Guessing the compass only worked in the mortal world, Gabe emplaced it around his neck before picking up the green emerald - the form a soul took after death - and peering at it. Whoever owned the soul, he or she was important to find their way to Death's jewelry box. He replaced it and picked up the ring. It was old, silver, and covered with Celtic knots. He'd given it to her hundreds of years ago. She'd rejected him but kept the ring.
The memories were closing in on him again. He'd loved her once, and he would've bet his soul she loved him. When he did turn over his soul to her, she dumped him.
Immortal Code, Rule 2,000,010: Death shall not return a soul It has claimed.
He put the ring back and closed the jewelry box, wishing he could shut off his memories as easily.
He left for the mortal world and emerged in an alley in some large city. The list - a scrolling queue of names that lined his left forearm - was always changing. The next name up for claiming appeared. He plucked the compass from his chest and waited to see what it did.
Nothing.
Gabe dropped it and touched his forearm, willing the soul radar to guide him to the right place. A portal opened in front of him and he crossed through it, emerging in what looked like the Pacific Northwest. If the radar was working, the soul would be within a few feet of him.
There was nothing at all within a few feet of him, aside from knee-high wild flowers waving happily in the spring breeze.
"Dammit!" he roared. He flung one of his knives at the tree line, not caring if he hit anything or not.
The compass grew hot against his chest. He looked down and saw the arrow pointed towards one of the symbols. The name on his arm lit up again. He went through the routine: touch, portal, emerge somewhere new. This time, he was on a dirt road near a tiny village.
There was a body at his feet. He'd never been so thrilled to see a dead man as he was that moment. It was not just any dead man, but the right one. The name on his forearm disappeared as he knelt.
"Come out, you little bastard," he said. It wasn't the normal greeting Death gave souls, but he was too frustrated to care.
Green smoke swirled from the man's ears and mouth, forming a fog around Gabe's hand before crystallizing into a small emerald.
"One down," he said with a glance at his forearm. He didn't bother to try to count how many were waiting for him. He sensed the silent appearance of his friend and drew a breath. "I hope your week was better than mine."