Gabriel's Hope

He stopped in front of the closed door to the massive set of chambers that were supposed to be his. He'd entered twice since assuming his duties. There were too many memories inside, and he hadn't been able to return. Which past-Death probably knew, meaning any secrets she hid were within.

"I'm done with you," he muttered. He opened the door to the rooms he knew as well as his cabin. After all, he spent much time here, making love to her on the round bed down the hallway to his left.

It was the last place he wanted to visit, so it became the first place he went. Gabe paused as he entered the bedroom. It was bright, the windows open to the soft underworld breeze and curtains fluttering. The room was utterly feminine, from the pale colors to the silk and lace accents and carved furniture. It smelled sweet and spicy, a scent that always reminded him of pecan pie.

He frowned, noticing for the first time that the bed was unmade. It wasn't like past-Death to leave something a mess. Not that it mattered. She probably knew it was her last day and decided not to make the bed.

He stopped in front of a door near the far corner. It bore another note from Fate, written in elegant script on parchment and pinned to the door with a knife. Gabe pried the knife free and tossed it on the bed, reading the message.

Come on in and meet me.

Fate wasn't going to leave him alone, but this door …

Gabriel stepped back. He'd been everywhere in the underworld and mortal worlds, but never through this door. His predecessor once told him that if he entered, he'd become like her in every way. He'd loved and hated her his whole life, a beautiful woman with neither mercy nor honor, who viewed mortals and Immortals alike as toys.

No, Gabriel would never go through that door. The fact Fate wanted him to made him more determined, for past-Death was always in some sort of ugly struggle against Fate.

Shaking his head, he walked once around the room, trying to determine where she'd hide something he needed. Somewhere he'd never look otherwise. Gabriel went to her jewelry box. Considering she lived for hundreds of millennia and her status as a deity, she didn't own anything fancy. Her jewelry box was tiny and wooden. It looked ancient, and he opened it carefully. It contained three items: a tarnished ring, a soul and a delicate silver necklace with a compass on the end. He lifted the compass first. Instead of pointing to the four directions, its edges were lined with ancient symbols he took to be writing from the time-before-time. He couldn't read them.