I Changed His Fate

By dawn, I was addicted.

To his warmth.

To his breath.

To the way his mortal body made my ghost form solid beneath his hands.

To the faint golden scent of living energy that clung to his skin.

I curled against him and inhaled happily.

A key turned in the front door.

I stiffened.

A woman’s voice called, “Elias?”

Elias opened his eyes.

He did not panic.

That was my first warning.

He sat up, glanced at me, and tucked the blanket around my bare shoulders.

“Stay,” he murmured.

Then he left the bedroom.

Obviously, I did not stay.

I floated into the hallway.

A woman stood in his kitchen.

Young.

Beautiful.

Comfortable.

She had keys.

Keys.

That meant something.

“Your surgery was this big and you didn’t tell me?” she scolded.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Elias said.

His voice was gentle.

Too gentle.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll cook.”

“Make more. I’m hungry.”

The woman stirred soup.

She lifted a spoon toward his lips.

“Taste.”

Elias leaned down and drank from it.

The scene was warm.

Domestic.

Familiar.

My chest collapsed inward.

So.

He had a woman.

A girlfriend.

Maybe wife.

And last night?

What had I been?

A novelty.

A ghostly snack delivered to his bed.

I returned to the Underworld shaking with fury.

“Repair the floor,” I snapped at the nearest ghost servant. “Now.”

The whole department arrived within the hour, terrified.

Good.

Let someone suffer.

I paced my room.

Then I stole the Ledger of Mortal Fates.

Again.

I found Elias’s page.

That smug lifespan: 128.

“One hundred years too many for a cheating bastard.”

I took the Underworld judgment brush and crossed out the first digit.

128 became 28.

“There.”

I felt immediate satisfaction.

For approximately seven minutes.

Then two ghost clerks passed my door, leading a group of newly dead souls.

“Strange,” one said. “The number of souls today is one more than reported.”

“Maybe you miscounted.”

I looked out.

And there he was.

Elias.

Dead.

Among ordinary souls, he still shone.

He lowered his eyes, expression unreadable, walking quietly with the others toward the registration hall.

My satisfaction evaporated.

Oh no.

I followed.

My father sat behind the judgment desk, assigning reincarnations.

“Zachary Dunn,” he said, “you once helped deliver a piglet during a storm. Small virtue, but virtue. Middle-class family next life.”

“Thank you, Lord Yan!”

“Thomas Reed. You spied on your neighbor bathing and stole office supplies. Choose: blind in old age, or waste collector.”

“Mercy, Lord Yan!”

“Fine. Waste collector in a desert village. Blind by seventy.”

“Lord Yan—”

“Next.”

My father glanced at the ledger.

“Elias Shi.”

I jumped forward.

“Dad! That one. I want him.”

The hall went silent.

My father blinked.

“Which one?”

“Him. Tall. Beautiful. I mean useful. I want him as my attendant.”

Elias looked up.

Our eyes met.

Recognition flashed.

Then something else.

My father followed my pointing finger.

His expression changed.

He shot to his feet.

“My little disaster,” he whispered, voice trembling, “the Underworld is too small for a god of his rank!”

“What?”

My father grabbed the ledger and flipped frantically.

Then he slammed it on the desk.

“Lyra Yan!”

I flinched.

Full name.

Bad sign.

“You changed his lifespan?”

“Only a little.”

“Only a little?”

“I removed one digit.”

“He is Aurelian, High Celestial of the Western Stars! He descended for a mortal trial. He needed one hundred twenty-eight years to complete nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine acts of merit and ascend one rank higher!”

I stared.

Oh.

That explained the golden luck.

My father looked like he might faint.

“You dragged a High Celestial into the Underworld because you were jealous?”

“He had a woman!”

Elias spoke at last.

“That woman was my mother.”

I froze.

“Your… mother?”

“My mortal mother.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

In my defense, she was very young-looking.

Before I could think of an apology worthy of the disaster, a burst of white celestial light filled the hall.

A woman in a flowing silver gown appeared.

Beautiful.

Cold.

Furious.

“Aurelian,” she breathed, rushing toward Elias. “I saw your celestial stone dim. I knew something happened.”

She turned and looked at me.

Her eyes sharpened.

“She altered your fate?”

Then she seized my wrist.

“This ghost will be reported to the Celestial Emperor.”

I tried to pull free.

“It was just one digit!”

“One digit destroyed a god’s trial.”

She dragged me toward the light.

I looked at Elias.

“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly small. “I didn’t know.”

He gazed at me, then said calmly,

“I didn’t know you were an Underworld princess either.”

Not forgiveness.

Not anger.

Worse.

Aurelian looked amused.

I had a very bad feeling that death was no longer the worst thing that could happen to me.