The Midnight Diyu by Melissa Ren

The bell chimed as the front door swung open. My head snapped up from my crossword to find a man about my age with the most striking face and killer jawline. Fuck, that’s a shame. He wore a bomber jacket, jeans with a distressed knee, and black Chucks. From what I could tell, he bore no visible wounds or bruises. Carbon monoxide, maybe?

As expected, he stood by the entrance and glanced around, pausing at the globed red lanterns lurking overhead. Its red tassels fluttered in response to the oscillating fan mounted at the corner of the wall. His gaze settled on the bewitching movements.

“Sit anywhere you like,” I said.

The man ambled forward and sat at the counter, parking his ass right in front of me. I raised a brow; no one ever did that. People usually scurried into the corner or sat by the window to gaze out at the darkness. Instead, he gravitated toward me, the only warm body, though I was always cold.

Up close, he had a creamy complexion with the most luscious skin I’d ever seen, like he cleansed his face with oat milk. I bet his skin was soft, too. What a waste.

He leaned forward, his eyes roaming behind me as if searching for something in particular. I poured him a glass of water. He was likely parched; they usually were.

I tipped my chin at him. “What can I get you?”

He chugged the drink in a single swig, then gasped as he set down the glass and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Can I get another?” His voice was deep and scratchy, as if dragged over gravel.

After I topped him up, he took measured sips, then met my eyes. Two obsidian coins, glossy almost. My stomach warmed in an instant.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Famished.”

I tilted my head, assessing his taste buds. “Something greasy?”

“Definitely.”

Bet he likes seafood. “Salt and pepper deep fried squid.”

“That’s my favourite.”

Mine too. “I had a feeling.” Why the hell was I smiling? Was I flirting? What the hell was wrong with me?

After I put through the order, I returned to refill his glass again.

“What time is it?” He raked a hand through his hair. This was the point when shit could get awkward.

I checked my watch. “Three in the morning.”

“You always work the night shift?”

I nearly smiled again. The dead usually freaked out, wondering where the fuck they were. Some threw up. Some cried. Others inspected their wounds. But most had questions, questions I couldn’t answer. Once, a guy banged his head against the wall, hoping he’d wake up from this nightmare. No such luck. This was a one-way ticket to hell. And after I filled their bellies, they went on their merry way. The Midnight Diyu was just a pit stop, just like its namesake, Diyu—a purgatory for the unliving.

But this guy was calm and chatty, an unlikely combo for someone in his state.

Maybe he didn’t know what had happened to him. Perhaps he died in his sleep and ‘woke up’ here. Though, that doesn’t explain why he’s dressed like he’d been out kicking it with his boys.

God, I hated playing messenger to the dead. Best to ease him into his new reality. “The night shift’s quieter, but there are rushes now and then.”

“The after club crowd, huh?” Yeah, he had no fucking clue.

“Is that where you were?” It would explain the outfit. And his model hair. Maybe he OD’ed?

“God, no,” he said with a laugh. “I was actually on my way to work.” So, he worked the night shift, too.

“And you decided to take a detour to grab some food instead?” Did he jump off a bridge? I eyed him skeptically. That would’ve roughed him up for sure, and his skin was perfectly intact. “Very responsible of you.”

He smiled, completely oblivious of his demise. “Like I said, I was heading to work.”

“You work in the food service industry, too?”

Instead of answering me, he scoped out the area behind me, whipping around as if responding to a name call. His elbow sent his glass flying. Water gushed to the floor. “Shit.” He jumped to his feet.

I snatched the mop and cleaned up the mess. “Don’t worry about it.” I rested the handle against the counter.

He flicked out his hands and brushed off his pants. At the full sight of me, he stepped back as his gaze raked down my body. My insides liquefied, ice to fire. He shook his head and muttered, “A damn pity.”

My brows snapped together. What the hell did he say?

The man shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the counter as he rounded it.

“Hey, you can’t go back there. It’s for employees only.”

“You thirsty?” He set a glass of water on the counter. “You look thirsty.”

My throat suddenly burned, raw and incessant, like a match scraping its strip. Without thinking, I gulped the drink. Cool relief swam down my throat, coating it like honey. As soon as I finished, a fire rushed up my oesophagus.

“More,” I croaked, tapping the glass.

He smiled, crooking a brow.

The entrance door flung open, ripping the bell off its hinges, and sputtered across the floor. A gust tumbled over the beige tile and travelled up my body. Goosebumps sprouted from my skin.

The door frame glowed with a crimson halo, pulsing like a heartbeat. A chill skittered down my spine, as the wind whistled my name.

My eyes nearly popped from its sockets. They only summoned the dead.

“No,” I breathed, clasping chest. I yanked my hand back at the dampness. Blood stained my palm.

A gasp slipped from my lips, my body trembling.

No.

“I gotta clock in.” The man wrapped an apron around his waist and nudged his chin towards the door. “Looks like your shift is over.”