Scythe Does Matter

By Gina X. Grant

Kirsty’s afterlife gets even more Hellish in this second installment of The Reluctant Reaper series when her soul-stealing ex-boss targets her beloved aunt. Her only chance to stop him? Becoming a Reaper herself. Fortunately, her hunky new boyfriend, Italian-poet-turned-Reaper Dante Alighieri, is there to help.

Still trapped in the bureaucratic inferno known as Hell, Kirsty d’Arc redoubles her efforts to escape back to the Mortal Coil when she learns Conrad is after the soul of her beloved aunt. To save Aunt Carey, Kirsty must enroll at the Reaper Academy and earn a scythe of her own. Studying topics like Exor-scything 101, Riding the Death Cycle, and Reincarnation for Dummies is strange. But then, so are her classmates: a fallen angel, the Death Valley girls, and Kali—the ancient god of death, destruction, and those little earring backs that always go missing.

Now time is running out thanks to a temporal crisis she may have accidentally created. Can she graduate, rescue her aunt, take down Conrad, and save Hell and every other dimension—before the clock stops ticking?

As the saying goes in Hell, “Be careful what you wish for; it just might get you!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pocket Star
• Release date: Jul 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781476728698

Gina X. Grant

Gina X. Grant writes wacky books featuring crazy creatures. She loves the absurd, the funny and the fantastical. Sometimes it’s hard to find books that combine these elements, so she decided to write what she wanted to read. Despite a degree in business management, Gina has kept her quirky sense of humor that bleeds into everything she writes. She lives in Toronto, Canada, just blocks from the house she grew up in. She’s married to a friendly curmudgeon and together they live with a miscellany of rescued pets.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Some Things Are Better Left Unplugged

DANTE HUGGED ME hard. "I’m so proud of you, cara, for taking charge of your life. The finally" was implied. I prickled but kept my mouth shut.

Sybil stared at me. Yeah, doll-face. That’s great that yer gonna do that, but how?

I watched a small insect crawl across the floor before saying, I don’t know. I was hoping you guys might have some ideas.

We all sat on the hard pine bench outside the courtroom, thinking our little hearts out.

Finally, I sighed, saying, I got nothing? You?

Dante shrugged, "Mi dispiace, cara. I got nothing either."

I gotta whole lotta noth— Hang on a sec. Sibyl held her finger to her lips, glancing left and right, up and down. Ah-ha! She brandished her day planner at an oversize dung beetle hiding under the bench. Get outta here, ya big stoolie, before I break all six of yer legs. She raised the book like a sword. And wipe that shit-eating grin off yer face!

You’ll never take me alive! the beetle shrieked, scuttling away.

What was that? I asked, half curling up on the bench so my feet weren’t on the floor. Bugs give me the creeps. I hadn’t seen many in Hell since the time flies.

It’s a Beelzebug. They’re supposed to sweep for bugs in here but . . . She eyed the courthouse’s ornate crown molding. Anything could be hiding in the fancy carvings and recessed corners. We better move this confab to the staff room.

Dante and I followed Sybil into the employee lounge, a drab room with dumpy furniture. In jarring contrast to the rest of the space, a pretty spray of flowers decorated a beat-up table near the door. Bug spray. Keeps ’em out, she explained, jerking her chin toward the flowers. We can hold our bull session in here without being eavesdropped on. Now, Kirsty. About your life . . .

My life was a mess. Afterlife, too. I really wanted to sit down. A sagging sofa along one wall sang a siren song to my spinning head. Not to mention spinning stomach. I hadn’t worked so hard to keep my last meal down through the ferry ride only to lose it here.

Dante seemed focused on Sybil, his firm grip keeping me upright—and also keeping me from reaching the sofa. Sybil, you had something to tell us? he prompted.

No, I just hate being eavesdropped on. Sorry. I got nothing either.

We all had big fat nothings. And I only had a couple of months to fix this—months, like the rest of time, being relative. But I had resolved to do something and do something I would.

Apparently, that something was to pass out.

The faces around me blurred and spun and I didn’t so much slip into unconsciousness as dive headfirst into a long, spinny journey with flashes of light, sound, and fury.

I found myself plunked into a hospital room. I often dreamed about this room. In my dreams, I’d float up by the ceiling, just like I had the day I’d been scythed, watching my body lie there in that metal-railed bed, hooked up to high-tech medical equipment that blinked and beeped.

The first thing I always did, dream or no dream, was try to force my way back into my body. I’d throw myself at the poor sleeping carcass over and over, trying to re-soul my body like a well-worn shoe.

My attempts always failed.

Sometimes I woke up back in Dante’s bed in Hell crying as if my little heart would break. On those occasions, Dante would wake up and hold me until I calmed down enough to sleep again.

Sometimes, in my dream, I’d get a pattern going with the diving and bouncing. Then I’d wake up still bouncing, dark marks appearing on my chest. I jokingly called it rhythm and bruise, trying to make light of it so Dante wouldn’t think I was unhappy in my life with him. I’m pretty sure he saw through my ruse, though. Perhaps my continued obsession with getting my Coil life back gave me away.

Today’s dream was different. I still hovered up near the ceiling, but everything was clearer. More in focus. As if I had somehow been transported back to my body. Well, near it, anyway.

The girl in the bed had grown gaunt and ashen. I stared at her, feeling too numb even to try to climb back into my physical body. Machines fed her, machines breathed for her. On one side of the bed, that clear plastic bag continued to fill with embarrassing yellow fluid. But I didn’t blush. I had no true presence here. I was just an observer.

But not the only one. On this trip there were people in the room. My aunt Carey and her partner, Leslie. My former boss Conrad, who’d stolen my soul and ruined my life, and Shannon, his daughter and my best friend. The women were weeping. Even Leslie, who was always so stoic.

An unfamiliar woman in a lab coat stood with them, holding a clipboard and a pen. The stethoscope necklace proclaimed her as some sort of medical professional. I could see her lips moving and she gestured toward me with the pen. Not the floating me, the bedridden me. I drifted around like an astronaut, kicking off walls until I could angle around to hear her better.

You’ve been very brave, Carey.

Carey sniffed. Tha— She tried again. Thank you, Doctor.

The doctor nodded, her fingers circling my ankle as she spoke. I felt nothing. What connection did I have with the body on the bed? The doctor watched her own hand stroke my calf as she continued. A great deal of money has been spent keeping your niece in this private care facility . . .

Money was never an issue, Conrad said, placing his hand on Carey’s shoulder. Kirsty was like a second daughter to me and it happened at a company function. Paying for her care was the least I could do.

So Conrad felt guilty enough to cover the cost of this place. Well, what needed to be paid over and above the provincial health care system. Nice of the skegging skegger. Look at me, using Hell’s all-purpose swear word. I was really starting to fit in here; good thing I was leaving as soon as I could swing it.

Carey gave him a watery smile while shrugging away from his hand. She had always been a good judge of character and apparently she liked him about as much as I do—which is to say not much.

I played his words over in my mind. He was talking past tense in terms of my care. What had changed? Had some new law rescinded whatever tax break he’d been getting? Had he maxed out a handy health care subsidy? Or was it that now that he had used my blood to forge my signature on the contract amendment, he couldn’t risk my coming back to life and denying it?

But as you know, the doctor continued, driving my train of thought off the rails. The likelihood of her waking is practically nonexistent at this point. It’s very brave of you to face that grim reality. You are doing the right thing for others who could use this bed, this level of care. Others with . . . more promising prognoses. She gripped my ankle more tightly. Not that I could feel it, but I could see her knuckles whiten from where I hovered nearby. You’re doing the right thing, she repeated, voice cracking along with her professional demeanor.

Carey nodded. I didn’t think she could speak if she tried.

Our lawyers have prepared the documentation. If you could just sign here, where it says ‘Next of Kin.’

When Carey didn’t reach for the clipboard, Conrad took it instead. He gently placed the pen in my aunt’s hand and supported the clipboard while she signed. Looked like he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Knowing him, he’d probably booked a meeting right after this and didn’t want to be late.

I peered over my aunt’s shoulder as she signed her name. For a moment I was surprised the ink was blue, rather than the red I’d become accustomed to.

July 2, she wrote on the date line. So, my time in Hell equaled about ten months on the Coil. Today, anyway. Might be different tomorrow. Ten months to the day since I’d been reaped. We were only a couple of months off in Hell.

We.

They.

Where did I belong now? Where had I ever belonged? I wished my soul felt as numb as my body. Instead it felt cold and shaky and desperate.

The doctor took the clipboard from Carey’s trembling hand. She studied it carefully. She’ll only last a few minutes once we remove the breathing tube.

Leslie held Carey’s right hand, Shannon her left. At the doctor’s nod, the nurse who’d been standing by the door came in to assist. Conrad stepped back as far as possible, pressing himself into the wall, craning his neck to watch, his face slightly manic.

The doctor and nurse worked efficiently. The doctor shut off one machine, while the nurse yanked a plug from the wall and wound the cord around another device. Then the nurse held out a tray to receive the breathing tube.

Everyone in the room held their breath. Even me.

The doctor pinched my wrist between fingers and thumb, eyes on her watch.

I floated back up to the ceiling, watching myself die.

Suddenly, I felt a tugging. Then with dizzying speed, my body sucked me in like a big, fleshy vacuum cleaner. I hit bottom with a thud and a gasp.

A gasp that was echoed by six others. My eyes remained shut so I couldn’t see.

But I could hear.

Oh, my God!

Kirsty!

She’s breathing on her own, Doctor!

The exclamations tumbled over one another. I could hear the doctor ordering people back as she and the nurse leapt into action. I could feel them reattaching the little cardboard disks of the heart monitor. Then the near-painful squeeze of the blood pressure cuff. Shaky fingers drew back my eyelid and painful light burned into my brain.

I couldn’t see. I was blind.

Trapped!

I drew another loud, wet breath. My lungs burned and my throat ached. I hurt everywhere. Pain meant life. I’d kick-started my body into operation. Maybe that was why it had worked this time—my dying body had reached out in desperation and yanked its lost soul home.

I wasn’t dead yet. I was going to live. Was I going to wake? What if I didn’t? What if I was trapped in this useless carcass—aware yet unable to do anything—for years and years and . . .

I hadn’t suffered from claustrophobia since I first arrived in Hell but I sure did now. I’d been desperate to get back in my body. Now all I wanted was out again.

I threw myself upward, away from the body. I’d bounced away before, but now I was stuck, imprisoned. The judge had promised me my life back if I could find proof that Conrad had tricked me. But I couldn’t find that proof of Conrad’s forgery—specifically the ensorcelled stapler—if I was stuck in here. I had to get out! We’d agreed that being stuck in my comatose body wouldn’t qualify in the eyes of the courts of Hell as getting my life back. I didn’t deserve this corporeal punishment. There must have been a mistake! Would Dante report me missing? Would he assume I’d gotten what I wanted? I hadn’t, and if I was stuck in here, I couldn’t see about getting the mistake corrected. I panicked and ricocheted about inside my carcass like a fly stuck in a very small, person-shaped room.

Doctor. She’s spiking. Blood pressure through the roof. It’s as if she’s having a panic attack.

Cold air hit my chest as the doctor yanked my gown open. A frigid circle of metal pressed into my flesh. Her heart rate’s out of control! Nurse, hand me that syringe of Valium, stat! Stand back. I need room to work!

Valium? Why had she brought Valium if they were just going to pull the plug? My mind worked at lightning speed. I was trying fight, flight, and get the fuck outta here all at the same time. Oh, I realized. The Valium hadn’t been on hand for me, but in case Carey or Shannon fell apart. But now I was going to get it. I couldn’t afford to be sedated. I had to get out. I had to . . .

Sharp pain pierced my bicep. They’d disconnected my IV drip so they’d had to inject. Now more than ever I had to . . . oh, my. I felt pretty good now. Maybe I’d just take a moment to enjoy the flashing colors on the backs of my eyelids and then I’d do . . . whatever it was that was so important.

My brain felt hazy, as if a fog had risen up inside my body. A fog just like the one I’d blundered into my first day in Hell. It blanketed my brain in soft cotton. I lacked the energy and the will to escape. Peace descended. Maybe

Reviews for Scythe Does Matter

[mattw · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The 10x of the world is a very important thing

[bookwormdreams · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Scythe Does Matter is sequel to Gina X. Grant's wacky urban fantasy debut The Reluctant Reaper. It can not be read as a standalone and you need to be familiar with events in The Reluctant Reaper to be able to follow what happens. I know that some people do not mind reading series out of order but I think here it's simply not possible, especially since the book is short and there is no time to get to know characters who were previously introduced.In The Reluctant Reaper we explored hell together with Kirsty as she get to know the rules of afterlife. Now in Scythe Does Matter Kirsty decides that she will deal with Conrad (her evil boss who set her up) personally by becoming the member of Hell's SWAT team, Swiss Guard, customs agents and bounty hunters. In other words, Kirsty enrolls at the Reaper Academy.When I found out that Scythe Does Matter is going to be about Kirsty attending school for Grim Reapers. I was super excited. The nerd in me was delighted to read about various classes she will be attending and I could not wait to learn what ideas Gina X. Grant had about reaper's education. Kirsty's first glance at the curriculum was promising:- Reap What You Sew: Styling your robe.- Stick Handling: You and your scythe.- Death Coaching: Don't be the rude of all evil.- etc.But when classes actually started the description was pretty boring (like actual school). Almost all events happened at class held by one teacher and other fun classes and wacky subjects were neglected and not described. New fellow students appeared as side characters, but even though we had Indian goddess Kali and fallen angel, I missed Char, Claire Voyant and others.With romance between Dante and Kirsty still without a spark for me and a little bit dull classes at the Reaper Academy, Scythe Does Matter was a lot less wacky and funny than The Reluctant Reaper. Still it resolved some issues and Kirsty's problems with Conrad also developed in an unexpected way. I am hoping that the big finale in Esprit de Corpse will make it worth my while.In The End...If you have read and liked The Reluctant Reaper, you probably can't wait to find out what happens next so there is no need to recommend Scythe Does Matter to you.For those who like urban fantasy about afterlife set in hell with a lot of grim reapers, demons and heroine who likes to talk in puns, The Reluctant Reaper series might prove to be quick, light and fun read for you.Disclaimer: I was given a free eBook by the publisher via Edelweiss in exchange for a honest review.

[darkfaerietales_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Review courtesy of Dark Faerie Tales.Quick & Dirty: Trapped in Hell, not living and not dead, Kirsty discovers that her aunt up in the Mortal Coil is in danger. What’s an undead girl to do? It’s time to go back to school – Reaper school that is – and save her aunt before it’s too late!Opening Sentence: Dante hugged me hard.The Review:This is going to be a hard review for me to write. I absolutely hate writing negative reviews, but if I’m being honest, this book really didn’t do anything for me.This is the second book in The Reluctant Reaper series. This book starts immediately after the first one ends. Kirsty has just lost her court case. She has one chance to appeal. If she loses that as well, she’s stuck in Hell forever. While that wouldn’t be all bad because of her newfound friends and boyfriend, Dante, Kirsty wants the life that was stolen from her. Once she’s lived the years she’s due, she’ll gladly come back and live out her afterlife in Hell.Conrad – the guy responsible for Kirsty being in Hell – has other plans. Kirsty discovers he’s planning to do to her aunt the same thing he did to Kirsty so that he can stay alive. Kirsty will not let that happen, so she enrolls in Reaper school so she can earn her own scythe to use to drag Conrad to Hell. Will she be able to graduate in time?I honestly wasn’t a huge fan of Kirsty. She struck me as being very self-centered, not taking into consideration whether her actions would have a negative effect on others. Going hand in hand with that was the fact that she seemed really immature. I was shocked when I realized she was 26. She seems much younger.I didn’t really get to see enough of Dante to form an opinion on him. He’s on the sidelines for most of the book. He seems like a good guy, and I thought it was cool that he was the Dante (of Dante’s Inferno fame). Other than that, I couldn’t really form an impression of him.I think my biggest problem was that it felt like the book was trying too hard to be funny. This really served to disrupt the flow of the plot for me, and I found myself rolling my eyes more often than laughing. An example of this would be Kirsty referring to a character as having an emotion “written all over their face” and then say, “No, not literally.” It just really threw me out of the action.As I said before, this is the second book in a series. While I for the most part had no trouble following what was happening, I still feel it would be best to read The Reluctant Reaper first, mainly in order to meet characters who Kirsty mentions in book 2, but doesn’t give us back story on. I really wish I could have liked it more, but in the end, this just wasn’t my cup of tea.Notable Scene:I checked out the reading list. While there were a couple of actual textbooks, I was relieved to find that the required reading consisted mainly of photocopies of the relevant sections of the major religious tomes: the Bible, the Koran, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the Torah, and a novel titled Good Omens. Go figure.FTC Advisory: Pocket Books provided me with a copy of Scythe Does Matter. No goody bags, sponsorships, “material connections,” or bribes were exchanged for my review.