Chapter Text
Time isn’t linear in the Underworld. That’s the first thing you learn working there. So, when a friend who died as young as Quentin is interviewed first; reason chalks it up to straight probability alone. It’s a long way of saying Penny is the least surprised when Julia arrives second to the offices despite dying last out of all of them. She never could let Q have all the fun to himself.
“Julia, it’s good to see you again.”
The old woman standing in the elevator is frailer than he expects. Penny takes a moment to remind himself the books of life are books, after all. A reader still needs to rely on his own memories or imagination to supply the image of the person. He makes sure to note which details he got right:
Arthritic hands, signaling a lifetime of spell work, grip the banister lightly for support. Her hair is silver now, full and long, hung loosely about her shoulders. Despite the frailty he initially noticed, she still looks at least a decade younger than she should. The clinging spark of her former divinity almost as stubborn as she is.
“Penny? What- “ Her eyebrows knit as she stares at him, trying to reconcile the young man she sees with her fading memories of a much older face. He gives her the time to process. “Right. You’re not my Penny are you.”
He shakes his head and shoots her a sympathetic smile. Her expression relaxes but her eyes are no less probing. “Afraid not. But he is waiting for you up ahead, once we get this done.”
He politely offers her his arm. She finally returns his grin with one of her own.
“Of course he is.”
*****
She’s all warmth and remembrance as they talk. Her fire, once blazing hot enough to attract gods and monsters alike, has tempered with age and motherhood. Become something new, but no less bright. Instead of the flame she’s a beam, reflecting out into eternity through those she’s touched.
No subject is taboo between them. Kady. Hope. His doppelgänger. Quentin. Reynard. Kady, again. The one advantage of the old is they know who they are and they’re more than ready to get to the point. Julia may be more direct than most.
“So how has it been?” She asks, taking a final sip of her hot chocolate. “Working down here, I mean.”
He sets down his own cup and ponders the question for a moment. If someone had told him the day he died he was on his way to fulfilling his life’s purpose, he would have happily punched that someone in the mouth. Repeatedly. He tells her as much. For a second, she looks uncomfortable.
“Do you ever…sometimes…regret the paths you didn’t take?”
“Do you ever regret yours?”
Her gaze is unflinching. “Never.”