“THAT IS A HARROWING story,” Clovis said as we sat around the dining room table.
The last time I came to Clovis’s house, I didn’t understand why somebody would have a kitchen and a dining room if they never had to eat. Now that I was dead, I understood it more. There was a certain comfort in feeling alive and one of the things that living people did was eat.
“You really escaped the pits of Hell?” Beatrice added in, enraptured by every word of my story. “That’s crazy.”
Beatrice was Clovis’s little daughter. Both had been dead for thousands of years, but Beatrice died first, when she was just a little girl, after being stabbed through the heart in a dark alley.
“I know,” I replied. “I still can’t believe it.”
“That is why we are here, though,” Akta said to Clovis. “We must get to Lucife
