DEATH AND THE DEVIL

A new book about death, love, and immortality

We’ll return to MONSTER CONTROL INCORPORATED next week, but in the place of the usual Monday reading, I’d like to announce the publication of my new book, DEATH AND THE DEVIL. It’s now available on Amazon in the Kindle Store and will also be available in hardcover sometime before Christmas.

A brilliantly dark and witty collection that reimagines cosmic forces with heart, humor, and humanity.

What happens when Death decides to take up haiku? When the Devil’s carefully laid plans go awry? When the Incarnation of War discovers that the only thing worse than war is when the dead don’t die?

In this delightfully inventive collection of short stories about Death, ancient cosmic entities find themselves navigating the absurdities of existence with the same confusion, determination, and occasional incompetence as the mortals they oversee. From poetry workshops to World War II, from speed dating disasters to bureaucratic nightmares that span millennia, these stories blend philosophical depth with unexpected humor.

Written in the tradition of Ingmar Bergman and Terry Pratchett, Death and the Devil offers a fresh and deeply human take on the forces we fear most. Each story is a clever exploration of mortality, duty, and identity as well as a genuinely touching reminder that even in a universe governed by cosmic constants, there’s always room for compassion, love, and the occasional well-crafted haiku.

That’s the description of the 13 stories about Death that make up the collection. And before anyone asks about SIGMA GAME, yes, I’m still optimistic about finishing it before Christmas. Writing fiction and writing non-fiction are two very different things and I never work on just one project at a time. Just to put it in perspective, I finished both DEATH AND THE DEVIL and the script for a new film with Chuck Dixon on Friday.

Here is an excerpt from one of the stories that isn’t entirely unrelated to the normal subject matter here.

---

Death Goes on a Date

It is a well-established fact across most of the known multiverse that death is, generally speaking, the end of life. What is considerably less well-established is that Death himself had what humans might call “relationship issues.”

This was entirely Love’s fault.

“You need to get out more,” Love had declared during one of her unannounced little drop-ins on Death. “All work and no play makes Death a dull cosmic force. Oh, I know! We should find you a girlfriend!”

Death, who had until her interruption been perfectly content with his usual routine of soul collection, paperwork, and the occasional penning of a haiku, belatedly realized that he was at risk of one of the interventions to which Love subjected him whenever she was bored with her latest companion.

I DO NOT REQUIRE COMPANIONSHIP, Death had protested. I AM A FUNDAMENTAL ASPECT OF THE UNIVERSE. COSMIC FORCES DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS.

“Nonsense,” Love replied, stirring her latte with a finger that left tiny heart-shaped foam patterns. “Even cosmic entities need connections. Look at Time—he’s been seeing that lovely mathematician from the Renaissance for centuries!”

TIME IS DIFFERENT. HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN UNPREDICTABLE.

“And War has something going with one of those Valkyries,” Love continued, ignoring Death’s protest that he was very busy. “Very passionate. Lots of dramatic sword fights followed by, you know, even more sword fights, if you know what I mean!”

Death had no response to this, partly because he had no idea what she meant and partly because he was realizing that he was going to have to redo next Thursday’s list of scheduled reapings because when she elbowed him in the side, she had jogged his elbow while he was writing.

“Besides,” Love added with a sensual smile that could have melted glaciers, “I’ve already signed you up.”

Which was how Death found himself, three days later, standing outside a trendy wine bar in San Francisco, wearing his most convincing mortal disguise and holding a name tag that read “HELLO, MY NAME IS: DEREK.”

Death had chosen his appearance carefully: tall, lean, pale but not unnaturally so, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones that suggested interesting genetics rather than a complete absence of flesh. He wore an expensive black suit that managed to look both formal and slightly dangerous. The effect was, according to Love’s assessment, “just like a sexy Neal Gaiman without that whole rapey vibe.”

Death had no idea who Neil Gaiman was, or why his vibe was rapey, but if it was good enough for Love, it was good enough for him.

The wine bar was a conventional arrangement of exposed brick walls, industrial lighting, and small tables arranged in a grid pattern that reminded Death rather inappropriately of a cemetery. Approximately thirty people milled about holding wine glasses and name tags, their nervous energy filling the space in a manner that made him feel as if there was something he was missing.

“Welcome to Singles Mingle Speed Dating!” announced a cheerful woman with a clipboard and the sort of aggressive enthusiasm that suggested she was either naturally optimistic or extremely well-medicated. “I’m Jessica, your host for tonight! The rules are simple—two minutes per conversation, then rotate clockwise when you hear the bell! Ladies, you’ll stay seated. Gentlemen, you’ll move around the room. Ready to find love?”

The assembled humans made various noises of agreement. Death remained silent, still not entirely sure how he had been talked into coming here.

“Wonderful! Gentlemen, find your starting positions!”

Death consulted the number on his name tag—seven—and located the corresponding table, where a woman in her thirties with blonde hair and a nervous smile was arranging her purse and smoothing her dress.

“Hi!” she said brightly as Death approached. “I’m Jennifer! Marketing executive, love hiking, hate sushi. You?”

Death settled into the chair across from her, which immediately became several degrees colder. DEREK, he replied. I WORK IN HUMAN RESOURCES.

“Oh, that’s great! What company?”

UNIVERSAL.

“Universal Studios? Wow! I bet you see a lot of stars.”

YES, I SEE THEM EVERY NIGHT.

Jennifer’s smile wavered slightly. “Um, okay… So, Derek, what do you do for fun?”

Death contemplated her question. His hobbies were reaping souls, filling out paperwork, and occasionally performing stand-up on open-mic nights in Slosh-on-Bunwick. None of these seemed appropriate for speed dating conversation.

I WRITE POETRY, he said finally.

“Oh, wow, you’re a poet!”

OF A SORT. I HAVEN’T MASTERED THE LIMERICK YET.

“You haven’t mastered… limericks? Like, there once was a man from Nantucket, that sort of thing?”

YES, MY CAT FEELS THEY’RE INAPPROPRIATE AND UNDIGNIFIED.

When the bell rang, Jennifer looked relieved.

“So, it was really nice meeting you, Derek!” she said with the artificial brightness of someone desperate to escape a particularly persistent street mime.

Read the rest on Kindle.