“It’s obvious you had the best of intentions,” he soothes, stroking my hair. “You did everything you could to save her.”
“But instead, I killed her.”
“No. Slayer Inc. killed her. Or that dreadful Pyrus,” Race corrects. “And he would have found a way to do so anyway, whether involving you or not.” He frowns. “Trust me, those bloody bastards don’t stop at anything when they’re on a mission. If it wasn’t now, it would be later. And there would have been nothing you could do to stop them.”
“That doesn’t change anything. Sunny’s gone and she’s not coming back. I’ve lost my sister forever.”
Race seems to consider this for a moment, pursing his lips. Then he releases me from his hold and rises to his feet, heading to the back of the tour bus. At first I wonder if he’s just picked a really inopportune time to go to the bathroom. But then I remember vampires don’t have to pee. A moment later he returns, accompanied by a tall, thin older man, dressed in skinny jeans and a leather vest.
“Rayne,” he says, “this is my drummer, the Prim Reaper.”
I look up at the gaunt giant, looming above me. “Don’t you mean the Grim Reaper?” I find myself asking. As if it matters at a time like this.
“No, he means Prim,” the man corrects in a haughty tone. “You’re thinking of my brother. He’s the grim one. I’m actually quite jolly most of the time, I’ll have you know. Well, at least at times when my beauty rest is not being so rudely interrupted by a certain self-centered immortal singer who likes to stay up all night and bug me.”
Race rolls his eyes.
“Oh.” I take in the information. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there were two of you.”
He sighs dramatically. “No one ever does,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “That’s why I decided to retire from the whole ‘Death’ gig and fulfill my lifelong dream of joining a band.” He shrugs. “It was getting far too messy anyway.”
“Messy?”
“Have you ever tried to drag someone down to Hell?” He fans his face. “Let me tell you—it’s murder on one’s manicure.” He flashes me a set of perfectly French manicured nails, then shakes his head in disgust.
“Well, it’s… nice to meet you,” I reply, not sure what else to say. I mean, hello? Grieving vampire here? Not really in the mood for the old meet-and-greet.
“Listen, Prim,” Race says to his drummer, his eyes suddenly shining with enthusiasm. “This girl has a twin sister—a fairy twin sister—and she was murdered the other day.”
“You don’t have to sound so freaking excited about it,” I mutter, wishing the two of them would leave me alone with the bottle of blood.
“So?” Prim asks, stifling a yawn. “Should I alert the media?”
“So,” Race continues, ignoring his jab. “Remember that time a few years ago when I hooked up with that Dark Court fae and accidentally drained her dry?” He throws me an apologetic look. “Pre-rehab,” he qualifies before turning back to Prim. “You told me that fairies and other otherworld creatures don’t go to the same Heaven and Hell that mortals do, right?”
I sit up in my seat, suddenly intrigued as to where this is going.
“That’s correct,” Prim replies, still sounding bored and put out. “The souls of the fae and vampires and others are sent to a much more classic Underworld.”
“Classic Underworld? What the hell does that mean?” I demand.
Prim rolls his eyes. “Let me guess: You flunked out of Greek mythology.”
“I got a D-minus, I’ll have you know. Which is a totally passable grade.”
He pats me on the head. “Of course it is, darling. In any case, the Underworld was most accurately described back in the day by the ancient Greeks. It’s run by the god Hades, who’s not such a bad fellow, when it comes down to it all. Certainly more reasonable than that beast, Lucifer, who rules the human Hell. Why, I remember one time I worked forty-eight hours straight after a big shipwreck off the coast of Boston. I’m talking grueling work—icy waters and dragging bloated bodies for miles on end. But did Lucifer give me time and half for my troubles? Even when I agreed to work through Memorial Day weekend? Um, that would be a no.”
Race rolls his eyes. “I know it’s hard, but do try to focus, Prim.”
Prim scowls at him. “ANYWAY,” he continues. “Like I said, Hades is a bit more reasonable. Don’t get me wrong—he’s got an ego the size of a towering inferno. But usually his little wifey is able to knock him down a peg or two.”
“You mean Persephone?” I asked, scrambling to remember what I learned in school.
Prim nods approvingly. “Maybe you did earn that D-minus after all.”
“Nah, she just saw that Percy Jackson movie,” Race butts in.
“So what are you saying?” I ask, rising to my feet, trying not to get too excited, even as hope surges through me.
“That it’s not completely undocumented for a petitioner to head down to Hades and request an audience with his majesty. Talk him into freeing one of the souls he’s got imprisoned,” Prim replies. “In fact, several folks have swung by over the years. Hercules, Odysseus, one of the real housewives of Orange County…”
“So you think he’d let Sunny out if I asked him? Bring her back to life?” I can scarcely believe my ears. Now my stomach’s churning with anticipation.