Mei glanced toward the double doors. “You’re going to get us in trouble, Nelson.”
“Bah. Death doesn’t need to always be sad. We need to learn to laugh at ourselves before we—”
“Nelson,” Wallace said slowly.
The man looked at him. “Yes?”
“She called you Nelson.”
“That’s because it’s my name.”
“Not Hugo.”
Nelson waved his hand. “Hugo is my grandson.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you won’t tell him what we did if you know what’s good for you.”
Wallace gaped at him. “Are you … are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Nelson said as Mei choked. “Oops. Too soon?”
Wallace took a stuttering step toward the man—to do what, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single word. He tripped over his own feet, falling forward toward Nelson, eyes wide, a sound like a door creaking escaping his throat.
But he didn’t crash into Nelson, because Nelson disappeared, causing Wallace to land roughly on the floor, facedown.
He raised his head in time to see Nelson blink back into existence a few feet away, near the fireplace. He wiggled his fingers at Wallace.
Wallace rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His chest heaved (pesky thing, that, seeing as how his lungs weren’t exactly necessary at this point), and his skin thrummed. “You’re dead.”
“As a doornail,” Nelson said. “It was a relief, really. This old body had worn down, and try as I might, I couldn’t make it work like I wanted it to anymore. Sometimes, death is a blessing, even if we don’t realize it right away.”
Another voice came then, deep and warm, the words sounding as if they had weight, and there was a mighty tug at that hook in Wallace’s chest. It should have hurt. It didn’t.
It almost felt like relief.
“Grandad, are you making trouble again?”
Wallace turned his head toward the voice.
A man appeared through the double doors.
Wallace blinked slowly.
The man smiled quietly, his teeth shockingly bright. The front two were a bit crooked and strangely charming. He was, perhaps, an inch or two shorter than Wallace, with thin arms and legs. He wore jeans and an open-collared shirt under an apron with the words CHARON’S CROSSING stitched across the front. The front of the apron bulged slightly against the gentle swell of his stomach. His skin was deep brown, his eyes almost hazel with shots of green through them. His hair was similar to the old man’s, tight coils in a short Afro, though his was black. He seemed young; not quite as young as Mei, but surely younger than Wallace. The floorboards creaked with every step he took.
He set down the tray he was carrying onto the counter, a teapot clanking against the oversized teacups. It smelled like peppermint. He walked around the counter. Wallace saw the dog—Apollo—weaving around and then through the man’s legs. The man laughed at the dog. “I can see that. Curious, right?”
The dog barked in agreement.
Wallace stared as the man approached. He didn’t know why he focused on the man’s hands, fingers oddly delicate, palms paler than the backs, nails like crescent moons. He rubbed his hands together before he crouched down near Wallace, keeping some distance from him as if he thought Wallace was skittish. It was only then Wallace noticed the cable attached to his chest extended to the man, though there didn’t appear to be a hook. The cable disappeared into his ribcage, right where his heart should be.
“Hello,” the man said. “Wallace, right? Wallace Price?”
Wallace nodded, unable to find his voice.
The man’s smile widened, and the hook in Wallace’s chest felt like it was burning. “My name is Hugo Freeman. I am a ferryman. I’m sure you have questions. I’ll do my best to answer them all. But first things first. Would you like a cup of tea?”
CHAPTER
5
Wallace had never been a fan of tea. If pressed, he would say he never really saw what the fuss was about. It was dry leaves in hot water.
And it probably didn’t help that he was still staring at the man known as Hugo Freeman. He moved with grace, every action deliberate, almost as if he were dancing. He didn’t reach out to help Wallace to his feet, but instead motioned for him to pick himself up off the floor. Wallace did, though he kept his distance. If there ever were a god, it would be this man, no matter what Mei had told him. For all he knew, it was another trick, a test to see how he would act. He needed to be careful here, especially if he was going to insist this man give him back his life. It didn’t help that the cable seemed to connect the two of them, stretching and shrinking depending upon how close they were to each other.
Apollo sat at Hugo’s feet near the counter, staring up adoringly at him, tail thumping silently against the floor. Mei helped Nelson toward the counter, though he was grumbling that he could do it himself.
Wallace watched as Hugo picked up the steaming pewter teapot from the tray. He raised the pot toward his face, inhaling deeply. He nodded and said, “It’s had time to steep. Should be ready now.” He looked up at Wallace almost apologetically. “It’s organic loose leaf, which didn’t seem to fit what I know of you, but I have a pretty good track record for such things. For all I know, everything you like is organic. And peppermint.”
“I don’t like organic anything,” Wallace muttered.
“That’s okay,” Hugo said as he began to pour the tea. “I think you’ll like this.” There were four cups, each with a different floral design. He motioned for Wallace to take the cup with the flowers that rose along the sides and into the interior of the cup.
“I’m dead,” Wallace said.
Hugo beamed at him. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
Wallace ground his teeth together. “That’s not what—forget it. How the hell can I pick up the cup?”
Hugo laughed. It was a low and rumbly thing that started in his chest and poured out from his mouth. “Ah. I see. And anywhere else, you might have a point. But not here. Not with these. Try it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
No one could promise that with any certainty. The only thing he’d been able to touch was Mei and the ground beneath his feet. And Apollo, but the less said about that the better. This felt like a test, and he didn’t trust this man as far as he could throw him. Wallace had never thrown a man before, and he didn’t want to start now.
He sighed and reached for the cup, expecting his hand to pass through it, ready to glare at Hugo as if to say See?
But then he felt the warmth of the tea, and he gasped when his fingers touched the surface of the cup. It was solid.
It was solid.
He hissed when he jerked his hand up, sloshing tea over the side of the cup and onto his fingers. There was a brief flare of heat, but then it was gone. He looked at his fingers. They were pale as always, the skin unblemished.
“These teacups are special,” Hugo said. “For people like you.”
“People like me,” Wallace echoed dully, still staring at his fingers.
“Yes,” Hugo said. He finished pouring the tea into the remaining cups and set the teapot back onto the tray. “Those who have left one life in preparation for another. They were a gift when I became what I am now.”