Free Scythe Does Matter by Gina X. Grant Page A

do doubly dead souls go?”
    Nobody raised a hand. They all just looked around as if the answer were written somewhere in the room.
    The hourglass pinged, startling me. I hadn’t realized the answers were timed. “C’mon, people. No answer within the allotted time earns all three of you a failing grade.”
    M’Kimbi promptly raised his hand. At a nod from the professor, he answered, “No one knows, sir.”
    “Sadly, that is correct. You may be seated.” Professor Schotz gave the bell a halfhearted shake. Damn. I should have had that kind of question. There were so many things I didn’t know I’d be sure to get it right.
    But the nature of the questions about a soul’s final death was depressing as Hell. I knew we dealt in death but the life of a Reaper had seemed exciting: chasing down errant souls, bringing in cheaters like Conrad Iver. Now I wasn’t just nervous, I was scared and depressed. I was glad we were going to that new Mexican place after the final—if we got out of this alive. I might just indulge in a little firewater later. It would help me let off steam.
    One by one, my classmates answered their questions, cycling through until every team except for mine was on its last entrant. With Kali at the front and me as yet untested, we still had two to go. I had already bitten my own nails down to the quick. If Kali had still been sitting next to me, I might have started on hers.
    The professor shuffled his single sheet of paper, which was a skill in itself. I dug my nails into my palms as he asked the next question. “What happens if you shout the magic word Expelliarmus ?”
    Choruses of “Huh?” and “Wha—?” filled the air. Even I went, “What text was that . . . ?” And then I realized why it sounded familiar and wished I was up there.
    Kali grinned. “It’s a disarming charm, sir. It sends another wizard’s wand flying.”
    Dante burst out laughing. “I didn’t think anybody would get that one right, Professor.”
    The professor actually giggled as he rang the bell for Kali’s answer. “Well done, Kali. Do you know why I just asked a ridiculous question like that in the middle of an exam? And this is an aside, not part of the test.”
    Kali shrugged, all six shoulders moving in unison. “Because you’re a big Harry Potter fan?”
    “Yes, there is that. But what it’s supposed to demonstrate is that it’s important to keep up with trends and behaviors back on the Coil. And that it’s important to keep a sense of humor. Death can be a real downer.”
    Professor Schotz looked over the heads of the three students at the front of the room, settling his gaze on me. When he continued, I had the sense he wasn’t talking to the entire group anymore.
    “Ours is a depressing business at times. We have to deal with bargain breakers, rip people from the bosoms of loving families, and when we make friends here in Hell, often they leave just as we’re getting attached to them.” He smiled, raising his hands to embrace the entire class once again. “It’s important to make the most of your death. You only live . . . well, as many times as it takes.” He removed his glasses and polished them on his robe again, leaving a greasy smear on the dark fabric and not really cleaning the lenses at all.
    Kali returned to her seat, stopping on the way to lean down and hug me. When you’ve been hugged by a six-armed god, you’ve really been hugged. I sat back and grinned. Until I realized everyone was looking at me.
    “Oh, skeg,” I muttered. It was finally my turn to face the death march. Rendered clumsy by nervousness, I stumbled from my seat, awkwardly making my way to the front of the room.
    I stood between Horace, who, while he’d chosen his friends poorly, was actually supersmart, and Tiffany, who could be logical but wasn’t fast on her feet. The Death Valley girls tended to depend on Amber’s eidetic memory rather than learn the material themselves. Then Horace answered his question