Sign Here(7)

I waited. I signed the last of the paperwork and stood up to bring it to KQ’s desk. She would be pleased, but not pleased enough to mention it at the morning meeting. Typical.

My computer beeped again.

    CALAMITY GANON: Actually, that would be great. Meet you at the elevator up front in 5?



We went to Jack’s. It’s my favorite because it’s the quiet option on the Fifth Floor. The Sixth has two bars and a Mexican restaurant, according to the rumors, but at Jack’s, there is a secret draw. You see, bars in Hell serve only J?germeister. Even if you like J?germeister, if it’s the only option day after day of cleaning up human pulp, you will hate it in a year, tops. Jack saw the market and started a little bootleg operation a while back. He charges an arm and a leg (not literally, although that joke would kill down on Second) and might not give you anything, even if you pay up, if he doesn’t like your face. But it’s worth it for anything that doesn’t taste like Lord Licorice nutting all over a Christmas tree.

“So, have you gotten used to the puddles yet?” I asked, eyeing the lower half of her pants, soaked to the knee.

Cal reddened as she shrugged off her coat.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. Guess I misjudged how deep it was?”

I grinned. “Nope, not you. They’re set on random here. The depths change constantly. One time, when I first got to the Fifth Floor, I stepped off the curb and wound up soaked to my elbows. It took three people to pull me out.”

Jack glanced our way, and I put my hand up in a brief wave.

“Heya, Pey,” Jack said, sliding a bowl of peanuts toward us.

“Jack, this is Calamity, our newest recruit.”

Jack put out his meaty hand, and Cal looked at it the same way she had looked at mine. But then she glanced at me, smiled, and shook it.

“So, in a few centuries, do you think you’ll be as haughty as this motherfucker?” Jack asked, nodding his head toward me.

I harrumphed.

“That big fancy office, it’ll go to your head, princess. Be careful.”

“I’m . . . I’m brand-new,” Cal stammered. She had the perpetual air of someone who just made a very loud noise in a museum.

“You know the deal, Pey,” Jack said, putting his hand on the bar, palm up. I pulled my wallet from my pocket and gave him all the cash I had. I took it out earlier that week, knowing I would need a visit to Jack’s before the weekend. Cal reached for her wallet, but I put my hand on her arm.

“My treat,” I said.

“I can’t—”

“Consider it a welcome present.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got,” Jack said, and turned down the basement stairs.

Cal stared at the bar.

“Peanuts?” I asked, tilting the bowl. She shook her head. I looked at the TV. It was the Hell welcome video, again.

“I don’t mean to be square, but I don’t . . . I don’t do drugs.”

I looked at her and saw she was genuinely scared. The blood that went so easily to her cheeks earlier was nowhere to be found.

“What?” I asked.

“Whatever it is you’re getting here, I won’t judge you, but I just can’t . . . I don’t want any.”

Newbs always held on to their morals, as if morality were still worthwhile currency.

“You’re lucky I still got some,” Jack said, coming back up the stairs. He positioned himself against the bar, blocking the booths from view, and opened his flannel to flash the bottles: amber and glistening.

“Miller Lite, and don’t you dare bitch about it.”

“I would never,” I said, holding three fingers to my heart because I saw some kid do it during a deal once and it made him look extra sincere.

Jack nodded and poured the beer into frosted pint glasses, splashing a bit onto the cocktail napkins placed beneath them.

“Enjoy.” He winked at Cal and walked off down the bar.

“It’s beer,” she said. I caught the smile in her voice before I saw it.

“Infused with heroin, of course,” I answered, swirling my glass and savoring the droplets of condensation against my fingertips. Have you ever touched a drop of water so gently that you can still feel the edge of it? I love that feeling.

I miss the edges of things. Without time, it’s hard to find edges.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “Management is way too cheap to put heroin in the beer.”

Cal laughed. I liked it.

“Well, I feel like a doofus,” she said, pulling her beer toward her and admiring the color. “Horror, I’ve missed beer.”

“I think you might be the first person to ever say ‘doofus’ in this establishment.”

We were both quiet for our first deep sips. I used to think crap beer tasted like Velcro, but this tasted like honey. The only constant is change.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “how long have you been down here?”

Cal wiped her mouth.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”

“No, no. I can. I’ve been here for . . . what is it now? Four millennia. I spent the beginning—only the first millennium, really—Downstairs. Then I worked up to the Third Floor, and last week they transferred me up to Deals.”