The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL)

by Amber Benson

“He’s on our side for now,” Daniel said, pushing past Jennice so he could step into the room.

  From the look on his face, Jarvis could tell Daniel wasn’t happy about finding Freezay and the strange, naked woman sitting on the floor.

  “That does appear to be the case—” Jarvis tried to add, but Daniel ignored him, stepping over his words.

  “—but when this purported ‘Golden Age of Death’ Callie’s supposed to usher in is finally over then he gets to murder her without contest. Just a little bargain she, Jarvis, and that crazy old bat, Anjea, made,” Daniel finished, scowling at Jarvis.

  Jarvis found himself becoming rather annoyed with Daniel. He hadn’t had anything to do with Calliope’s ultimate decision to indebt herself to the Ender of Death.

  “We have to get out of here. Something’s coming.”

  The voice belonged to the blonde woman on the floor. She was sitting up now, her long legs folded underneath her, hair draped around her shoulders like a cape.

  Jarvis found the woman’s words oddly chilling as they echoed through the nearly empty room—but only Freezay seemed to be the one to glean their importance. He tried to usher everyone out of the room, but it was too late. A loud explosion tore through the room, followed by a flash of blinding white light that was eyeball-searing.

  Throwing his hands up to cover his eyes, Jarvis took an involuntary step backward, slamming into another solid body and losing his footing. He went down hard, his right elbow caroming off the floor. Waves of pain shot up his forearm and into his wrist. He cried out, reaching for his wounded appendage, but something leapt on top of him, driving him back down to the floor.

  “Remove yourself!” he cried, using his good hand to push his assailant away.

  Still blinded from the explosion, Jarvis could only make out his attacker’s silhouette, a large shadowy outline looming above him. He heard a low, guttural snarl, one that chilled the marrow in his bones, and felt his attacker’s full weight descend on his chest, his senses enveloped by the stench of rank, hot animal breath. It was a meaty and decaying bouquet, and his nostrils fought to keep the smell out of his sinuses, but it was impossible.

  Ignoring the pain in his right arm, Jarvis tried to shake off the creature, but it was a losing battle. Whatever had ahold of him was much stronger and more vicious than he was.

  As his vision cleared, he was finally able to see his attacker—and he wasn’t surprised to find a male Vargr (a hybrid human/wolf creature) sitting astride him, its long, snapping jaws dripping saliva onto the front of his freshly starched dress shirt. Without missing a beat, Jarvis pulled back his left fist and punched the Vargr in the snout, making the creature shriek in pain.

  But he didn’t stop there.

  He drew his knees in toward his chest and kicked out, the bottom of his shoes connecting with the beast’s unprotected belly. He felt the soft flesh give way and the creature shrieked again before rolling off of him.

  He climbed to his feet and kicked the creature in the head, twice, sending geysers of blood shooting across the floor—then he looked up to find the room in total chaos.

  The explosion had heralded the arrival of a massive wormhole, one large enough to transport a whole pack of Vargr into the study. He looked to his right and found Clio and Noh back-to-back, battling three female Vargr. Clio was using a spell to repel two of them, while Noh was using her bare knuckles to punch the third Vargr in the eye.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jarvis turned around to find Daniel standing behind him, holding a bloodied Vargr head by the snout.

  Before Jarvis could answer, Daniel had cocked his arm and thrown the head like a fastball pitch at the back of the skull of one of the Vargr Clio was spelling. The creature fell forward, whimpering as it crumpled to the ground.

  “I’m fine,” Jarvis said, instantly forgiving Daniel for being such a prick a few minutes earlier. “And that was a lovely shot.”

  “We need to get the hell out of here,” Daniel said, his eyes scanning the room.

  Jarvis knew exactly what Daniel was seeing: They were massively outnumbered by the Vargr.

  A scream ripped through the chaos, catching their attention, and Jarvis turned to find Jennice standing in the doorway, hands out in front of her like she was pushing something away—only there was nothing to fend off, just a large, male Vargr lying inert at her feet.

  She looked up at the two men, her eyes glistening with tears.

  “I killed it,” she moaned, her whole body shaking as she leaned against the doorjamb.

  Jarvis nodded at Daniel, letting him know he’d handle it. Daniel took off and Jarvis made a move toward Jennice, stopping along the way to pull the original, Angelic copy of How to Be Death from one of the overturned bookcases. He slid the book into his suit coat pocket, then ran across the room, barely evading the clutches of another, smaller male Vargr, as it headed toward Jennice.

  But luck was with him.

  Freezay was suddenly at his side, grabbing the creature by its hair and swinging it in the air until its neck snapped. As soon as the Vargr went limp, Freezay dropped it on the ground then ripped its head from its shoulders.

  Jarvis didn’t stick around to admire the carnage. He took off, reaching Jennice just as she began to lean sideways against the doorframe, eyes rolling up into her head.

  “It’s okay,” Jarvis said, pulling the young woman into his arms, as her heart fluttered against his chest like a wounded bird.

  “I killed it,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  Jarvis stroked her hair.

  “Shh, you did the right thing.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” she moaned. “It was an accident.”

  Jarvis knew nothing he said would reach her right now, so he decided the best thing he could do was just get her out of there. He tried to pull her from the room, but she seemed rooted in place, her body rigid.

  “We have to go,” Jarvis said calmly, his lips close to her ear.

  “Let us help you,” a voice said—and he looked up to find Clio and Noh standing beside him.

  He nodded, letting the girls each take an arm while he pushed from behind. Together, the three of them were able to drag Jennice out of the room, but not before some of the Vargr had noticed their attempt to escape.

  “Stay back!” Clio screamed, raising her arms in the air as a spiral of electricity shot out from her hands, engulfing the Vargr that’d moved toward them.

  The creatures writhed in the electrical storm, their muscular bodies shuddering as they were whipped into the air and then blasted backward. There was a crack as the creatures hit the ceiling, their blood arcing out in waves from the impact point.

  Jarvis was impressed by the level of power Clio seemed capable of wielding. But then she’d caught his eye and shaken her head, letting him know she, too, was shocked by the extent of what she’d just done.

  “We’ll talk later,” Jarvis said, ushering the three women farther down the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” Noh asked—she and Clio each holding on to one of Jennice’s arms.

  Jarvis opened his mouth to say, “I don’t know where to go,” but he didn’t get the chance to speak because suddenly Kali, the Hindu Goddess of Death and Destruction, was blocking their path.

  “Dipwad told me you wouldn’t need my help,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at them. “That you could ‘handle’ things. All I have to say is: ha!”

  Then Kali bared her pearly white teeth—in what Jarvis could only term a “horrific grimace”—and raced past them. Her eyes were glued on the husky, male Vargr that’d been slowly sneaking up behind them, its jaws open wide for the kill.

  “Die, Vargr, die!” she screamed as she bit into its throat, tearing out its esophagus with her bare teeth.

  Jarvis turned away, the sight of so much blood and viscera enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs, then he gave a silent prayer of thank
s to whatever turn of fate had brought Kali into their midst.

  * * *

  starr did not feel any guilt about what she’d done. After all, she wasn’t responsible for the Vargr attack. That was someone else’s work. She’d just gotten Edgar Freezay to Sea Verge. That was it—and it was only because Frank had promised to fork over many special things in return for her help. Otherwise she would’ve just as happily said, “no.”

  Not that she really cared whose side she was on. It was more about what benefited her needs best. That was the Sirens’ creed: Only do the things that benefit you directly. She knew it sounded harsh, but this golden rule had been working to the Sirens’ benefit for as long as they’d ruled the sea.

  Speaking of the sea…thank God Sea Verge was right on the water. She wondered if her half sister had made use of the proximity—she doubted it; the woman had always been so touchy about her half-Siren heritage—but Starr would have to ask her about it the next time she saw her. Not that she’d seen much of her half sister since the woman had returned to the sea. Death’s widow had become a real hermit these days, hiding out in some godforsaken cave over by the Mariana Trench, isolating herself from her Siren family, and not even once inviting Starr over for a visit.

  Well, her half sister could just have her hermit-y little cave. It wasn’t like she’d been in Starr’s life much before she’d come back to the sea anyway. No, she’d chosen to live on land with the humans, to marry Death, and ignore everything Siren about herself.

  Pushing away thoughts of her ungrateful half sister, Starr decided now was as good a time as any to make her exit. She had zero interest in becoming entangled in the violent free-for-all happening around her. She would be sorry to leave the detective behind because she loved a sexy man-challenge—and Edgar Freezay, that strapping specimen of human manhood, would definitely be a tough nut to crack. Especially now he knew she’d lied to him and had ulterior motives for bringing him to Sea Verge. It made her feel powerful that she’d been able to beguile him, but now she was sad she wasn’t going to get to do naughty things to his muscular body.

  As the fighting heated up, Starr took a moment to scan the room, looking for the most direct escape route. If she wanted to avoid the craziness, the best way would be to smash open one of the windows and jump. It was probably a little extreme, but she thought escaping a full-on Vargr-pack attack called for extreme measures. She looked around for something to smash the window with, but there were only a few large pieces of furniture, nothing she could pick up without a lot of effort.

  She decided there was nothing to do, but use her own body as a battering ram.

  Clearing her mind, she took a running start and threw herself at the window, the glass shattering on impact. Shards of translucent glass rained down on top of her as she landed in one of the shrubs encircling the side of the house, its branches cushioning her fall. As she tried to extract herself from the shrub, waxy emerald leaves edged in prickles tore at her skin and hair, one of them even stabbing itself into the wound on her cheek, sending a shock of raw pain through her jaw.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out, then began to drag herself from the plant’s grasping branches. It was a fight, the shrub seeming to like the taste of her skin and blood, but she was finally able to free herself, landing in the grass and skinning her bare knee. A trail of blood ran down the front of her calf, but she didn’t dare waste any time inspecting her wounds, just climbed to her feet and, ignoring the pain in her cheek and knee, began the short jog across the lawn toward the water.

  She could hear the sound of the surf crashing against the rocky shoals—and the knowledge the sea was so close drove her forward. The glamour she’d used to create human legs began to fade as she neared the water, and she had to push herself to reach the cliff’s edge before she lost control of the spell and transformed back into a mermaid.

  She ran faster, the edge of the cliff now only a few feet away. Closing her eyes as she stepped off the edge, she felt the land drop away underneath her feet. Savoring her triumphant return to the water, she squealed with joy as her body began the long drop down to the sea.

  eleven

  CALLIOPE

  He spoke slowly and without emotion, almost as if he were giving a deposition and wanted every last detail nailed down so he wouldn’t be accused of perjury. And, somehow, this emotionless retelling made the story even more horrific:

  “It was Anjea who made the ‘Golden Age of Death’ prediction upon the news of your mother’s pregnancy,” Marcel said. “So she knew she would be a target. But there was no reason to suspect we’d been followed.”

  “Everyone’s always shooting the messenger,” I said, my thoughts bleak.

  We were all in the kitchen: Marcel on a barstool next to the kitchen island, Jarvis futzing by the stove top. Runt and I were splayed out on the floor below the sink, my back pressed up against the kitchen cabinets.

  “I’ve made it my business to keep tabs on Anjea, to always know what she was thinking,” he said. “But I didn’t know she was aware of how closely I watched her.”

  “She knew,” Jarvis said.

  “Yes,” Marcel agreed. “I realized this when she came to me and proposed I make an alliance with you—she was many steps ahead of all of us.”

  “She was a seer,” Jarvis said to me, as he began the preparations for a magical poultice he thought might draw out Runt’s voice. “Your father consulted her on many occasions.”

  “Then why didn’t she know they were coming for her?” I asked.

  No one seemed to have an answer for this.

  “Who’s to say what Anjea’s intentions were,” Marcel said. “She’s gone now and that’s all the outcome we need to know.”

  “So you followed the man who beheaded her?” Jarvis asked. “That’s how you came upon Runt?”

  Marcel nodded.

  “I believe someone is trying to systematically take out anyone who might be of help to you. I’m surprised your assistant is still living. He’d be the first creature I’d dispatch if I was going to cut your legs out from under you.”

  “Great,” I said to Marcel then I turned to Jarvis: “I think he’s trying to say you’re a pretty special dude, Jarvis.”

  Jarvis rolled his eyes.

  “I was able to piggyback on the killer’s wormhole,” Marcel said, his eyes on the microwave above my head as the timer slowly counted down to zero.

  The Ender of Death had expressed his hunger to Jarvis, and Jarvis had obliged him by putting together a plate of leftovers from the refrigerator that he’d then shoved into the microwave, setting the timer for five minutes.

  “I had no idea he was going after your hellhound,” Marcel added, one eye still locked on the revolving plate inside the microwave.

  I let Marcel’s words wash over me. What kind of bastard went after a defenseless puppy?

  Hard at work at the stove preparing the poultice, Jarvis shook his head, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

  The microwave chose that moment to finish its cooking cycle and Marcel leapt to his feet, extracting the plate of steaming food and sitting back down in two seconds flat. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the sizzling sound the food was making, just picked up his cutlery and dug in.

  “She was alone, guarding the entrance to the South Gate of Hell, which made the attack easy,” Marcel said, in between bites of food. “There were already two men there when we arrived. One of them, the one I assumed was the leader because he never got his hands dirty, looked like a weasel. The other was just the muscle. A big mountain of a man.”

  “What about the man you were following?” I asked.

  “I had the element of surprise,” Marcel said, grinning wickedly. “He didn’t expect me to follow him. He probably thought I’d wormhole after you. Since no one knows of our alliance, they’ll continue to assume that it’s you I’m after.”

  “You killed him?” I asked

  “I wrung his neck. And then I wrung the nec
k of the Mountain who slid his knife into your hellhound’s throat.”

  His words were grotesque. Made more so by the lack of emotion he showed when talking about the men he’d murdered. I wanted to close my ears, but being oblivious to the harsh realities of the world I inhabited wasn’t possible anymore.

  “It’s ready,” Jarvis said, removing a thick cotton dish towel from a kitchen hook and dropping it into the bubbling pot.

  It appeared as though the painstaking process of combining herbal elements over a super-heated flame (and intoning words only Jarvis knew the meaning of) had worked. The poultice was ready.

  Runt struggled to her feet, thumping her tail against the cabinet as she watched Jarvis draw the dish towel from the pot. Carrying the steaming towel in his bare hands, he brought it over to Runt and laid it over the wound in her neck. The smell coming off the dish towel was intense, and something, one of the herbs probably, made Runt sneeze.

  “Bless you,” I said, and it felt odd to have my polite puppy—who always said “thank you” after a sneeze—remain silent.

  “I’m so sorry, little one,” I said, petting her side as she looked up at me sadly.

  She leaned against me, her body pinning me to the cabinet door I was leaning against—and I was unprepared for how much growing she’d done since the last time I saw her. She was practically dog sized now.

  “Do you think it will work?” I asked Jarvis, who was now busying himself over the sink, cleaning up the mess he’d made in order to craft the poultice. Behind him, Marcel ate the last bite of leftover turkey and mashed potatoes Jarvis and I’d had for dinner the night before.

  “The poultice may work,” Jarvis said.

  “May?” I asked, as I watched him rinse out the aluminum pot before sliding it into the dishwasher.

  This was a habit I’d never understood. It was called a “dishwasher” for a reason. Why clean the dish beforehand?

  “I hope it will work. It’s strong magic and it should be able to reverse the damage, but…” He trailed off, not meeting my gaze as he picked up another dish towel from the counter and dried his hands with it.