Scythe Does Matter

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SYBIL ORDERED DANTE to go find me a glass of water, then plunked down on the bench beside me, her leg brushing against mine.

“Calm down, gal-pal. Put yer noggin ’tween yer knees and try not to breathe.”

I recognized that advice from the day she and I met, the day Dante escorted me to Hell. Despite my misery, an involuntary grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.

“Oh, Sybil.” My smile faded and I dropped my head in my hands, whispering, “I’m so screwed.”

“Well, that’s a little personal, doll-face, but thanks for sharin’. And thanks to Judge Julius, you can keep on with that, you know, personal stuff.” Sybil nudged me with her elbow. When I raised my head and met her eyes, she said, “Now I hate to beat my gums, but you really dodged a bullet here today.”

I took a moment to catch up with her, but when I got there, I still didn’t understand. “What are you saying? You were there. I lost my appeal.”

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