Listen Close

By Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Cordelia is a Tier III Grim Reaper, devoted to her work guiding the most troubled souls through Purgatory until they can resolve the lingering issues from their lives. But for the first time in millennia, the process is not working properly. Cordelia can't figure out how to help her souls move on.

Meanwhile, Cordelia's infuriating rival, Genevieve, is adding to the trouble by spreading rumors about souls and Reapers disappearing. Faced with evidence that something is wrong, Cordelia and Genevieve are thrown together into flight across different Purgatories, searching for the truth about souls in Purgatory... and the truth about themselves.

The final installment in the Waking Up series, Listen Close is a fantasy of souls and soulmates, a story that gives a sweeping romantic spin to the concept of "moving on."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781094415482

Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Imogen Markwell-Tweed is a queer romance writer and editor based in St. Louis. When she's not writing or hanging out with her dog, IMT can be found putting her media degrees to use by binge-watching trashy television. All of her stories promise queer protagonists, healthy relationships, and happily ever afters. @unrealimogen on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

Chapter One

Cordelia watches with a soft gaze as the soul before her realizes, with a burst of pleasure rippling through it like sunlight, that it is truly content.

A content soul is a soul that may move on. It may find peace and absolution in its human journey and move past the intricacies of earthly feelings and onto a better, safer, happier forever.

Cordelia is a Tier III Grim Reaper. She takes her position seriously — not every Reaper is allowed to rise in the ranks — and Cordelia knows better than to not respect the position she has. She is gifted with the ability to help the most troubled of souls, the ones who cling to their human life and their mistakes and refuse to complete their Purgatory cycle. Cordelia is often the last line of defense before a soul becomes irrevocably lost in its cycles. She understands the weight of this. She understands the importance of leading souls through their personal journeys to find peace.

All Reapers were made to assist human souls. When a human dies, they end up here: a purgatory of their own making, with its own intricacies and difficulties, where they must move through until they find the peace they could not find on Earth. Cordelia’s job — like all Reapers —— is simply to guide them. To be with them until the very end.

This case had been particularly difficult.

The soul, a man called Roger, had been here for many, many years. Each cycle is unique to each soul, but generally consists of just a handful of days or weeks for the Soul. They are placed in a beautiful world of their own subconscious making, with all the tools to find their peace and ascend, and while the Reapers never go into a Purgatory knowing what they will need, it is. Roger had been through dozens of cycles; his lasting exactly two months each. They had been together for a long time.

Cordelia’s Supervisor warned her that she would need to step away soon — a Tier III Reaper was in high demand and Cordelia had already spent too many years with this man. He was a lost cause, many argued. Cordelia, though, remained unswayed in her duty and determination.

Roger was a good man. On Earth, he was a firefighter. He died in a fire, saving a family of sleeping children. She would be with him, every step of the way, until he realized whatever it was he needed to realize to be able to ascend.

Cordelia? Roger turns to her. His gaze is trusting. Cordelia thinks for a brief moment that she will miss him after so many decades at his side. Then she dismisses the thought. Reapers are not to miss souls. Reapers are to guide and protect.

Yes? Cordelia tilts her head up so she can see his face. While she is always a little uncomfortable in the shape of a human, without the billowing smoke that is her true essence outside of these little worlds, she has gotten quite used to this body. She’s familiar with its shape and its gives, the way it feels to stretch and feel bones pop from the effort. While she might not enjoy the corporeal senses, she does find them almost comforting now.

Roger looks between her and the doorway. He contemplatively chews on his bottom lip before sighing. You can’t come with me?

No, I can’t. Cordelia mimics his sigh. She gently pats his cheek. He smiles at her and Cordelia is once again hit with a fondness she’s not sure she’s supposed to be feeling. You’ll go alone, but you will be safe. You will be warm. You will be happy.

You promise?

His voice wavers. She smiles at him, as reassuring as she can be. On all things. You will be safe. It’s time.

She stands and holds out a hand. Roger takes it in his, squeezes gently, and then turns and walks toward the door. As he opens it, he offers her one last lingering glance before crossing the threshold and disappearing.

Cordelia watches as the warm light covers him and gently whisks him away. She has watched millions of souls depart from their Purgatories, each one having overcome whatever personal struggles led them to being trapped in their cycles, each one all the better for their journey. It is always an awe-inspiring thing to see, and Roger is no exception. Cordelia feels remarkably pleased, watching him disappear and ascend.

Reapers don’t know where souls go after Purgatory. They only know that it is the only choice, for a soul to move on, and that it is infinitely better than anything Earth or Purgatory could offer the human souls. Tthey also know they will never be allowed to ascend, as only souls can go through the light. Reapers must stay behind.

Cordelia stays a moment longer, to collect her thoughts. She will have to report to a Supervisor. She hopes Darlene is on duty. Darlene, fair in all ways, feels no affection for the human souls one way or another. Too often lately, Cordelia is forced to deal with Iris, who holds a contempt for the souls that Cordelia neither understands or approves of. She’s found it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue.

She walks to the red door on the edge of a building a few blocks away. Roger never even noticed it. Most souls do not notice it, flawlessly incorporated into the design of their Purgatories. The door marked STAFF meant little to the man.

She stands before it, offering Roger’s Purgatory one last glance, before stepping through. She enters the pod. It is clean and sparse, and the billowing smoke of her Supervisor shifts in greeting. Cordelia closes the door gently behind her and folds in. She feels her arms and skin and muscles twisting uncomfortably, tugging in and in and in, until she manages to shuck the human form. It disappears, and her thick gray smoke shoots out, stretching far across the pod.

You’ve been in that form for a long time, the Supervisor says. Their voices do not travel here like they do inside the Purgatories, where human form offers them both voices and ears. Here, as the spilling smoke, they speak more from their essence to another’s than they do in a physical act.

It’s been a long time since Cordelia has used this voice. Yes, she answers, surprised by how smooth itfeels. It was a delicate case.

The lonely always are, the Supervisor agrees.

Cordelia probes curiously at their connection. She does not recognize this Reaper. It is neither Iris nor Darlene nor any of the other Tier III Supervisors she was expecting. This Supervisor has no defining features, in their exchanges or across the bond they share as Reapers. Many Reapers define themselves with names and genders and traits, more often than not pilfered from the many lives they half-lead in the Purgatories. This Reaper, it seems, lays claim to nothing.

She wonders if a promotion allowed this new Reaper to take place. Promotions are rare now. No Reaper will die, no Reaper is born — this far away from the Beginning, it is rare for positions to shift.

Still, she ought to congratulate them. It is a pleasure to meet you, she says kindly.

The Reaper bristles. It’s an odd reaction. Cordelia tugs herself in a little, the wispy tendrils of her smoke coming to rest closer to her center. She takes up a smaller amount of space and begins to report instantly. The soul of Roger Etterman, thirty-six years old, of Kansas, United States, 2014 A.D., has moved on.

As always, reports start with the end. This allows the Supervisor to know that no new cycle will take place, no rest to be offered. Cordelia continues to place her report. The Supervisor asks her a few questions, mostly questioning the length of time it took to complete, and Cordelia has to be careful not to respond in anger. Those who never found love often take more time. Love is something no Reaper can recreate and therefore the souls who died without itrarely move on easily. And he was a Tier III. Cordelia wasted no time, only allocated what was necessary. This Supervisor should understand that.

Report to your usual Supervisor for your next assignment, they say, dismissively.

Cordelia shoots out of the pod. She’s moving more quickly than she ought to and purposefully, cautiously, slows down when she gets out of the arrival pod. Here, in the Great Space, the other Reapers lounge

Reviews for Listen Close

[Kelsey Laurent · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Loved to see this series end in a f/f romance! This author does it again pulling on my heartstrings