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SMOKE AND FLAMES LICKED UP WALLS , the screams of terrified horses filling the night air as the fire spread with speed. I kicked at the tack room door, pounded on the frame, and dug at the lock until my fingernails tore off. No one came. Heat seared the back of my neck, the fire now inches from me. The heat…dear gods the heat…smoke, thick and rancid…the smell of burning flesh. Mine? The horses? I cried, prayed, and then buckled at the door as the fire jumped from the dry hay on the floor to my trousers.

“Please, please, help me!”

The scream in my nightmare tore from my throat as I flailed madly, trying to batter down a dream door that would stay forever sealed. Bound in agony and dread, my sight narrowed to a pinprick of reddish sky, and then I was, blissfully, lost in unconsciousness.

When I next found my senses, foreign and unpleasant sounds and scents greeted me, along with the soft brush of rubbery lips. A hot breath hit my face, though not wholly unpleasant. Tinged with the aroma of sweet grass, I knew it to be the exhalation of a horse. I’d smelled such many times.

“Move aside, you wretched beast!” a deep, raspy voice bellowed over the soft cries of hundreds of thousands of damned souls weeping and wailing. Their cries ripped at my heart, erasing the small moment of succor the brush of a horse’s muzzle had brought. My eyes slowly opened. I saw naught but the underbelly of a massive black horse, his long legs spread wide to shield me from whatever hells awaited. “Stand down this instant!” Abyss snorted loudly. “Bastard son of a whore! I am commanding you to move lest you feel my wrath instead of that buffoon you so stupidly protect!”

“Easy, boy,” I coughed, reaching out to run a hand along his front leg. Abyss picked up his foot, glanced down, and then with a tenderness I would not expect from a stallion born in the depths of the infernal regions, carefully stepped aside, rolling the carriage back a foot or so. I sat up slowly, looked at Malphus standing ten feet away, glowering at me, and then rolled to my hands and knees to wretch. Abyss nosed at my heaving back. Thankfully, there was little in my gut to bring up. Fainting had been embarrassing enough. Vomiting at the bird-like feet of my supervisor would have been horribly emasculating.

“Foolish beast.” Malphus spat on the warm ground, his spittle turning to steam. My palms rested on the soil but did not burn. Perhaps I was more hell-bound than I had thought. “Get to your feet, Coachman, and free your passenger from the carriage.”

I sat back on my heels, wiped my wet lips with the back of my hand, and then took in the area. Truly, it was not at all how I had expected Hell to be. Was Pastor Colfax working only on assumptions? The hells were hot, yes, and reeked of sulfur, that was true, but what I saw were rocks of deepest black and barren fields where spirits moved in seemingly random patterns.

“Get up. You have been lying there for far too long. Should Lucifer see you sprawled out on the barren fields like a maiden overcome with vapors, his anger would fall on me. Rise!”

I pushed to my feet, my gaze roaming over the lifeless vistas that ran on forever. Behind me a gush of fire pulsed out of the ground. I spun, my heart thundering, as the geyser of flame shot skyward, leaving a foul plume of smoke in its wake. I stumbled backward into the carriage. Shaking violently, I placed my hands on the cool door. The murmur of whatever magicks coursed through the transport helped settle me. But only just.

“You are not so tender as to be so terrified of a small geyser of hell fire?” Malphus taunted, stepping a bit closer yet staying out of reach of Abyss, who was still hitched to the carriage.

“I died in a fire,” I weakly replied. His ruby eyes narrowed as a hot wind lifted his cape and long gray hair.

“Did you?” He eyed Abyss warily as he folded his arms over his thin chest.

“You mock me,” I growled, gathering strength from the affection shown by Abyss.

“I mock everyone. You are no different or better. Now free that spirit so he can be taken to the pits for his lifetime of perfidy. You have many more rides to make. The dead continue to die whether you are there to ferry them or lying here on the ground like a spent whore. Do your duty!”

“Will the flames greet me upon every arrival?” I asked. I had the right to know what I would face.

He smiled a gruesome grin that made my empty gullet clench. “What do you think, Coachman? This is Hell. Now gather yourself and get back to work.”

So the answer was yes. Bastards. What did I expect? This was the lord of darkness’s realm.

With that, he morphed into a crow. I stood there, quaking, rooted to the spot as he flew off toward a murky horizon where, far in the distance, shrouded by heavy clouds, I could see the vague outline of a castle. The king of darkness must reside there, seated on a throne crafted of dark marble. A shudder ran over me. One that had nothing to do with the warmth of these fetid lands.

I wet my dry lips, turned, and gazed into the carriage. The old farmer sat still, his eyes locked ahead, his tears now gone.

“Your ride is over. Please exit the carriage,” I said, my throat dry as the dusty land I stood on. The words tumbled from me as if placed there by another. With a twist of my wrist, I opened the door. Abyss whinnied as he stared skyward with wide, white eyes. I glanced upward to see a foursome of winged creatures descending from the dark clouds. They were small, no larger than Delmar, with the darkest brown skin, yellow eyes as round as dinner plates, and locked bat-like wings. With fangs bared, they landed atop the carriage, sporting long-clawed hands attached to twig-like arms and short legs better suited for perching on tree limbs than on a carriage. Their claws must be gouging the paint.

One spoke to me in some sort of gibberish that I somehow could decipher to mean move aside. I stepped back, watching with sadness as the demons crawled into the carriage. My passenger did not go quietly. He screamed as he was yanked free from the carriage, his soul blackening wherever the devils’ claws held him. Up he went, dangling like a trout from the talons of an osprey. His bellows faded out, melting with the cries of the others wandering about below me.

Another jet of flame shot skyward, startling me. I thought to climb into the carriage to hide, but as if to prove the words that Malphus had thrown at me, the summons came. Abyss began to prance. The carriage hummed, and I closed the door with finality. My day had just begun as it was. Peeling my sight from the fire nearby, I brushed myself off, swallowed down my fear, and looked for my hat. Abyss stood on it.

“I have need of this,” I whispered to the horse as I ran my hand down his leg. He allowed me to lift it. His hooves were slightly worn down. I would need to care for them when our day was done. I possessed some basic farrier skills, enough to trim and file hooves. Abyss did not wear shoes, I was glad to note. “You are a grand and kind fellow,” I said while picking up my flattened top hat. I gave it a good shake. Dust flew into the stale air. Using my hand, I popped it back into shape—somewhat—and placed it on my head. If I had my cravat I would straighten it but since I did not then that was one less thing to worry over.

I took a moment to press my nose into Abyss’s side. He shifted closer, making the tack he wore jingle melodically. At least one sound in this horrid place was enjoyable.

“Right, through the fire,” I said with more bravery than I felt. “If I pass out, just let me lie for a moment or two then wake me up. A stout kick in the head should do it.” I ran my hand over his neck as I jested. Or was it a jest at all? What would happen should I die again? Could I even die once more? The training practices in Hell were ghastly. I’d have to speak with Delmar when I returned to my little hovel with the dead garden. Whom did one ask if one had questions? Even old Norman trained his hands. He then whipped them if they committed a blunder, but at least they had been instructed properly. “Yes. Here we go.”

The summons was pulling at me strongly now. I climbed into the seat, gathered the reins, and took a deep breath. With one last thought, I removed my hat and tucked the brim under my right ass cheek. It had taken a beating already today. I did not wish to soil it further. Or lose it. Where did one buy a new hat in Hell? Did the devil’s city of Pergamum reside near that mighty keep, and did they have a damn hatter? So many questions…

I flicked the reins, bracing my boots against the footrest and forcing my eyes to remain open as we raced into and through the explosion of fire at breakneck speed. Flashbacks of ragged, bloody nails as fire engulfed me brought acrid spittle to my mouth, but I did not— would not —pass out again. Although tipping over was close as the horror swallowed me for a moment, then, thankfully, the flames dissipated. Tumbling from the carriage at this speed would be quite detrimental to my health, or whatever constituted health to one such as I.

The dark walls of Devil’s Den flew past as I struggled to suck in air to steady my nerves. I could feel the hot wash of the fire we’d rode through tickling my face. Fear danced along my spine. The horse and carriage sped past the lake, the wind now deafening as we streaked to the next soul about to be judged. Fields and farms raced by, small towns, forests, and a mill. All seen then gone.

The carriage slowed to a more sedate speed. We were now on a cobblestone street in a town I did not recognize. We passed several carriages, yet none of the mortal coachmen took note of the enormous stallion, the sleek ebony brougham, or the haphazard coachman minus his hat. Night blanketed the tiny town, with oil street lamps casting shadows on the storefronts. We rolled past a courthouse that announced the city to be Belchertown. I’d heard of it. It seemed like a nice town.

Leading us along, Abyss trotted down a dark alley and stopped outside an apothecary shop. I grabbed my hat, sat there, and waited. A stray cat strolled by while a dog searched through the gutters for scraps. The night was a bright one with a full moon. I soon felt myself drifting off into a sorrowful mental wander, mostly centered on the fiery dream I’d had. I’d been at the stable, that much was apparent, but why would I have been locked in the tack room? By whom? Had the fire been my fault? How did it start? What was Theo doing now that his one true love had been taken from him? Was he deep in mourning? I assumed so. He was a genteel man prone to displays of emotion. Could I manage to see him somehow? If I were not a wandering soul, could I ride closer to Avers Mill on one of my summons to visit Theo? Would he see me? The people here in Belchertown did not, it seemed, but mayhap the bond needed to be stronger? Surely his devotion to me would breach any chasm. Even death.

The arrival of a young spectacle-wearing rainbow walker stumbling from a moonbeam into a refuse pile pulled me from my musings. Broken glass and old rags littered the alley, along with sooty piles where someone had set some refuse aflame. Not a wholly smart idea when so many wooden homes were so closely placed, but then some people were not wholly smart. I smiled to myself as Hamiel heaved a world-weary sigh and removed an old rag from his shoe. His white attire and golden hair glowed like a beacon in the ivory moonbeam. He really was a fetching man. He pushed up his glasses and then righted the small bag he carried on his shoulder.

“Good eve, Livingstone,” he called as he made his way to the carriage. “And good eve to you, handsome Abyss.” He removed a carrot from his pocket. Abyss devoured it hungrily. I would need to return home to feed and water my horse. After this soul was judged, I could do so, but for now, we waited.

“Good eve, Hamiel,” I called as he petted Abyss fondly. “You are welcome to join me here.” I tapped the seat and graced him with a smile. The first since I saw him last. If nothing of joy other than seeing this happy young soldier of God were to be visited upon me in this new existence at least I had these moments to enjoy. “If you do not think me too forward.”

“Oh. Well, that is very gracious. I would hate to sit in the gutter.” He jogged over and scurried up to sit beside me like a cheerful little chipmunk.

“Sister Evangelista was quite upset about the state of my garments when we last met. If I were to return with refuse stains, I am certain she would berate me severely.”

I admired his profile in the odd green glow of the oil lamp that hung beside the carriage door. Even in an olive-toned light, he was quite handsome.

“Forgive me if I overstep any bounds, but I had always been led to believe that when one arrived in paradise being scolded would fall by the wayside,” I said, leaning back to allow the tension in my shoulders to ease. The aura of the petite man seated so properly at my side seemed to lessen my worry.

“Oh no, please, feel free to converse on whatever enters your mind! It’s always so dreadfully boring waiting for judgment to be made. It’s nice to have a stylish gent to while away the hours with.”

I glanced down at myself. My sleeve was stiff from horse saliva, my clothes coated with road dust, and my hat was crumpled. Also, I could pick up the faint smell of brimstone and eternal damnation from my attire. I could only assume my hair and face were in a similar state. Stylish I was not.

“You’re far too kind, Hamiel. I have, just within the past hour, literally been to Hell and back. I must assuredly reek of rotted eggs.”

He laughed lightly. The sound was joyous as if a light hand had set a glorious wind chime crafted of glass into motion. Melodious, his laugh was. While I basked in it, I felt a twinge of shame for enjoying being in his presence so much. Not a fortnight ago—or what I assumed to be that many days—I’d been with Theo, professing I cared for him, which I did! I adored him, obviously. I’d read enough accounts of love to know what we shared was deep and true, even if some insisted that men of our nature could not truly love each other. Not like a man would his wife, which was true nonsense. Many men and women, I suspected, married for reasons that had nothing to do with love. Even at times when Norman was particularly abusive, Aunt Hester would warn me to be wary of marital traps.

“I smell naught but that puddle of human waste over there.” He pointed to the slurry along the curb where someone had dumped a few chamber pots into the alley. “And I assure you that you do not smell worse than that.”

I inclined my head, pleased to hear a kind word or two. My stomach growled loudly. My cheeks warmed. How odd to be in this bizarre situation yet still feel such human emotions like hunger, embarrassment, or even appreciation for a beautiful face. It was beyond confusing.

“Forgive me. I’ve not had much to eat since my…” I stammered, then fell silent.

“Oh yes, a resurrection such as yours is rumored to be quite distressing.” He turned on the seat, golden eyes glowing like freshly minted coins behind his spectacles, and gazed at me. “I did bring a few small nibbles to tide me over.”

“So you grow hungry? I thought angels were spirits, so they did not need to eat.”

“That is true, but I’m not yet an angel. I’m much like you, a being of the in-between. Not yet given to our eternal forms as we have duties that require us to move between the realms of Heaven, Hell, and that of the living.”

“Is there a name for those of us who are not truly dead yet not truly living? Humans do not see me as I pass by in the carriage.”

He pulled his shoulder bag around from his hip to rest on his thighs, opening it to dig inside. Abyss seemed to have fallen asleep for naught but his ear twitched when a moth drawn to the green lantern flew too close.

“It’s quite a dichotomy, is it not? Living and non-living both at once. I have heard many terms bandied about by my superiors, but the one that I like to use is moribund.” He talked as he searched, removing items from his bag: a small white Bible with a slim pink ribbon dangling from its pages, a tiny bit of needlepoint in a wooden hoop, and a sprig of mint.

“Moribund,” I repeated as a soft wind rustled down the alleyway. “A good a term as any. So, we still experience what we did as humans?”

“Oh yes, only we’re granted the boon of limited invulnerability. Ah, here it is!” He produced a large orange from his satchel. “I also have some heavenly dates and nuts. We do not eat meat, only foods that were provided to Adam and Eve in the garden.”

“Is that a rule for all moribund?” I asked as I eyed the orange with desire. My guts were wrapped about themselves like a ball of serpents in a den. Fitting, I supposed, as we were discussing the foods found in the Garden of Eden. “Are there any apples?”

His amber eyes flew from his bag, his hand filled with plump, dark brown dates. “Are you asking an honest question or jesting me?”

“I was jesting a small bit. Apologies.”

I felt my lips twist into a small smile. Hamiel stared at me over the top of his spectacles for a long moment before nodding.

“I thought you might be joshing me. I’ve not ever been good at humor. Yes, there are apples in Heaven. There is nothing in the good book that states the fruit on the tree of knowledge were apples. While reading some of the doctrines in a great room of books, I discovered an explanation saying that the apple of paradise may have come into the story of Eve’s temptation many years after the exact tempting took place.”

“There’s a library in Heaven?”

“Oh yes! And it is grand. I spend my few free hours there. It’s vast and contains many tomes from around the world. The Archangel Metatron oversees the celestial repository. He’s very kind but incredibly strict about overdue book fines. I have some honey as well if you’d like some. I like to drizzle it over bread.”

He showed me a small jar with thick liquid the same color as his eyes. “No, thank you. The orange will suffice.”

His thin eyebrows beetled as he placed the orange in my hand. “Are you sure? A man of your size surely must require more than an orange to keep up his energy. Take some dates too…no, I insist.”

“Many thanks. You’re very kind, Hamiel.”

He smiled brightly. It felt as if the whole dingy alleyway illuminated momentarily. I ate the dates first, saving the sinfully sweet orange for dessert. As I ate, Hamiel chatted away about a myriad of things that left me feeling like an uneducated dolt. Which, in all honesty, I was. I’d not attended a fine school. All my knowledge of reading and numbers had been taught to me by Hester. The vigil passed quickly with him for company, the apothecary not passing until dawn had painted the sky violet.

“Ah, this one is mine. He has saved hundreds of lives with his tinctures and knowledge, many that he gave freely to those who were too poor to afford them,” he whispered and quickly stuffed his belongings back into his satchel. “I shall see you soon, Livingstone.”

“Maybe so. Good day, Hamiel.” He sprang from the carriage, ran a hand along Abyss’s side, and then went to meet the bent old soul who had drifted from his shop. Abyss and I watched as the rainbow walker took the man by the hand, gifted him with a smile, and led him into one of the first rays of a new day to touch the ground. Tiny bits of color lingered in the sunbeam.

I felt a calmness in my now somewhat filled belly. Right before the yank of yet another summons clutched at my chest. Abyss tossed his head, white eyes wide with excitement at the prospect of another insane dash through Massachusetts. I barely had time to get my hat situated before the hell steed exploded into movement, orange peels flying from the floor of the carriage to litter the alleyway. The carriage wheels rattled along the cobblestones.

“Memento mori,” I mumbled softly as we went to meet the next person on what I suspected would be a very long daily list of passengers.