The Death Games Page 2

  “Did you seriously just hiss at a dead cat?” Boston huffed.

  I shrugged unabashedly. “I’m not exactly a cat person.”

  He opened his mouth, as if to reply, but I would never know what he was about to say. The forms in our hands dissolved suddenly, distracting us from our conversation, and I gaped at my now empty palms.

  “What the fuckery?”

  A D.S.D. worker with scary eyebrows cleared his throat from the mouth of a hallway. “When I call your name, line up by this doorway.” He motioned to the threshold beside him as he started his list of never-ending names. “…Kelly Nugal, Bryce Trent…” on and on, he droned, “…Savannah Miller, Grant Barone.” At the name, Boston stood, sparing me one last glance before lumbering away. “…and Leah Anderson.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stood with a huff. All my life, teachers, doctors, and even my family dentist had mispronounced my name. “It’s Lee, actually,” I said as I joined the line, a few people behind Boston—or Grant.

  “Everyone, follow me.”

  We filed down the corridor, a line of ants dressed in unattractive jumpsuits, until we entered a large room. Fanning out into a clumpy semicircle, we faced a podium with a ghostly male standing before it. His stark-white hair contrasted sharply with his ebony robe, but it was the cold ice in his blue eyes that froze me to the spot. For the first time since dying, unadulterated terror coursed through my veins.

  “Greetings, participants.” His bass rumbled through the air like thunder. “From this moment on, you will be stripped of your soul status and returned to your mortal body for the duration of the Games. The process will be”—he paused—“uncomfortable, but do not fear. Fortune favors the brave.”

  Wait a second… Say what now?

  He raised his deathly pale hands. “Welcome, warriors, to The Death Games!”

  The room filled with static as a bolt of electricity zapped down my spine. I yelped in agony as my vision swam, and my skin bubbled with heat, sweat instantly dampening my jumpsuit. I met dark, espresso eyes as Grant gave me an I-told-you-so eyebrow cock, and I managed to flip him the bird moments before my knees gave out. My world went black before I hit the ground.

  Chapter 2

  Should Have Read the Fine Print

  I tumbled, tumbled, tumbled, my phone clattering down hardwood steps. Its screen shattered against the floor at the bottom as I freefell after it. As if in slow motion, the stairs came up to meet me, and I crashed head-over-ass. Rolling, the pain exploded through me as body parts met cold, solid flooring.

  With my arm twisted behind me, I somersaulted, my face smashing into the wooden railing. My neck cracked against the edge of the step.

  Snap!

  And then nothing…

  I woke with a strangled cry, my hand wrapping around the back of my neck where the ghost of pain throbbed at the base of my brain stem. Sweat cooled my skin, and I scrubbed at my face as I sat up in a rush. Unfortunately, the surface beneath me jostled at the exact same moment, and I lost my balance on the bench-like seat.

  A firm hand circled my right biceps, jerking me upright moments before I tumbled to the floor of the swaying vehicle, and I yelped as I sprawled over someone’s lap. Evergreen invaded my nose as my face smashed into a muscled thigh. I flailed like a fish out of water as the body underneath me protested my position.

  “Seriously, green?” That annoying Boston accent grated my ears as rough fingers tangled in the collar of my shirt and yanked me out of his pubic zone. “It’s not good manners to go down on someone without askin’ first.”

  As my face flushed hot, I scrambled to put as much distance as the bench would allow between myself and the irritated Bostonian. “Fuck you, Boston! I wouldn’t suck your cock even if your jizz was the elixir of life.”

  Rolling his eyes, he straightened in his seat and crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest, the slightest tilt teasing his lips as he spared me one last withering glare. “Says the guy with his face in my crotch.”

  A chorus of chuckles sounded around us, bringing my attention to the other people in the… car? Train? To be honest, I couldn’t tell as the outside world blurred past the windows at an alarming speed.

  Our compartment held six people, including Boston and myself. A middle-aged Asian man sat across from me, watching the exchange emotionlessly, and a petite blonde with a rather full bust giggled into her hand from beside Boston. Across from Blondie sat a hulk of a man, a real Arnold Schwarzenegger type, and beside him was a mousy woman with a head of gray hair.

  No one spoke again. I curled into a ball and wrapped my arms around my knees, pressing them to my chest as the vehicle sprinted along to wherever we were going. My brain filtered through the recent memories of the D.S.D. and the albino who electrocuted us. My stomach roiled. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Maybe, though I’d never admit it, I should have listened to Boston and read the fine print before signing my life—or was it, my death?—away so cavalierly.

  After ten minutes of silence, the vehicle slowed. I stretched from my fetal position to peek out the window as we arrived at a gated complex. A twenty-foot-high wall surrounded the grounds, disappearing in opposite directions as we floated through the open wrought-iron gate. It closed behind us with a foreboding clang.

  I squished my face against the glass as we drove through a landscaped courtyard; my insatiable curiosity didn’t want to miss a thing. Reflection pools lined the gravel driveway, and a large, flourishing tree sat front and center before a glittering, glass skyscraper. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, but I shivered under the unwelcoming shadow cast by the cold stone as we came to a humming halt.

  The door opened with a hiss, and we stumbled out onto the driveway, slipping on loose gravel. It was early evening, or so I assumed. It was hard to tell, given the constant dusk that seemed to shroud the Afterlife. I hadn’t seen the sun since leaving the bus at the D.S.D. The clouds overhead boiled with telltale signs of a thunderstorm, and I tore my gaze from the violent churning as a stray raindrop splashed the tip of my nose.

  Rubbernecking, I inspected the sleek hovercraft-train I’d just exited, and people poured from the connected compartments until a small crowd gathered around me. I lost sight of Boston, and my throat constricted at the loss. Asshole or not, he was the only familiar face here, and standing alone amidst the masses was daunting to say the least.

  Atop the marble stairs stood a blank-faced brunette dressed in a black leotard, holding a clipboard. She was flanked by two males, equally expressionless and sporting the same, unflattering clothing. They didn’t look at us, staring vacantly into the distance, unblinking as the last of the stragglers scurried from the hovertrain.

  The moment we gathered at the foot of the stairs, the brunette blinked robotically before addressing us in a terrifying monotone. “Welcome, contestants.” Her arm waved stiffly behind her, gesturing to the glass doors of the building. “Follow me for registration and orientation.”

  We moved as a herd, trailing behind the robot-lady as we climbed the stairs. Thanks to my short stature, I was perfect height to receive unintentional jabs from passing elbows. I was shoved this way and that, heels crushing my toes as someone managed to stab me in the eye. Thankfully, I entered the building in one piece, spitting mad and rubbing my bruised eyeball.

  To save myself the pain and humiliation of being trodden on by the uncaring stampede, I slowed my steps and joined the back of the crowd. Being the caboose was safer.

  Our voices echoed in the entryway, and shoes squeaked against the marble flooring as we traversed hallway after hallway. We were ushered into a large room and queued up. Upon reaching the table, a leotard-wearing male stabbed my finger with a razor to collect a dollop of blood; swiped my mouth with a Q-tip and stored the saliva in a vial; and finished the strange check-up with an inappropriately intimate frisk.

  “Thank you, Leah Anderson,” he spoke in jilted rhythm.

  I ground my teeth. “It’s pronounced Lee, not Leah
.”

  “Of course, great warrior.” He bowed awkwardly and held his hand out to the right. “Please proceed, Leah Anderson.”

  “Ugh, whatever.” I shook my head and trudged after a bald, dark-skinned man with tattoos curling over his neck and scalp.

  Taking up the rear once more, I filed after the group into another corridor, this one decorated more lavishly than the previous ones. Paintings of breathtaking beaches and flowing mountains disappeared behind me, replaced by garish artwork of flowers and kittens in neon pinks and purples.

  As the mass slowed, I paused beside a particularly odd painting, a single four-foot canvas. From the top, glittery pink paint dripped down like melted candle wax, accentuated by swipes of orange so bright, it literally hurt my irises. A colorful unicorn statue had been erected beside the painting, and I had to shield my eyes as the lights glinted off the rhinestones embellishing the creature’s stony eyeballs.

  Who the fuck decorated this place?

  Lost in my perusal, I didn’t notice the body behind me until I backed right into it, my foot squashing someone’s toes. “Oh, shit! Sorry,” I began, only to drift off when I discovered one of the glazed-eyed workers behind me, arms crossed politely over his stomach.

  He gestured to the set of double doors through which the last of my fellow contestants had disappeared. “Please, valiant warrior, do not fall behind.”

  Valiant warrior? Okay…

  Without another word, the worker entered the room, leaving me on the other side of the door. Assuming he wanted me to follow, I took the initiative and poked my head inside.

  A large, rectangular table stood in the center of the space, its waxy surface a black and ivory marbled chessboard. The solid black chairs filled with the other contestants as they took their seats. I shuffled across the checkered, marble floor to join them.

  Spotting Grant, I grinned, and he glowered back, daring me to come closer. Ignoring his obvious death glare, I skipped into the room and beelined to steal the seat beside him.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” I leaned back in my seat, letting the front legs of the chair rise off the floor, and tucked my hands behind my head.

  Grant looked anywhere but at me, fingers digging into his forearms like my mere presence annoyed him. His silence didn’t deter me, though. Instead, I let my gaze wander to the other competitors. Most kept to themselves while a few others whispered in hushed, nervous tones.

  The door on the opposite side of the room burst open, and the magnificent albino with the deathly aura waltzed in. Four figures followed on his heels, dressed in hooded, black robes. They moved as a unit, stopping only when the scary, pale man halted at the head of the table.

  “Welcome, warriors. I hope your travel was comfortable.” His deep voice dripped with authoritative power, and though my trip had been far from comfortable, I didn’t dare admit it. When everyone remained silent, he clapped his hands twice and smiled. At least, I thought it was supposed to be a smile. “Excellent.”

  When the sinister pull of his lips combined with his icy gaze, I shivered involuntarily. Secretly, I wished he would cover his face like his entourage. He was clearly the leader of this morose group of wraiths, pale as a corpse and nearly as cold. Wait a second—was he the leader? Was I standing in the presence of Hades?

  As if he read my mind, he met my stare and spoke. “I suppose a proper introduction is in order. I have been called many different names—Yama, Hades, Inuit…but you may address me as Death.”

  “Called it,” I said to Grant under my breath, and he rolled his eyes without verbalizing a reply as our competitors shifted restlessly around us.

  Death continued, “I have many responsibilities and duties, but the one I thoroughly enjoy is presiding over our most treasured tradition, The Death Games.”

  “That’s very ominous,” I whispered to Grant. “Like, seriously, what are they playing at?” I wiggled my fingers in his direction, pretending to be spooky. “The Death Games. Geez, could they be any creepier?”

  Grant shoved my shoulder. “Would you shut up?”

  “Gentlemen, is there a problem?”

  It took a moment too long to understand Death was speaking to me. I shrunk in my chair as his chilly gaze scrutinized me. Oh fuck, I was literally getting measured by Death. Was I going to be smitten? Smoted? Ugh, whatever…

  “No, sir, no problem.” Grant straightened his shoulders and shot me a murderous glower, and I sunk lower in my seat.

  “Indeed.” Death’s white lips pursed in displeasure, but he dismissed me after another moment. “As I was saying, the games are held every quarter and are essential to morale and the overall wellbeing of the souls here in the Afterlife. They provide the deceased with entertainment and offer the opportunity for a second chance at life for willing participants.

  “As you may have guessed, this is the training center and your place of residence for the foreseeable future. Make yourself familiar with the layout. It will aid in your comfort and safety. Please keep in mind that you have been returned to your mortal bodies, and as mortals, you are susceptible to injury, sickness, exhaustion, and expiration. Do take care of your vessels.”

  “Wait, so we’re not dead?” I hissed against Grant’s shoulder, and he rounded on me with clenched fists. I cringed in case he decided to punch me, but his fists never moved in my direction.

  “You are quite dead, let me assure you, Leah Anderson,” Death interrupted, his bony fingers resting delicately on the table as he leaned slightly in my direction.

  My pride was marginally greater than my instinct to cower, but I avoided his aggravated stare as I grumbled, “It’s Lee! Not Leah.”

  Judging from the tremble at the corner of his mouth, he was fighting a smirk. Had he mispronounced my name on purpose? Damn, Death was cold.

  “Would you prefer to lead the meeting, Mr. Anderson?” He splayed his hands in feigned invitation. I shook my head, eyes downcast in surrender. “Then with your permission, I would like to continue.”

  The awkwardness could have been cut with a knife as Death remained quiet until I swallowed thickly and croaked, “Go ahead.”

  “How gracious of you.”

  With my face almost level with the edge of the table, I slouched to hide from Death’s clear anger as he continued monologuing about the benefits and joys of The Death Games. Everyone at the table listened intently, some shooting me nasty looks every so often. I studied the sleek chessboard pattern on the table until Death’s words wriggled into my brain.

  “…And when the final victor emerges—”

  “Final victor! There’s only one winner?” I shot up in my seat hard enough to smash my stomach into the edge of the table, but the pain couldn’t distract me from the exasperated growl Death shot me as his hands slapped on the table.

  “Of course there is only one winner, Mr. Anderson. That is the point of playing games, is it not? To win?”

  I gaped like a fish out of water as every eye landed on me. I fought the urge to blush. “I mean, like, I thought maybe this was graded on participation.”

  Mocking laughter rose from the contestants as Grant groaned and Death raised a white eyebrow. “Did you not read the terms and conditions?”

  “Oh, come on. Who actually reads the terms and conditions?” I laughed awkwardly, the fake humor dying almost instantly as Death’s mouth thinned. “Okay, so, I may have made a teensy mistake. I’ll just go back to the D.S.D. now.”

  “The contract is binding. There is no going back.” For the briefest of moments, amusement twinkled in the depths of his frigid eyes. “The only way out of the games is death or forfeit. Both result in eternal servitude under me. Now—”

  “Wait,” I interrupted again, officially signing my death warrant as numerous snarls erupted around the table. “Eternal servitude? So, if I lose, I’m stuck working for you?”

  Death grinned, and my stomach frosted. “Why, yes, Mr. Anderson. That’s exactly what losing means. Did you think the stakes wouldn’t
measure up to the reward?” My mouth moved wordlessly as his smile turned vicious. “Now sit down before I drag you out of the room and feed you to my three-headed dog.”

  My ass hit the chair hard enough to jar my bones. I squeezed my fingers into my tan jumpsuit and bit my tongue until I tasted copper. There was no way I wanted to be Cerberus’s dinner, so I spent the rest of the orientation silent as the grave—no pun intended—even as my brain exploded with questions and confusion.

  What had I done?

  When the meeting wrapped up, I was left with more questions than answers, but I didn’t dare breathe a word until Death and his group of Salem witches left the room in a magnificent swirl of smoke. Chairs scraped across marble as a servant appeared at the door and requested we follow him to our rooms.

  Grant was up and out of his chair in a heartbeat, and I scrambled after him, desperate to find the answers that would be the difference between my life and my death of eternal servitude.

  “Hey, Boston!” I shouted as I fought through the bodies bottlenecking at the doors. “Hey, Grant, wait up.”

  At the sound of my voice, his shoulders tensed and he quickened his already swift pace. With a grunt, I shouldered through the crowd and urged my legs into a jog to catch up with his long strides. Occasionally, one of the others would glance our way, but for the most part, they ignored us.

  “Grant, I’m tahkin’ to you,” I said, mimicking his accent horribly, and he finally stopped beside a decorative table just before the elevators.

  Grant glared down at me, the corners of his lips pursed with irritation. “What do you want?”

  My attempt to discreetly normalize my labored breathing failed, and my chest heaved as I leaned against the table. “You know, it’s not good manners to ignore someone when they’re talking to you.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes like he was in pain. “Is there a reason you’re bein’ a pain in my ass?”

  I brushed some hair off my forehead and smiled slyly at him. “If you want me to be a pain in your ass, Boston, I’ll gladly comply,” I purred, tilting my head to catch a view of said ass.