Thursday, November 21, 2024

#Review - Heist Royale by Kayvion Lewis #YA #Thriller #Suspense

Series:
 Thieves Gambit # 2
Format: Hardcover, 320 pages
Release Date: November 12, 2024
Publisher: 
Nancy Paulsen Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Thrillers & Suspense

The high-stakes sequel to Thieves' Gambit, for fans of Jennifer Lynn Barnes and Ally Carter.

It's been six months since the end of the Gambit. Instead of winning an impossible wish, Ross has the threat of her family’s execution hanging over her head. Devroe, the only person Ross thought she could trust, could wish the Quests into oblivion at any time. Shockingly, despite his betrayal, Devroe is still making a play for Ross’s heart as the two work together pulling jobs for the Organization. But Ross has learned her lesson: A Quest can only trust another Quest.

When Ross finds herself at the center of a power struggle within the Organization, she sees her chance to change her fortunes. As a new deadly Gambit develops for control of the criminal underworld, Ross strikes a risky deal to guarantee protection for herself and her family.

In this final clash, Ross will square off against a ruthless opponent who will stop at nothing to seize power, and in their corner will be not only Devroe but his mother, who wants to destroy the Quests at any cost.

The new Gambit takes Ross and her crew into the intoxicating casinos of Monte Carlo and across treacherous snow-covered slopes in Antarctica as Ross competes against Devroe in a fight for her life. Loyalties will be tested, backs stabbed, hearts broken. May the best thief win
.



Heist Royale is the second and apparent final chapter in author Kayvion Lewis's Thieves' Gambit duology. This story will take readers from Rio to New Orleans to Antarctica to Cape Town, South Africa. It's been six months since the end of the Gambit. Instead of winning an impossible wish to save her mother, Rosalyn Quest has the threat of her family’s execution hanging over her head. Devroe, the only person Ross thought she could trust, could wish the Quests into oblivion at any time thanks to his mother who has an axe go grind with Ros's mother.

Shockingly, despite his betrayal, Devroe is still making a play for Ross’s heart as the two work together pulling jobs for the Organization. But Ross has learned her lesson: A Quest can only trust another Quest, even if it is her mother. After a minor abduction in Rio, Ross learns that Count is being challenged by Baron for control of the Organization. To settle the challenge, a Gambit begins to see who will take control of the Organization. Ross sees her chance to change her fortunes. 

All her team, which includes her mother, has to do is win 2 out of 3 extremely difficult challenges. If her team wins, they will be safe from Devroe's wish. If they lose, it's the end of the line.  While Devroe is trying to win for the Baron, and his mother, he also seems to gravitate to making sure that Ros survives. In this final clash, Ross will square off against a ruthless opponent who will stop at nothing to seize power, and in their corner will be not only Devroe but his mother, who wants to destroy the Quests at any cost. 

The new Gambit takes Ross and her crew into the intoxicating casinos of Monte Carlo and across treacherous snow-covered slopes in Antarctica as Ross competes against Devroe in a fight for her life. Loyalties will be tested, backs stabbed, hearts broken. May the best thief winThis book introduces a battle for power within the organization, which causes a compelling escalation in risk. Ross must work with her mother, who she has complicated feelings towards, and two of her closest friends was a thrilling dynamic to see unfold. The ending of the story wraps things up nicely with a nice twist that I didn't see coming, but it was the right direction to take.  


Three

EVEN AT NIGHT, Rio de Janeiro is hot as hell in January. Or maybe it was just because I was fuming.

I don’t know how long I walked. Pointlessly, in fast, stormingsteps, from one snug street into another. I left the posh little area around our hotel and found myself venturing through the vibrantly painted downtown shopping districts, where banners connected the rooftops and vendors sold fresh fruits and travel photographers came to get the most exotic-looking pictures. At least, that would have been the vibe during the daytime. Hours past midnight, the city was slumbering. Trucks were packed up, vendor carts were pushed to the side, and only moonlight lit the streets. I wasn’t totally alone; a few people were also out for past-midnight journeys, but for the most part, it was just me and my thoughts.

And my phone.

Kyung-soon
Hey . . . 
did you know?
IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY??!!

I made a sharp turn onto another street, this one with cobble-stone sidewalks. A two-door car playing a muffled Saint Santi song, ironically, passed slowly. Its wheels crackled over the cobblestone.

Kyung-soon sent a GIF zooming in on some K-pop star under a storm of confetti. There was a caption in Korean, but I wasn’t quite at reading level yet. I’d promised Kyung-​soon I’d learn Korean after the Gambit, and had been, but speaking and reading were two totally different skills.

Smiling, I walked around a middle-aged woman in a smothering wool scarf, waltzing in the opposite direction, who smelledlike the weirdest citrus and savory perfume. I’m aware, lol, I added into the group chat.

Mylo
You can now be tried as an adult in almost every country! 

I turned another corner, and a steady beat of steps turned with me. Curious. I pretended to stretch and glanced over my shoulder. A figure made a quick turn into a doorway. It would’ve looked totally normal if I hadn’t known what it looked like when someone was tailing you.

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?” I spoke loud enough that I knew she could hear me. Not that difficult, since she was only a block behind at most. Mom didn’t come out of her hiding spot. I rolled my eyes and paced even faster in the other direction. Just ignore her. It was a matter of days before Count whisked us away to the next job, and I doubted Count was going to allow anyone to follow us that easily.

It took her six months to find me the first time. Hopefully it’d take her longer the next time around.

Behind me, the steps disappeared. Fat chance of her giving up, though. She probably just trekked back to the hotel to wait me out. Guess I’d be crashing in the lobby if the alternative was dealing with her again.

A man passed me on the sidewalk. That scent again, citrus and meat. It was so distinct. Too weird.

And the same scent I’d whiffed off that woman.

My heart sped as I tucked my phone back into my pocket. I did my fake-stretching trick again, getting a quick glance behind me. The man, casual in plaid shorts and a brown T-shirt, turned onto a branching street.

He was with that woman who passed me earlier—​the one in the scarf. They had to have been in the same place to get that weird scent, but they were dressed in totally different types of clothing. They were trying to look like they hadn’t come from the same place.

It wasn’t Mom. I was being tailed by someone else. At least two people.

Which way had the woman gone? Had she taken a right behind me? And if it wasn’t Mom tailing me from behind, then I still had the pursuer to my back. They’d probably just learned to be quieter after I stupidly called out to them.

One behind. One to the right. And if my instincts were correct, there was probably one other person coming in from the left. They were setting up to intersect me.

Four blocks before the avenue ended.

I kept my steps steady. My chain was begging to be unraveled. But I couldn’t yet. It’d set off whoever was tailing me from behind. Then the chances of me getting the jump on whoever the hell this was would be gone. Three on one, the element of surprise was going to greatly increase my chances of winning this.

The street narrowed. One block, then two passed. The narrow intersection was getting closer. That was where they would do it. I wouldn’t have anywhere to run.

Three blocks. One more.

I pretended to pop my knuckles, using the chance to unclick the ball of my meteor bracelet.

Three steps left.

Two.

One.

That same bizarre scent stuffed the air, this time twice as strong.

Let’s do this.

I stepped onto the corner and immediately ducked and spun out of the way. As expected, the woman with the scarf was there waiting to pull me into what looked like a bear hug. She stumbled, having thrown most of her weight where she thought I was going to be. I grabbed her scarf and yanked hard, pulling her totally off-balance. She crashed to the ground.

Her scarf: The fabric was padded. Thick. Meant to protect her neck.

Protection—​against someone who might be prone to strangling people with her chain? They were prepared for me specifically.

Fast steps crunched over the cobblestone sidewalk. Man with the plaid shorts. I swiped my arm back. The link of my meteor ball unraveled. The weighted ball at the end cracked right into his nose, drawing a splatter of blood. With him distracted, I sent an aggressive kick into his knee. He screamed. A bone cracked, and he dropped to a broken kneel. I sent another kick into his chin, keeling him over.

With two down, for now, I braced to run, but arms tackled me from behind. Hooking a long forearm around my neck, this new attacker pressed a com in his ear with the other hand. “Bring the car!”

Headlights skidded into sight blocks down. A car meant more people. Not good for me.

I tried to buck him off of me to no avail, so instead, I grabbed one of his fingers and twisted it back. It snapped in my grip. He screamed. I grabbed another finger, ready to break it too. This time he pulled his arm away, and that let off enough weight for me to successfully scramble out from under him. Even with his broken finger, he tried to drag me into a stumble, but I sent a palm into his nose, buying me enough time to clamber to my feet.

The car squealed to a stop.

Run.

I meant to set off in the fastest sprint of my life, but a desperate grip wrapped around my ankle. I tripped. The scarf woman dropped a knee into my back. Before I could twist around, a needle pricked my jugular.

I could feel the woman relax on top of me. Whatever she’d injected me with meant the fight was over.

Car doors opened. The woman got up. My limbs were heavy. Drowsiness set in fast.

Well, if I was lucky, this was just another fake kidnapping.




Tuesday, November 19, 2024

#Review - Hell's Acre by Lilith Saintcrow #Gaslamp #Fantasy

Series:
 Unknown
Format: E-Book, 372 pages
Release Date: October 30, 2024
Publisher: Bell Bridge Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Gas Lamp Fantasy

New Rome perches upon the shores of the Thamis River, and in its soot-stained depths a teeming mass of humanity lives under the iron fist of an Empire that never fell to Vandals or Christianity. In the shadows, assassins congregate and secret societies bloom—the Priory, dedicated to worship of the criminal Dead God, and the Hellions, thieves and murderers whose aim is mere freedom.

Or so they say.

Gemma Dove arrives in New Rome with a small independence and a burning desire: to gain revenge upon those who murdered her parents and drove her beloved aunt to a premature death. The city is a dangerous place, but Gemma has her own secret skills and isn't afraid to use them. She longs to complete her vengeance and return to her safe, beautiful estate across the Channel, but fate has other ideas.

His name is Avery Black, but they call him the Rook. The young Hellion has sunk himself in vice and treachery, and he knows there's more to Miss Dove than meets the eye. He also knows she's playing a dangerous game, one which will end in her death—unless he takes a hand in matters. It might even be connected to his own vengeance against the Priory, but that's fast becoming a secondary consideration.

Under soot-stained skies and flickering gaslamps, from the crowd of thieves and gin-soaked tenements to the glittering whirl of Society, plans, treachery and counter-betrayal are afoot. Gemma and Avery can defeat the Priory, but that ancient organization has its own plans for Miss Dove, and the Rook might be her only defense. 


Lilith Saintcrow's Hell's Acre is an alternative reality Gaslamp fantasy novel that features Gemma Dove (Not her real name), and Avery Black leader known as the Rook. This story has an interesting mixture of Victorian England and Fantasy Rome. New Rome perches upon the shores of the Thamis River, and in its soot-stained depths, a teeming mass of humanity lives under the iron fist of an Empire that never fell to Vandals or Christianity. 

In the shadows, assassins congregate and secret societies bloom—the Priory, dedicated to the worship of the criminal Dead God, and the Hellions, thieves and murderers whose aim is mere freedom. Gemma Dove arrives in New Rome with a small independence and a burning desire: to gain revenge upon those who murdered her parents and drove her beloved aunt to a premature death. The city is a dangerous place, but Gemma has her own secret skills and isn't afraid to use them.

She longs to complete her vengeance and return to her safe, beautiful estate across the Channel, but fate has other ideas. With the help of her "uncle" who is a fallen Priory member known as Father Nossorten, Gemma finds work as a governess at Imanuel orphanage filled with boys. Gemma isn't a Karen. Gemma was trained very well by a man known as Sampson, apparently not his real name either. Gemma is driven to find the man responsible for murdering her parents but finds more trouble.

His name is Avery Black, but they call him the Rook. The young Hellion has sunk himself in vice and treachery with his own crew, and he knows there's more to Miss Dove than meets the eye. Especially after she runs into trouble to save children who had been taken by kidnappers. He also knows she's playing a dangerous game, one which will end in her death—unless he takes a hand in matters. It might even be connected to his own vengeance against the Priory, but that's fast becoming a secondary consideration. 

Under soot-stained skies and flickering gaslamps, from the crowd of thieves and gin-soaked tenements to the glittering whirl of Society, plans, treachery and counter-betrayal are afoot. Gemma and Avery can defeat the Priory, but that ancient organization has its own plans for Miss Dove, and the Rook might be her only defense. While their paths cross several times throughout the book, they have no idea that they are likely on the same side, and have the same goal of ending not only the Priory but the man who killed her parents. There is no romance, and the book does end on a cliffhanger which should have been provided to readers before posting it to request and review. 





Monday, November 18, 2024

#Review - Warrior of Legend by Kendare Blake #YA #Fantasy #Epic

Series:
 
Heromaker # 2
Format: Hardcover, 512 pages
Release Date: October 29, 2024
Publisher: Quill Tree Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy / Epic

Picking up where #1 New York Times bestselling author Kendare Blake’s epic fantasy Champion of Fate left off, Reed is now an Aristene, but old flames and old foes rear their heads during her next quest. 

Reed is officially a member of the immortal order of the Aristene. She even has a new name: Machianthe. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of—so why isn’t she happy?

Maybe it’s because every hero she helps can only find glory at the cost of their life. Or maybe it’s because she can’t stop thinking about the prince she left behind.      

Now Reed looks for any opportunity to help with low-risk hero’s trials. And a princess looking for a glorious marriage? Nothing could be less dangerous. But Hestion is one of the suitors, and while Reed is occupied trying to win him back, an old danger is gaining strength.

To battle the growing threat, the Aristene must band together, but the order has never been more divided. Will Reed be able to survive this war with her chosen family and her heart intact?


Warrior of Legend is the second installment in author Kendare Blake's Heromaker series. Picking up where Champion of Fate left off, Reed is now an Aristene, but old flames and old foes rear their heads during her next quest. Though the stakes were high for Reed in Champion of Fate, they’re impossibly higher for her in Warrior of Legend. She has a devastating new role as an Aristene and an old flame keeps crossing her mind. Meanwhile, an old enemy is growing ever more powerful, and new monsters are waiting for her. Be prepared to gobble up this suspenseful read in one sitting!

Reed is officially a member of the immortal order of the Aristene. The Aristene are a legendary order of female warriors who guide heroes to victory. They are also known as the Heromakers. She even has a new name: Machianthe. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of—so why isn’t she happy? Maybe it’s because every hero she helps can only find glory at the cost of their life. Reed has already had three more heroes, leading them to Glorious Deaths. She is moving a bit too fast, trying to escape her broken heart. Or maybe it’s because she can’t stop thinking about the prince she left behind. 

Lyonene is still with Alsander but it’s time for her to go to a new hero, but Reed comes up with the idea that she takes Lyonene’s new hero and Lyonene can stay with Alsander. Reed’s new hero is Yngarue a princess, and Reed's job is to act as a matchmaker the only problem is that one of the Princes coming to see Yngarue is Hestion. Not only does Reed have to deal with seeing Hestion try to win over a princess but there’s something far more sinister coming for the princess and anyone who stands in the way especially the Aristene. 

Lyonene ends up making some bad decisions when it comes to Alsander like getting married. As much as the girls tried to keep their switch under wraps they end up being found out and that’s when things really begin to pick up in the book. While Reed is occupied trying to win him back, an old danger is gaining strength. To battle the growing threat, the Aristene must band together, but the order has never been more divided. Will Reed be able to survive this war with her chosen family and her heart intact? 

We also get to see the POV of multiple characters which leads to what I thought was a really heartbreaking ending for many characters. We get to see more of the villain from book one, the bones of the prophet. We get to see more monsters. Such a twisted story. I'm not sure how the author wraps up this series after all the crap Reed went through and then was forced to become to defeat an enemy by elders who should have known better what would happen. If you have read Three Dark Queens, there is a character that ties into that book. A character who was once a queen, Aethiel. 




Friday, November 15, 2024

#Review - A Grim Reaper's Guide to Catching a Killer by Maxie Dara #Fantasy #Mystery #Paranormal

Series:
 
A SCYTHE Mystery # 1
Format: Paperback, 352 pages
Release Date: October 1, 2024
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy / Mystery / Paranormal

Murder is (literally) not her department, but this grim reaper has to solve one--fast--or her new client won't be able to move on.

Kathy Valence is forty-two, mid-divorce, and pregnant with her ex's baby. She's also a modern-day grim reaper employed by S.C.Y.T.H.E. (Secure Collection, Yielding, and Transportation of Human Essences), but frankly that's the easiest part of her life right now. Or at least it was, until her latest client's soul goes missing.

When she finally tracks down seventeen-year-old Conner Ortiz, he angrily denies he died of natural causes, despite what his file says. He insists that someone at S.C.Y.T.H.E. murdered him, and he demands Kathy find out who and why. 

Kathy has only forty-five days to figure out what happened to Conner and help him move on before the boy's soul is doomed to roam the Earth as a ghost forever. She’s forced to rely on the help of her retired mentor, her almost ex-husband—and some sneaky moves by Conner himself. This is the wildest case of her career. . .and one wrong move could cost Kathy her job, not to mention her life.

A Grim Reaper's Guide to Catching a Killer is the first installment in author Maxie Dara's SCYTHE mystery series. Kathy Valence is forty-two, mid-divorce, and pregnant with her ex's baby. She's also a modern-day grim reaper employed by S.C.Y.T.H.E. (Secure Collection, Yielding, and Transportation of Human Essences), but frankly, that's the easiest part of her life right now. Or at least it was until her latest client's soul goes missing.

When she finally tracks down seventeen-year-old Conner Ortiz, he angrily denies he died of natural causes, despite what his file says. He insists that someone at S.C.Y.T.H.E. murdered him, and he demands Kathy find out who and why. 
Connor at first was hostile, but in time, he was willing to work closely with Kathy, and find out who murdered him. Kathy has only forty-five days to figure out what happened to Conner and help him move on before the boy's soul is doomed to roam the Earth as a ghost forever. 

She’s forced to rely on the help of her retired mentor Jo, her almost ex-husband Simon—and some sneaky moves by Conner himself. This is the wildest case of her career and one wrong move could cost Kathy her job, not to mention her life. The mystery was good, but the relationships made this one so touching. Conner, when he wasn't a pricky snipe, was a decent character, even with a lack of love from his parents. The two of them wind up helping each other far beyond working together to save Conner from an eternity as a ghost.

So, this is a good start to the series, but I am hoping that Kathy discovers that she's better than she thinks she is. She has to stop running from people, especially Simon who, despite all the Debbie Downer from Kathy, still finds time to help her and Conner. 


1

438 Melrose Court

I tapped the address in my file with the lid of the pen I'd been chewing on. Beside the front door of the sandy beige new build, swirly metal numerals confirmed my location. Four three eight. Weird. Definitely the right number, but this was all wrong. I turned from the house and glanced down the manicured lawn to the street sign across the road. It promised in no uncertain terms that this was Melrose Court, just as it was supposed to be. I shut my file with a defeated sigh and went back in through the open door a second time.

"Hello?" I called yet again as I stomped through the kitchen. It was a kitchen that belonged on a show about kitchens more than in somebody's house: clean and white and open-concept, leading out into the high-ceilinged living room beyond. The "after" on a home renovation show. Not even a spoon in the sink or a crumb on the countertops. Which made the body sprawled across the tiled floor look even more out of place.

Now, slap a corpse on the floor of my dingy apartment kitchen and you wouldn't bat an eye, at least in my line of work. But in a place like this, a dead body really spoils the ambience.

I rounded the island and reopened my file.

Case # 507032

Conner Mateo Ortiz

Age: 17

Cause of death: Seizure

Time to Collect: 4:30 p.m.

"Conner?" My voice ricocheted off the stainless steel and marble surrounding me. I crouched by the body and attempted to hover in a squat, but my left knee protested my weight with a defiant pop, and I wobbled forward. "Nope, nope, nope," I muttered to myself, "no falling on bodies today. Not after last time." I lowered myself to my steadily widening bum by 507032's head. His rich brown locks fell over one closed eye, a spattering of freckles on his nose. I sighed, one hand at my stomach. Poor kid. He looked younger than his age lying there, long lashes pressed above bronze cheeks still full with the last remnants of baby fat. I'd found his basement bedroom not ten minutes earlier; a gallery of posters and mess and potential. It always felt wrong when they were young. Like their bodies should still have some life left in them. But of course, they didn't. That's why I was there.

Still, he was going to make me late, and the last man to make me late was the very reason I needed to get back to the office and then on my way home on time.

"Conner?" I tried again. Nothing. The house shuddered at my voice and fell still.

My phone vibrated in my back trouser pocket and I nearly puked, though I wasn't entirely sure the two were related. I scrambled for the phone and hauled myself to my feet.

Simon. He got the table for six thirty instead of seven. Of course he did. Shit. If we weren't already in the middle of a divorce, I'd consider filing over this.

This wasn't the way it normally worked-the way it always worked. Death, for all its unpredictability and unknowns, was remarkably routine on my end. It was one of the things I loved most about my job. Someone under my department's jurisdiction dies, I get the paperwork, carry out the collection, write up a report for Stu, and am on the couch watching Family Feud with a bowl of canned tomato soup by five thirty. That's how it was, how it always had been for the six years I'd been a Collections Agent with S.C.Y.T.H.E. But somehow today was different. Case 507032 was different.

I glanced back over the boy. My client files were always pared down to need-to-know information, and in my position, there isn't much I need to know. But it seemed clear enough from the body-long-limbed and dressed in faded jeans and a gray hoodie-that aside from his family's apparent wealth, 507032 was your average, unremarkable teenaged boy. So the question was, why wasn't he here?

I did a second tour through the house, Conner Ortiz's name bouncing back to me in my own voice from the high ceilings of every starkly furnished room. By the time I'd circled back into the kitchen, it was after five.

"Conner," I said into the definitively empty house, "I'm sorry."

I closed my file for the last time and left 438 Melrose Court.

2

Gemma Burke was still in her cubicle when I arrived at the office. She rolled her seat back and poked her head around our shared wall at the sound of my car keys hitting my desk. Her emergence was like a sunrise, the high dark blond ponytail and naturally veneer-white smile rising out of the mists of corporate gray. Gemma did Pilates and went to concerts and brought salads for lunch every day, which she genuinely seemed to enjoy eating. She had work friends she saw without the obligation of work. At a push, she might even consider me one of them, though I'd never braved one of her famous Friday bar nights. I had never been a Gemma Burke, but I was glad someone was.

"Hey, Kath!"

I placed file 507032 face down beside my computer and fell into my chair, a small bubble of anxiety rising in my stomach.

The anxiety bubble burst in a shaky, "Have you ever failed to collect?"

Gemma cocked her head at me, her brows creasing.

"I had a routine collection just now, and my client . . . wasn't there."

"Wasn't there?" Gemma repeated. "Oh no, Kath, that's not good. No, it's never happened to me. Ugh, I'm sorry, that's so stressful."

The look on her face, tight and pitying, confirmed my fears. I glanced down at my hands. They had a way of making a mess of things-I had a way of making a mess of things-and somehow I'd finally messed up the one aspect of my life I thought I'd had under control.

Gemma's voice snapped me out of my thought spiral. "Have you told Stu?"

"Not yet, I just got in."

"Oh, fair enough. Well, I mean, that's definitely not supposed to happen."

"No," I agreed, swallowing the lump in my throat. "It isn't." I took a breath and remembered the thing I should have said from the start. "How was the funeral?"

Gemma shrugged. "Like, typical funeral vibes."

I nodded uncomfortably. This was uncomfortable. Death was our job, and seeing it on a daily basis made us pretty blasé about the whole ordeal fairly quickly. But when death came to our own doorsteps, there was no telling how one of us would react, and I was not equipped with the skills necessary to handle big displays of emotion. I cast a cursory glance around me, noting the quickest exit in case of a tears-related emergency, and said, "That makes sense. For a funeral." I cleared my throat. "My aunt's somehow ended with a fire in the church cloakroom."

"Oh. Yikes."

"But your dad's was nice?"

"Nice enough, I guess," said Gemma. "I always find funerals kind of pointless. I mean, maybe it's because of the job, you know? Like, the whole idea of funerals is to say goodbye, but we know it isn't goodbye, that there's something else, even if we don't know exactly what."

I let out a small breath of relief as I realized there wouldn't be any shoulder crying, when the clock on the wall across from me caught my eye.

"Shit. I'm supposed to be having that dinner tonight," I said. "With Simon."

"Simon? Really?"

My shoulders sagged. "Yup." I slid the file back off the desk. The time had come. "Assuming Stu doesn't eat me alive first."

"He's really not that bad once you get past . . . you know . . ."

"His personality?"

Gemma gave a girlish giggle.

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck! See you tomorrow, Kath."

My knuckles rapped softly on one of the windows of Stu's office. Almost the whole thing was windows. He'd said when he installed them that he wanted us to feel he was more approachable, but those windows had shown him picking his teeth with empty file folders and blotting his armpits after lunchtime workouts enough times to make me avoid approaching him unless it was absolutely necessary. Well, a missing client seemed to fit that bill.

"Come in," Stu called from his desk on the other side of the glass.

I slid into the office.

"Kathy," Stu said by way of a greeting.

"Stu," I replied. "Mr. Calhoun," I corrected quickly, blinking hard in a futile attempt to Etch A Sketch away my slipup. Stu was only Stu when you weren't talking directly to Stu.

"What can I do you for?" Stu eyed me with his usual cool blue intensity, his over-attended muscles flexing impatiently beneath his pale button-up. I watched a bicep bounce, and for a moment I swore the sound of it rubbing against Stu's shirtsleeve was a sigh of disappointment.

"Well," I started, still eyeing that bicep in case it had anything else to add, "one of my scheduled collections today didn't go according to plan. This has never happened to me before, and it's been years since I was in training, so I need a bit of a refresher on protocol."

Stu pulled a stress ball from a drawer in his desk and squeezed, his massive hand enveloping the little ball until all that remained was a tight fist. "Didn't go according to plan how?"

"The client." I held up the file. "He wasn't there."

Stu's knuckles whitened. "Wasn't there?"

I shook my head.

"So you didn't collect the client."

"No," I said.

"I see." The bicep jumped again. I jumped slightly with it. Talking to Stu always put me on edge. He was disconcertingly good-looking in the sort of way that reminded me I was a pear-shaped forty-two-year-old near-divorcée, and yet he was perpetually disapproving in a way that made me feel like a first grader who'd just been caught eating crayons. It made for an awkward position to be in under the best of circumstances, and this was not the best of circumstances.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered at the bicep.

"This"-he tossed the stress ball into the other hand, which promptly ate it-"is unprecedented under my leadership. No client has gone uncollected for as long as I've been here."

"I looked everywhere for him-"

"This is bad, Valence."

I gulped at the sound of my surname. It sounded harsher, sharper than I was used to.

"Our company prides itself on having revolutionized the way these things are done. For almost two hundred years now, we've been the world's leading soul collection and transportation service, and do you know how? By making sure things like this don't happen."

"Right, yes, absolutely, of course. So what do I do?"

Stu sat frozen for a beat, the stress ball unsqueezed, the bicep unflexed. He repositioned himself in his leather-upholstered ergonomic chair, arms crossed over his desk. "I need time to run this upstairs. I hope you understand the severity of this situation, Valence. You know what happens when souls go uncollected."

I did know. It was one of the first things you learned in training; day one, hour one. Agents, whether day shift or night shift, collected their assigned souls and delivered them to a designated processing facility. If a soul wasn't collected and delivered within forty-five days of its body eviction, it would be relegated to stay on earth as a soul forever. In layman's terms, a ghost. There used to be a lot of these incidents, back when my field was more negligent and less knowledgeable than it is today. The last ghost created by S.C.Y.T.H.E. was due to a mishandled case in 1906. I didn't know exactly what happened to that agent, and I wasn't keen to find out for myself.

I gulped in reply.

"Go home, Valence. Sort yourself out. I'll be in touch with instructions as soon as I've talked this over with my higher-ups."

I stood, the takeout lunch in my stomach rising with me.

"And, Valence?" Half a box of chicken fried rice marched up my throat. My hand was near the doorknob. So achingly close. I could feel the cold metal brushing my fingertips. I turned back to Stu. His bicep stared back at me. "I am not pleased."

I gave a somber nod of understanding and threw up in his garbage can.

3

Forty-Five Days to Ghost

The dim amber light of Papa Giuseppe's Pizzeria turned the pale blue and yellow flowers on my dress into splotches of discolored mud. I'd barely had enough time after work to run home for a shower, throw my poof of hair into a bun, and change into the only dress that still fit me. And now, in the lighting that had been romantic on my first date with Simon but currently felt like I was walking into an Italian-themed circle of hell, that dress looked like military camouflage. I ran my palm down the front, shoulders drooping, and hauled my way through the crowded restaurant to our usual table near the back.

Simon was already there, head buried behind a menu even though he never strayed from the chicken Parmesan. The menu dropped as I approached, and Simon clambered to his feet, one knee hitting the table as he tried to scooch around the patrons beside him without sweeping their spaghetti onto the floor with his butt.

"Kath." His arms were open to me before he'd finished rounding the table. I let him envelop me in that tight, all-consuming strangle hug of his, wondering if he could feel anything different as he squeezed.

Simon pulled away, taking my hands in his and beaming up at me.

"Simon," I said back, breathing him in. He was a solid inch and a half shorter than me, several more rounder, with a hairline that had given up merely receding years ago and was now bent on a full, surrendered retreat. I peered around the glare in his glasses to the pale gray eyes underneath. My heart gave a reluctant flutter, and just like that I was back in the dairy aisle of the grocery store where we'd met; a pool of broken eggs forming a viscous puddle around my sensible loafers, at least one shell fragment inexplicably nestled in my hair, and a stocky stranger bent at my feet, ready to fearlessly tackle my mess before I even had time to right the now-empty carton clutched upside down in my hands. I was meant to be cooking for a date that night-a blind one, arranged by an old roommate, and one that I was having seventh thoughts about (second through sixth having taken place throughout work that day). Those thoughts had led me to distraction, which had led me to drop the eggs, and which in turn had led me to tears, which were flowing freely by that point.