons flared up. The horse whinnied, and the carriage seemed to rock slightly on its large wheels. Hands on my hips, drenched in sweat, and dirt on the knees of my trousers, I tossed my dusty top hat onto my head. The carriage rolled forward as Abyss stamped his feet, obviously vexed at how slowly I moved. Ass barely in the coachman’s seat, I picked up the reins and gave them the gentlest of flicks.

The horse exited the barn at a full gallop, his head high. The speed at which he left the stable snapped my neck soundly. With unearthly force, I was pressed to the window behind me, the wheels of the carriage spinning so rapidly they were a blur. We raced around my new abode, tearing past the overgrown garden gate and through a brace of willows. The limbs of the trees slapped the carriage—and me—while I bellowed for the horse to slow. He did not. The black bastard picked up speed, the carriage wheels hitting ruts and rocks soundly, until…they weren’t. The ride had smoothed. I straightened my hat. We careened along at breakneck speed. The wheels rolling but not touching the ground. Then a vortex opened up in front of us, a windless vacuum that resembled the whirlpool where the Avers Mill River meets with the Housatonic River. I’d only seen the phenomenon once when I had accompanied the Martins to a livestock sale. The rivers had been flooded and churning with raw power. It had been a frightening sight. With a yelp to the horse to stop, we rode into the vortex at full speed.

A moment, perhaps less, of crushing weight, and then we cleared the maelstrom. I sucked in a deep breath, my hands quaking, and then croaked out a weak, “Whoa,” that seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“Whoa, slow down, damn it!” I shouted, giving the reins a sound jerk. Given this beast’s unholy speed, I should have used a mouth bit, but I always found them unnecessary on most horses. Of course, Abyss was not a common horse. “Whoa,” I repeated. The gallop slowed to a canter, and my grip on the reins lessened. My hat sat on my head at a wild angle, so I righted it, wet my lips, and then took in my surroundings.

We were not back in the mundane gray of purgatory. I deeply breathed in the fresh, moist air. The sound of the carriage wheels squelching along a muddy road was like a song of joy in my ears. The trees were green, the sky overcast but with breaks in the rain clouds, and the air was rich with birdsong. We’d crossed through the shroud. The carriage itself seemed to hum with rich tones that ran through the conveyance into me, the thrum as soothing as a lullaby. We rode along for two or so miles. The horse was taking us where we needed to go. The reins dangled from my fingers as I took in the colors of late summer in Massachusetts. I felt such joy to be back, to see color, to breathe in cool rain-washed air.

Abyss threw his head in glee, his long black tail high, as we rode through a thick forest, the leaves still dripping rain. How was it that I could walk both planes? Was I not dead or was that a lie spun to me by Satan’s second as a means of manipulating me? A dog barking not far off broke into my thoughts. Abyss dropped into a walk, ears moving, feet kicking up globs of clay dirt as we turned off the rutted country road into a small farmyard. The carriage’s song seemed to vibrate more loudly the closer we drew to the rundown house. A small brindle dog darted off the front porch, hackles raised, barking at us as we rode through a flock of white ducks noodling about in a puddle. They seemed unconcerned about the horse and carriage as we rolled through the flock, but the dog was greatly disconcerted.

Two middle-aged men stepped out onto the porch, bearded, clad in work clothes, their noses large and bulbous things that sat ungainly on their faces.

“Shut up, you stupid mutt, there ain’t nothing there!” the taller of the two shouted as he picked up a chunk of firewood to throw at the dog. The dog ran off into the trees, tail tucked, as the two men stared out at the yard. “How much longer you suppose?”

I slipped down from my seat, worked at righting my clothes, and watched the two men closely. They did not seem to notice me. The dog had, though, but not the ducks. Odd. Abyss nickered as an orange cat slunk into view. The cat spied us, froze, and then arched its back.

“Easy, puss,” I called, for I had a fondness for barn cats. This one had no great liking for me, though. It darted off with a brushy tail and nary a glance back. So, only beasts with thoughts above that of ducks sensed us. But the two men now lighting pipes did not. I wasn’t sure what that said about the intelligence of the duo before me. I took a few steps closer to the men, but they merely sucked on their old pipes as they worked to light them.

“He’s been lingering for weeks now. I love Pa but I wish he would just move over,” Tall One said as I moved to the porch, one boot on the rickety first step. “Consumption ain’t pretty.”

Ah, so that was what was taking the old man inside. Yes, the wasting disease was horrid. Many believed it was passed on through families as it seemed to sicken entire households. I had no medical knowledge outside of how to tend to horses, so I thought little about what caused the white death. Even from where I stood outside, I could hear the death rattles of a man whose lungs were filled with mucus.

I placed a hand on the door but could not open it even when I pushed with all my strength. Maybe I was not to enter until the soul had left the body. I tried to twist the knob, but it remained sealed to me. Pipe smoke drifted under my nose, the dark scent reminding me of my previous employer. I may have disliked Norman for his misuse of his employees and my great-aunt, but at least he answered questions, which was a step up from the monster that I now answered to.

Unsure of what to do, I returned to the carriage to wait. Hours crept by. People in homespun clothing came and went, many with baskets. The two men greeted them all and then led them inside to pay respects to their mother. Abyss seemed content to linger and eat the tall grasses that filled the barnyard. I grew bored quickly. I tried to summon Malphus by using my mind, but it seemed my mind was too weak to reach him. Or the demon was ignoring me. If I were a betting man, I would place my coin on the latter.

Wishing I had a book, I let my eyes drift shut as the day grew warmer. A sorrowful wail erupted from inside the home. My lids slowly opened. A bright ray of sun broke through the clouds then. The beam was dazzling white, with tiny motes drifting about in its path as it changed from pure light into a shimmering rainbow. I blinked several times as a petite man of around twenty and five, wearing a white day suit, stepped from the beam and tripped over the chunk of firewood that had been thrown at the brindle dog hours ago. He fell forward as he windmilled his arms. I leaped from the carriage but failed to get to him in time. Down to his hands and knees he went, his spectacles landing in the mud puddle the ducks had been dabbling in.

“Confound it,” he said, sitting back on his heels, his glorious blond curls falling into his face. I kneeled beside him, smiling softly, as he wiped his hands on the grass while squinting at his trousers. “My suit is quite soiled,” he mumbled to himself. “That will not go over well when I return. Sister Evangelista is always quite distressed about grass stains.”

“Are you unharmed?” I asked. His gaze flew from the mud on his white slacks to me. Eyes the color of a gold coin found me. He squinted at me. “Let me fetch your spectacles.”

“Oh, thank you. That is ever so kind!” He smiled at me. Something inside my breast warmed at the small dimple that appeared. “Wait. You can see me. Oh! Are you the new coachman?”

“I am, yes, and you are…”

“Blind as a bat at the moment, but rest assured I am here on the same assignment that you are.” He began patting the grass. “If only I could locate my spectacles.”

Sensing divinity surrounding this man, I plucked his eyewear from the puddle, wiped the lenses on my already dirty sleeve, and handed the spectacles back to him. “Oh grand! Thank you.” He looped them around his tiny ears. Then he took me in with a grace that I wished I’d shown when I’d been presented with something new not all that long ago. “You’re much younger than the previous coachman. I’m so sorry for your passing. I hope it was not a painful one. My name is Hamiel.” He held out a small, muddy hand—one that belonged to a lady more so than a man—to me. I pulled my soiled ascot from my pocket and placed it into his palm. “Oh goodness. What a mess I am. It is no wonder that Michael is always chiding me about my vestments.” He wiped his hand and stuck it out once more. “There. Clean! So yes, I am Hamiel. And you are named what?”

It was a confusing time. Within a few mere days—if time in the shadowlands of limbo ran along the same timeframe here with the living—I’d gone from being a living man to a crisped undead helot. Or possibly a variant of such a ghastly thing as a walking corpse. I felt hale and whole and had no rotting flesh, maybe that process had yet to begin. An in-depth discussion with my higher-ups was sorely needed as soon as I could ascertain how one found a reliable courier service that delivered calling cards to the dark lord.

“It is wholly fine not to wish to tell me,” Hamiel broke into my mental ramble. “We are working for opposite sides as it is.”

I worked up my most charming smile. Hamiel’s pale cheeks grew as pink as a peony. “Please, no, forgive my discourtesy. I am new to my role and am still finding my sea legs.”

“Ah, yes! It can be quite befuddling. I’m so glad we can be friends then. Sometimes the wait for the soul to be severed and then passed to one of us can take ages.”

“Oh, I assumed that when the summons came, death was imminent.” I pushed to my dirty boots and offered the petite man in pearly white a hand. He slid his fingers over my palm, which created a soft warmth that spread to all the fingers of my right hand.

“How kind. Thank you so much…well, you never did relay your name. I’m perfectly happy to call you Coachman, or perhaps you would prefer Hackman or simply Sir?”

My grip on his slim fingers lasted longer than society would accept for a helping hand, so I let his hand drop.

“Apologies again. You may call me Livingstone Wright.” His smile was brilliant, perfect white teeth glistening at me. I’d never seen such a divine male. “Are you an angel?”

“Oh golly, no! I’m a first-level rainbow walker. Angels are much higher up than I am. One must reach a level of holiness that takes centuries to be granted such an honor. I’m one of the many thousands who do the menial tasks of our Lord that keep the heavenly realm operating smoothly.”

“So no wings?” I asked as we stood outside a home where a family was inside waiting for that final breath to leave a loved one’s lungs. It all seemed surreal.

“No wings, not for many millennia.” He sighed, pushing his spectacles up his button nose. “Someday, though, when I have escorted my quota of souls to paradise, I shall be granted a promotion.”

I waved at the carriage parked in the shade of a mighty oak. “Come sit with me. I have many questions and you are the only one aside from an imp with an unnatural affinity for discussing impolite things that I have met since I was…reborn.”

His gold eyes widened. “Oh my, that is sorrowful but not wholly out of character for those who dwell in the depths. Many of those above you take great delight in sending forth their helpers with no information, just to watch them suffer.”

“That does seem like something Malphus would do,” I mumbled. He had kicked a helpless imp while wearing a mask of great pleasure. I’d not think about what the demon had done to my predecessor.

“Oh yes, he is an unkind servant of the fallen one. The coachman before you, Master Greeley, had little good to say about him.” He clambered up into the seat, situated himself primly, and waved a few fingers at Abyss, who had craned his head around to stare at the walker sitting with his grassy knees together and his spine straight as a pencil. The soft, warm wind played with his curls. He was an enchanting creature. Were all of those who served under the Lord that lovely? The angel at the tomb of Jesus was described as having a continence like lightning and raiment as white as snow. Pastor Colfax often spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the angels while also extolling how terrifying they could be. Lucifer himself was God’s most beautiful creation, a divine being covered in jewels that glowed like the morning sun. I was not sure if Pastor Colfax had any knowledge of rainbow walkers, for not even the dark lord himself could be more winsome than Hamiel. I shook those thoughts from my mind. I’d left behind a good man and should not be so drawn to another. No wonder I ended up being chosen for this task. Coveting was a great sin. “That being said, I must relay that Master Greeley had little good to say about anyone. He was a sour soul, riddled with the need to return to his wife and son. Whatever became of him, do you know?”

“He made a bad ride and was punished,” I answered.

Hamiel looked perplexed. “What is a bad ride?”

“I do not know. The imp who cleans my residence told me that a terrible fate befell Master Greeley at the hands of Malphus.” In all honesty, it had been the feet of Malphus that had done in the previous coachman, but I did not wish to relay such a grisly thing to this lone ray of gladness in my new life. A wail broke free from inside the home. Hamiel gasped, and Abyss whickered.

“The judgment is about to be made,” Hamiel whispered. He clasped his hands in prayer, closed those intriguing goldenrod eyes, and began to pray. I sat in my seat, listening to the dying wind as the farmstead grew quiet. Feeling quite the fool for not knowing what to do, I slid down from the seat, leaving Hamiel to his muttered whispers, and stood with my hand resting on the carriage door, the humming handle under my fingers. I opened it, unknowing of why, and glanced inside. A lone cushioned seat of dark black leather with no adornments to be seen waited for the next rider. No cushions, no blankets, no hampers of food for the long journey. But such things would make the ride enjoyable. I was surprised to see the seat was not covered with fire ants or thorn brambles. That seemed like a cruelty that Malphus would inflict on a condemned soul.

“He is yours,” Hamiel said from behind me.

“I know,” I whispered, for somehow, deep within my newly-knitted muscle and bone under my ribs, I felt the need to open that door and welcome my passenger. I glanced down at Hamiel. He was crying. “I am sorry.” Why I was apologizing, I could not say.

“Are you? That is most unusual.”

Was it? Did Master Greeley not have any care for the souls who were about to be cast into damnation? I had so many questions.

“My time here is waning. It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Wright. We shall meet again soon, I am sure, for death is a battle that cannot be escaped.”

“Wait, good walker. I do not even know your last name!” I called as a fat ray of yellow sun fell down from the heavens to warm his curls. It felt impolite to be so familiar as to use his Christian name, having just met the man.

“We do not maintain surnames or memories of our past when we are called forth to serve the Almighty. Simply Hamiel shall do.”

“Then you may call me Livingstone,” I said and got a sweet smile before he vanished in a cloud of sparkling colors. I ruminated on his admission. It seemed incredibly sad to lose the recollections of those whom one cared for. Abyss stamped his feet. The carriage fairly sang with an energy that seemed attuned to my senses.

The door of the old farmhouse opened, and a skeletal man glided out. Older, possibly in his late sixties, with age spots on his bald head and withered arms and legs. He stood naked as one would about to be judged and then came toward the carriage, his rheumy eyes locked on me as his ghostly toes skimmed the ground. Inside the house, the keens of womenfolk could be heard.

“Your carriage awaits,” I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth unbidden.

“I do not think this is where I should be going,” the man told me after eyeing the carriage and the prancing, white-eyed steed.

“The judgment has been made.”

He wept as he entered the carriage and took his seat. I closed the door, climbed into the front, and plucked the reins from where they lay limply over the footboard. Abyss snorted, threw his head, and jerked forward. I nestled my backside into the hard seat. Eager to run, the hell horse exploded from the little yard, leaving behind the few lingering particles of blue, green, and yellow.

The Massachusetts woods flew by in a blur. We neared a large lake that seemed to be but a streak as Abyss raced onward. The carriage now seemed to float, the rumble of the ground falling off as we streaked toward a small cave crafted of massive boulders stacked atop each other. The opening to the Devil’s Den—a dark, haunted cave we had passed but once on the way to a horse auction in Hopkinton—surely was not large enough for a carriage of this size, yet as we neared, we were absorbed into the inky darkness. My brain was unable to take in all that it was seeing, and my eyes watered as I tried to cling to the reins while feeling my shoulder blades being pressed into the back of my seat. Our speed was so great that drawing in a breath was difficult as my chest felt flattened to my spine.

We exited the moist cave and ran into a wall of fire. The horror that engulfed my entire soul was so overpowering that my mind shut down. I tumbled sideways, blackness consuming me, as the horse and carriage sped through the flames. A scream of sheer terror exploded from me as I fell.