Death Retires

by Cate Lawley

  He was large. Though it was difficult to gauge with certainty, since he was seated, I estimated him to be taller than me, and I was well over six feet. He was also easily fifty pounds heavier, which made me cautious as I felt for a pulse. “He’s dead.”

  Clarence turned his head, and the light caught his eyes, making them glow. “Boss? I don’t think that guy was ever alive.”

  16

  Tuesday evening

  “What?” Lilac called from the front of her store. “What does that mean, never alive?”

  We needed some light. To try and handle a situation involving a body in the dark, whether dead or never alive, was ridiculous. I scanned the front of the store and discovered that Lilac had hung curtains made of a deep teal velvet.

  “Lilac, draw the curtains.”

  “Oh, right. I should have thought of that.” She hurried to comply but then stopped. “So we’re not calling the police?”

  “Get those windows covered, then we’ll discuss it.” I knelt next to Clarence and the body, then quietly asked, “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but my nose isn’t getting human smells,” Clarence replied.

  As close as I was now, I could see his nose flare as he scented the air.

  “And there’s blood, but no metallic scent. It’s not like any human blood I’ve smelled.” He crept closer and ducked his head in the vicinity of the body’s head. “There. As best I can tell in this light, it looks like blood—but it’s not.”

  A trail of dark fluid had run from the side of the creature’s head and dripped onto his white collar. For a nonhuman creature, one that had possibly never been a living being, he’d been well dressed: a crisp white-collared shirt tucked into a pair of slacks, a conservative tie, and the shoes looked expensive and newly shined. My imagination said tattered clothing and the smell of the grave was more appropriate for what appeared to be a human facsimile.

  My imagination was an idiot. “Earlier, when I checked his pulse, he was cold. If this just happened—”

  “Oh, he’d still be warm. This guy’s no guy.” Clarence reached out a paw and gently tapped an arm.

  Lilac approached, stopping a few feet away with her arms crossed tightly against her body. “The windows are covered.”

  “If we turn the lights on, can anyone see inside the store?” From where I was crouched next to the body, it looked safe enough. She hadn’t covered the glass door, but only the front of the store was visible through it.

  She shook her head, but then her gaze fell on the big guy and she started to tear up again. “I didn’t mean to k-k-kill him.” She lifted the much-used hanky to her face. “I’m not a killer. I don’t even squish cockroaches or spray wasps. I do catch and release for scorpions!”

  It took a second for me to make sense of cockroaches, wasps, and scorpions, mostly because I could barely understand her with the hanky pressed to her nose and covering her mouth. “Right. I’m sure there was a good reason for what you did.”

  She pointed at the man. “His eyes glowed.”

  Clarence made a hairball-hacking noise.

  Since that could be either a prediction of cat yak to come or Clarence laughing hysterically, neither of which was a situation Lilac seemed equipped to handle, I stepped between the two and made a shushing motion behind my back. “His eyes glowed, so you felt the need to defend yourself.”

  She frowned at me like I was a lunatic. “No, of course not. I didn’t hit him until he tried to strangle me. I just thought you should know that his eyes glowed—since you were saying how he wasn’t alive. Or the cat was saying that.”

  “Clarence,” Clarence said in a huffy voice. “The cat’s name is Clarence.”

  She craned her neck so she could see behind me, then stepped to the side. “I’m so sorry. Of course, Clarence.” But then her gaze fell on the man-creature who wasn’t bleeding real blood, and she started rambling. “I wasn’t entirely sure . . . and murder . . . and the police . . . you know . . . so I called you, Geoff. I . . . That man . . . his eyes . . .” She stood up straight and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said much more calmly, without signs of hyperventilating, “He tried to strangle me, and that’s when I bashed him over the head.”

  I looked at the hulking giant on the couch and then at Lilac. He was so much bigger than her that “over the head” had been the side of his head. Even so, I was having a hard time seeing how she’d had any chance at all. “What exactly did you hit him with?”

  Lilac pointed at a small sculpture on the ground a few feet away.

  “Do you mind getting the lights, Lilac?”

  She nodded and moved to the back wall several feet away, and seconds later the room filled with light.

  Now I could easily see the blood and hair on the small statuette lying near her desk. When Lilac came to stand next to me, I asked her, “What happened before he tried to strangle you?”

  “Boss, you better hurry up,” Clarence said. “Something’s happening with the body. It’s getting warmer.”

  Warmer? Waking up? Coming back to life? Maybe the thing wasn’t killable. We needed an expert.

  “Phone book. I need a phone book.” I scanned the room, but didn’t see one. Lilac was rooted to the spot, unmoving, possibly unhearing, so I raised my voice. “Quickly, Lilac. I need your phone book.” I had a hunch that I knew one person who still had a landline, a listing in the white pages, and an idea what exactly was propped up on the sofa, looking almost human.

  Lilac ran to her computer. “Who am I looking up?” She gave me a helpless look. “I don’t have a phone book.”

  That computer class at the local library couldn’t start too soon.

  “Look up Tamara Gilroy.” And I watched Lilac’s fingers fly across the keyboard.

  Seconds later, she said, “I’ve got it.”

  Tamara answered on the third ring, sounding neither surprised nor put out that I had telephoned her without being given her number. “How can I be of assistance, Geoff Todd?”

  I racked my brain, trying to remember any tricks or hidden traps when trading with witches. Nothing came to mind, so I relied on her honesty. “I have a problem and need advice. Is there any harm to me or mine in asking you for that advice?”

  “None, though I may not have an answer for you, naturally.” She sounded mildly amused.

  “I have a recently terminated, cold body that doesn’t smell human and is rapidly heating. Are we in danger of harm?”

  Without hesitation and with no hint of amusement, Tamara replied briskly, “Quickly, dowse it in water. Blessed, if it’s available. The entire shell.”

  Shell? What was this thing?

  I turned to Lilac. “Blessed water?”

  She nodded but continued to stand still and stare at me. I gestured for her to hurry, which resulted in a relieved look followed by a flurry of action as she ran to retrieve water. When she returned, she held a small flask.

  I rubbed my neck as I reported back to Tamara. “I only have a small flask, six to eight ounces.” Lilac shook the half-empty flask. I gritted my teeth. “Perhaps half that, but the woman I’m with is a practitioner of . . .” I scanned the walls and then her desk. I looked at Lilac as I said, “Hoodoo?”

  She looked to the ceiling and shrugged.

  My gaze continued to travel over the collection of charms, crystals, and herbs scattered around the store. “And Wicca?”

  She nodded agreement.

  “Yes, she’s confirmed, hoodoo and Wicca.” I’d noticed the hodgepodge of philosophies when I was first in the shop, but now that I would be relying on Lilac’s skill as a practitioner in one of those arts, her flexibility was somewhat more concerning.

  In a resigned tone, Tamara said, “Young people will experiment. Go on, then, hand me over to your practitioner.”

  Lilac reluctantly accepted the phone. When she put it to her ear, she flinched and then began to reply at an increasing rate. “Yes. No, not by me. Lunar.” She glanced at the body. “Still lo
oks normal. Okay. Tap water? All right.” She looked at me and pointed to the front of the store. “Fetch all the sea salt, all of it. Our blessed water isn’t any good.”

  Then she disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water emerged. When she returned, she was carrying a bucket filled almost to the top, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. “Okay. I’ll do that. Yes, I promise. I’ll call you right back.”

  The seconds ticked by as Lilac performed a quick blessing of the water as, I could only assume, she’d been instructed by Tamara. When she’d finished, she looked up and screeched.

  The body was emitting a red glow, something we’d missed, since Clarence had abandoned the body to watch the blessing. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the waves of heat pulsing off it.

  “Help me,” Lilac called, lifting the bucket. “This is heavy, and we need the water in here evenly spread across his body.”

  Clarence followed us but stopped a good ten feet from the body. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Lilac frowned. “Well, I hope this Tamara person knows what she’s doing.” She looked at me. “Ready?”

  I nodded and lifted the bucket up and over the now-crackling body. She tipped and guided the bucket, while I slowly traced a path from head to feet.

  “Wow! Would you look at that?” Clarence crept a few feet closer. “He’s turning black, just like that burned-to-a-crisp chicken you tried to bake the other day, Geoff. And he looks all crunchy and stiff.” Clarence let loose a whistle.

  Then the creature’s eyes popped open.

  17

  Clarence and I screamed like little girls.

  Lilac gaped. When the creature blinked, she let out a little “eep” and then said, “Quick, if you have questions, you have to ask now, while he’s vulnerable. Tamara said you might get a few answers from him.” She hustled in the direction of the bathroom, bucket in hand. She called over shoulder, “I have to make more blessed water.”

  Death didn’t have a physical body. Not one that could be hurt. But as a retired death, I was human—just as susceptible to having my neck broken, my heart ripped out, or the breath squeezed from my lungs as the next guy.

  And that was why it took several seconds to realize the creature hadn’t moved: because I was consumed by fear for my mortal body.

  “Psst.” Clarence poked me with a claw. “You gonna say something?” He poked me again. “You know, boss, I think his crunchy exterior has him trapped.”

  A whooshing breath left my chest. “Right.” I inched closer. “Ah, who sent you?”

  Its lips moved, making them crack and sending charred bits flying. “My creator and master.”

  “Who is your creator and master?” It seemed a simple enough question when I asked it, but the working of the creature’s stiff jaws with no resulting sound indicated otherwise.

  Finally, it said, “My creator and master.”

  “Simple, straightforward questions,” Lilac called. She was busily stirring sea salt into the bucket. “Sorry, I forgot that part.”

  How much simpler did it get then the name of the guy he was working for? Simple . . . “What do you want?”

  “The stone.”

  I shared a glance with Clarence, but he shook his head.

  “Okay, charcoal head,” Clarence said, still several feet away. “Let’s say we want to help you get the stone. What does it look like?”

  With great effort and a lot of flying charred bits, the creature turned its head to look at Clarence. “You have the stone?”

  The hopeful note in its voice reminded me of a needy puppy, desperate to please. I wasn’t about to lie, even if the thing wasn’t human and served an ill purpose. “No. We don’t have the stone. What is the stone?”

  The caked material around its eyes—something I was now convinced was not actually skin—crumbled as he blinked. “The stone is.”

  I waited for the punch line, and it never came.

  Lilac approached with the bucket, once again full of water. “He asked me about the stone. When I told him I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about, that’s when his eyes glowed.”

  “And then you bashed in his head,” Clarence said.

  Lilac shot Clarence a censure-filled look. “No, then he tried to strangle me and then I bashed his head.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Look, I’m not sure he’ll be able to talk once I dump this bucket, so hurry up and ask your questions. I don’t want to wait and have something freaky happen. Like an explosion or him setting my couch on fire.”

  A fire, especially of the magical variety, seemed like a bad idea in this cozy little shop, so I hunted for my next question. Why Lilac? That was the most pressing one, so I asked him.

  “Li-lac. The girl has the stone?” Again with the puppydog hopefulness.

  With sympathy, I replied, “No, the girl—Lilac—does not have the stone.” I was beginning to have an inkling what exactly this creature was. And if I was right, the kindest course of action was to complete the process of disassembling him. “Why are you here?” I modified my question, quickly realizing my error: “Why would the girl have the stone?”

  “The girl has the stone. Or”—the creature paused and blinked—“the girl has knowledge of the stone.” He repeated the phrases as if they’d been memorized, each time pausing between the different options.

  He’d been programmed to believe those statements were fact, and I suspected they were the basis of his goals.

  “Your goal is to retrieve the stone. Or”—I paused, emulating him—“gain information about the stone.”

  “Yes.” I’d swear the creature was pleased that I’d gotten it right.

  Since he, or it, liked its archetypes, I tried one of my own. “Death protects the girl. The girl has no stone.” I looked at Lilac. “You don’t know anything about a stone, right?”

  She looked around at the store. “Except for the crystals here in the shop, no. Certainly not one that would have some Neanderthal man threatening me. I buy them in bulk.”

  The creature’s eyes darted this way and that, like he couldn’t decide where to look or whose response to process. Finally, his charcoal-encrusted gaze settled on me. “Death protects the child. Not the girl, the child.”

  Before I could puzzle that one out, Clarence said, “Dowse the thing already!” He groaned. “The girl, the child, the stone—this walking, flesh-covered tin can can’t help us. Geoff, it’s programmed to think in terms of archetypes. It’s a construct.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right, Clarence,” I said. “Not that I’ve ever actually seen one, but signs do point that way. And I do think we’ve gotten about as much out of him as we can.” I picked up the bucket at Lilac’s feet.

  “Wait, I do have one more question.” Clarence leapt up on the couch, no longer concerned the incapacitated creature would suddenly regain its mobility. “Who’s the child?”

  The creature blinked. “The child is the false owner of the stone.”

  “Right,” Clarence said in a disgruntled tone. “Ask a stupid guy a pertinent question, get a stupid answer.” He shook one front paw and then the other, dislodging stray bits of charred creature, then hopped off the sofa. “Okay, folks, let it rain.”

  It took a total of three full buckets of blessed water before the construct was completely neutralized. The creature’s warm, parched skin absorbed each bucket. The sofa and the body should have been a soggy mess—but the creature was bone dry and the sofa only damp around the edges of the corpse.

  After the third bucket, its skin started to crack and break apart. Within seconds, it had crumbled to ash. Just add water, then get ash. That was magic.

  Lilac stared—at her ruined sofa or the piles of ash or simply the place where the creature had once been and was no longer—then said, “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t call the police. Now what in the goddess’s name is a construct?”

  Clarence shook his head. “Don’t look at me. Geoff’s bett
er at explanations.”

  “Not it” was one of Clarence’s favorite games. After several weeks, it shouldn’t bother or surprise me. But there was “shouldn’t,” and there was reality. “Fine,” I said. “A construct isn’t real, in the sense that it is the thing it appears to be. It’s more a shell of something real.” Eyeing the bruises that were darkening on Lilac’s very fair skin, I added, “Though obviously its physicality is not in question.”

  She lifted a hand to her throat but didn’t touch the skin there. “So a construct is a man that’s not a man. Looks right, almost talks right, but isn’t made up of the right stuff.”

  “She’s better at this than you.” Clarence plopped down on the ground and started to groom himself. I only hoped he wasn’t consuming ashy bits of our visitor as he did so.

  He suddenly spat repeatedly, like a foul taste coated his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “So, about this construct?” Lilac asked.

  “Right. They’re only capable of completing a simple task or two, and take an enormous amount of skill and power to create. Or so I hear.” I shrugged. “I’ve never come across one before. But if you consider that it arrived, interacted within this reality somewhat like a human—enough to pass inspection by a casual observer—and pursued its goal while maintaining a veneer of humanity, that’s power.”

  “You’re forgetting his eyes glowed.” Lilac shivered. “That’s hardly human.”

  “But that only happened after you refused to give him what he wanted,” I reminded her. “You wouldn’t tell him where the stone was.”

  “I didn’t know where it was. Or even what stone he meant.”

  “Well, exactly.” I gave her a sympathetic look. “He couldn’t complete his task. I’m guessing that’s when he reached out to his master to check-in—and the eyes glowed.”

  Clarence cleared his throat. “Anyone else wondering how little buck-ten here managed to take down the big, bad, nasty construct?”