Just Another Day In Hell: Inklet, #86

By Liana Brooks

Grantupoemoeunanii's job in Hell? Quite heavenly, actually. And by all accounts, today looks set for more of the same: well-ordered paperwork, tidy schedules…

Until an unusual co-worker appears, with a problem not quite standard. And not quite… legal.

Helping out means risking the wrath of the senior demons… But Grant's not quite on the clock just yet.

What's a hard-working demon to do?

A charming, hopeful vision of the Afterlife for readers who could use an extra friend as they navigate the mortal coil. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkprint Press
• Release date: Jul 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201588397

Liana Brooks

Liana Brooks once read the book GOOD OMENS by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and noted that both their biographies invited readers to send money (or banana daiquiris). That seems to have worked well for them. Liana prefers strawberry daiquiris (virgin!) and will never say no to large amounts of cash in unmarked bills. Her books are sweet and humorous with just enough edge to keep you reading past your bedtime. Liana was born in San Diego and in addition to there has lived in Illinois, Colorado, Florida, Texas, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and Kansas. We'd like to tell you where she is right now, but last we checked she was researching books on both Alaska and Africa. Not only are the bookstore algorithms breaking trying to track this lady, but we can't tell you where to mail that daiquiri. Your best bet is to try Twitter where you can often find @LianaBrooks talking about her four kids, her giant dog, and plans for world domination.

Book preview

Just Another Day In Hell

INKLET #86

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LIANA BROOKS

www.InkprintPress.com

JUST ANOTHER DAY IN HELL

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Lava gurgled over opened fissures in the walls as, in the distance, the voices of the damned screamed for mercy. The air didn’t smell of sulfur or burning tires, no matter what anyone said in their religious soliloquies; it smelled of damp earth with a touch of rotten potato, and lingering mold from the humid season in Florida.

And mothballs.

Not because Hell smells of mothballs naturally, but some young buck had had the bright idea to introduce mothballs to Hell and now the smell stuck like a bad memory.

Grantupoemoeunanii, Keeper of Memories and Mortal Forms, trundled through their small office at the southwest corner of the Eternal Infernal Hall. That was the official name printed on all the pamphlets sent out by head office, though the hall was neither eternal or altogether infernal. Not unless one thought lava oozing across the broken, pockmarked floor with the occasional jazz rift breaking the boundaries of Heaven infernal.

There were donuts in the break room—the good kind—and better wages and vacation plans than even Sweden had. Really, at the end of the day, caring for the damned souls throwing tantrums rather than going to Heaven was just another heavenly job. Albeit a heavenly job that shopped at the Halloween Outlet store.

With a breathy sigh that summoned memories of bitter autumn winds and grave