“If you did, or if you lost it, we’d send someone after you. You don’t need to worry about that. No matter what happens there, you aren’t trapped. But try not to lose it. Time is slowed in the hells, so we can afford to give you all the time you need to talk to Dachev. That means, though, that if something goes wrong, it could feel like days before we realized it and came to get you out. It—it wouldn’t be a pleasant stay—”

“I have deep pockets,” I said.

“Good. Put this in the deepest. Now, one last thing—or two last…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Just…just…”

“Go,” I said, smiling.

“And be careful.”

“I will,” I said, then turned and opened the door.

Chapter 41

41

I STEPPED INTO A SAGE-AND-GOLD MEADOW POLKA-DOTTED with jewel-toned wildflowers dipping and swaying in a warm summer’s breeze. Overhead, the sun shone from a perfect aquamarine sky, marshmallow clouds drifting past, but never blocking its bright rays. Birds sang from the treetops. A butterfly fluttered past.

“Serial-killer hell, huh?” I muttered. I started turning around. “Trsiel! You sent me to the wrong—”

The door was gone. In its place was a dirt road, lined with tall grass and more wildflowers. The road led to a cluster of picture-perfect stone cottages.

“Trsiel,” I sighed. “When you screw up, you go all the way, don’t you?”

I took the vial of hellsbane potion from my pocket and peered at the clumps of tarlike ooze suspended in a muddy brown liquid. Yummy. I’d really rather not drink this stuff, only to have Trsiel do a mental forehead smack ten seconds later, realize his mistake, and reopen the door. In the meantime, no harm in checking out this village, seeing what kind of afterlife he had sent me to.

As I approached the village, I was struck by the stillness of it. Though the birds continued to chirp and trill, not a glimmer of movement came from the collection of tiny houses. I shivered, reminded of some long-forgotten TV movie from the seventies, one of those Cold War nuclear-disaster flicks. After the bomb went off, the camera had panned around a pretty little town, devoid of life, only the cheerful tinkle of wind chimes breaking the silence.

That’s what this looked like. A ghost town. Only not like any real ghost town I’d ever seen. Walk down any street in our world and, even if you happened to arrive at the rare moment when no one was out-of-doors, you saw signs of life everywhere: a folded paperback under a shade tree, a pair of gardening gloves draped over a bush, an empty coffee mug on a porch railing. But here I saw none of that.