THE HALLWAY TO THE MORTUARY was like an endless labyrinth that gave the impression of some impending danger. Grimmy Reaper and Cromwell walked side by side. Heap lagged behind, juggling his apple.

     Cromwell pushed the morgue's door open. They walked to a covered corpse lying on the gate-leg table type catafalque in the middle of the room.

     "I know a detective who'd die to take on a case like this," Grimmy said. "Rob Winger. We've been case partners a lot of times. He's good. Why didn't you give this to him?"

     "Winger would indeed die for it," Cromwell said, pulling up the top cover to reveal a dead man's face. It was Rob Winger. "He was the Christian cult pastor murdered by the Infinit.

     Grimmy, aghast, stared down at her former partner. "Holy shh...Winger..."

     "I'm dead, partner," Rob Winger said.

     Grimmy Reaper and Winger were sitting in a black Wrangler Jeep parked in front of a house with a bushy lawn. At the driver's seat, Grimmy, in her trademark black leather, was frowning as she struggles to solve a newspaper's crossword puzzle. Beside her Winger was eating a donut.

     "My life is over. The girl of my dreams is gonna wed my best friend." Winger was a big man doppelganger of Leonardo Da Vinci's white Jesus Christ, which gave the impression that he just leaped out of an old school rock album cover. Except for the eyes. Winger's eyes were not kind but sharp and shifty like he was looking at so many things at the same time.

     "Another word for a brokenhearted romantic altar boy idiot?" Grimmy said, eyes fixed on the crossword. "Ah, loser! Yes! L-O-S-E-R."

     Winger was dead serious about this. "I didn't even have the chance to tell her, 'I only live for your love' and..."

     "That's my cue to puke on your face, right?"

     "Aw, c'mon, Grimmy, maybe you just can't sympathize with me 'cause you're a woman."

     "Hey, what's that supposed to mean, Mr. Loser Man?"

     "Well, what I'm trying to say is that you don't have a dick and there's no way for you to know how it hurts to have a constant hard-on when you're always around the one you love."

     "Oh, I can fix that," Grimmy said, turning to Winger. "I can help you lose it after this business."

     "The hard-on?"

     "The dick."

     Winger sighed and checked his watch. "It's time."

     Grimmy Reaper cracked her neck; Winger drew his gun. They got off the jeep and walked to the house like Sunday morning strollers in the park.

     "You know, something really bothers me," Winger said.

     "What?"

     "The what ifs."

     "What what ifs?"

     "What if I told her I was in love with her? What if she told me she was also in love with me? What if it's her and me now instead of her and him? What if..."

     "What if you just shut up and give this friggin' thing a rest? You've been rantin' about this for almost a week now."

     "But what if..."

     "La-la-la...I'm not listening."

     They stopped and stared at the door like repo men contemplating a big pull.

     "Should we knock?" Winger said.

     "Let's just wait. We're a bit too early."

     "Um, Grimmy, how will I recognize demons?"

     "They're the bad guys. Usually ugly."

     "Very enlightening."

     The newspaper boy on a scooter passed by and threw the morning papers into the lawn.

     "That's the cue," Grimmy said.

     The door swung open, revealing a character: a tall and wiry pale man dressed in a long black vampire flick-inspired robe that showed only his head and his hands. His cadaverous looks could make one think he could gatecrash any Halloween party as himself. His bloodless lips twisted in a smirk as dark eyes stared into the unexpected guests' faces.

     A cute poodle came out to mechanically get the newspaper.

     "What the hell do you want?" the pale man said in a deep bass, intimidating voice.

     Winger turned to Grimmy. "Hah, this one's easy to spot."

     "Yep," Grimmy said, staring at the dog.

     The poodle, newspaper clenched in its mouth, turned around and gaped like a cartoon upon recognizing Grimmy Reaper. The newspaper fell to the ground.

     Grimmy pulled a silver dagger concealed in her jacket and aimed it at the dog.

     "No!" the pale man howled.

     "Hey, Grimmy, no," Winger said. "It's just a cute doggie."

     The poodle gasped like a human in fear. Then it talked with mixed dread and hatred. "Grimmy Reaper! You psychotic motherfuckin' bitch!"

     "Look who's talkin'," Grimmy said.

     The dog's head morphed into a fanged demon and launched itself into the air to attack her. "I'll kill you!"

     Grimmy Reaper threw her knife, hitting the dog at the chest. The dog demon dropped like a rotten apple in front of her. Dead. Hellfire engulfed it.

     "You were saying...?" Grimmy said.

     "That's my demon, damn you!" the pale man said.

     "Winger flashed his badge. "Sorry, sir. Demon slaves are illegal."

     In an instant, the pale man charged like a madman and slammed onto Grimmy Reaper like a cannonball. The force of the impact knocked her down to the ground—separated from her dagger.

     "Hey!" Even Winger was caught by surprise.

     One huge hand of the unbelievably strong pale man strangled Grimmy in mindless rage while the other pulled a knife from the black robe, hell-bent on putting it right into her heart. Grimmy grappled with him to delay it. But it was coming.

     "Get off me, you wackshmuck moron. I'm a cop for Chrissakes!"

     "Do you have any idea how much I spent on that demon's speech class?" the pale man screamed in mindless rage.

     "Just...sue...me..." Grimmy said.

     "I'll cut your heart out first and train it how to talk and fetch the morning papers," the pale man said.

     "No...deal."

     Winger grinned and squatted before them like a referee watching for foul plays between two fake wrestlers.

     "Grimmy, you're not very comfortable around people, are you?"

     "Around men...mostly...uhh!" The knife touched Grimmy's chest. She was losing.

     "Well, I kinda know how it feels. I used to be very comfortable around my childhood best friends. Jude and Regina. We were inseparable. But when they got engaged, I felt I had become somewhat like the proverbial excess baggage."

     "Loooo...seeer!"

     "But what if things were different? What if I were the lucky guy? What if..."

     "Fuck...you...Winger!"

     Winger hit the pale man's head with the butt of his gun. The man fell like a mannequin on top of Grimmy.

     "Jeez, Grimmy...you should do something about your temper."

     "There's a special heaven for losers, partner," Grimmy Reaper whispered to Rob Winger's ear.

     "Apparent cause of death—cardiac arrest," Cromwell said. "Same with the other twelve cultists. Father Badden, too."

     "He's good at killing hearts," Grimmy said.

     "Here's your lead." Cromwell hands Grimmy Reaper a copy of a fashion magazine's summer edition.

     "What's this?" Grimmy said.

     "Girl on the cover is Regina Patriarcha," Cromwell said. "She's Judah Godling's ex-girlfriend. She just married the so-called Christian prophet known to his followers as the Holy One."

     "He had a girlfriend? Grimmy said. Hey, Grimmilda, you jealous? It's just one kiss, for crying out loud.

     "Well, he was pretty much a normal human before he got those tattoos."

     Grimmy pursed her lips, peered at the cover: Regina sitting with her knees up at the beach, looking classy but seductive in a straw hat and bikini.

     "She doesn't look so hot to me," Grimmy said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself while flipping the inside pages to see Regina's other photos. "You see one model, you see them all."

     Detective Tomb Heap's eyes rolled up.

     "Yeah, right," Cromwell said. "Anyway, the orphan boy who witnessed Reverend Badden's murder said that the Infinit was looking for a girl named Regina. Where is Regina? That's a good lead."

     Grimmy gave the magazine back to Cromwell.

     "There's a possibility that Godling might go for the Holy One to take Regina Patriarcha back," Cromwell said. "Grimmy, you must stop him."

     Grimm Reaper stood up, headed for the door. "I'm going home."

     It's just a kiss, Grimmilda.