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

by Amber Benson

  “So, why the but at the end of that sentence?” I asked.

  “If everything Marcel told us is true, then the poultice will work,” he said, deflecting my question on to Marcel.

  The Ender of Death didn’t seem fazed to have his story called into question.

  “I have no reason to lie,” he offered, wiping a dab of mashed potato from his chin. “It was exactly as I said.”

  I caught Jarvis’s eye. Neither of us trusted the Ender of Death, but the fact he’d saved Runt’s life made it harder to outright despise him—and he had saved her life.

  There was no doubt about it.

  If he’d been lying, she’d have done something to let us know. Instead, she’d lain on the floor beside me, panting slightly, but never once stirring as he’d relayed the story.

  “How long do we have to wait before we know?” I asked.

  Jarvis checked his watch, lips pursed.

  “Five minutes, more or less.”

  Runt thumped her tail.

  “It’ll work,” I said, giving her a squeeze. “I have faith in anything Jarvis does.”

  I meant what I said. I really did think Jarvis could fix anything. And if he couldn’t help Runt, well…then I didn’t want to think about it.

  As if she’d read my mind and was telling me everything would be all right regardless of the outcome, she rested her chin on my shoulder and nuzzled my neck. I reached up and patted her head.

  Blissed out, she closed her eyes and snuffled happily into my shoulder, letting me know I should continue the petting, which, of course, I did.

  The poultice was closer to me now, though, and my nose wrinkled at the smell. Runt didn’t seem put off by the stink, but that wasn’t saying much. She liked all kinds of weird, pungent scents I found disgusting.

  “How much longer?” I asked, looking over at Jarvis.

  “Three minutes.”

  It was a very long three minutes.

  Inside, I was bargaining with myself: If Runt got her voice back, I’d quit buying sunglasses…I’d never act like a bitch ever again…I’d be a better Death.

  Frankly, I would’ve done anything to guarantee Runt came out of everything okay. But God wasn’t into bargains—and it didn’t matter what I promised to do, Runt was either going to be healed, or she wasn’t.

  “One minute,” Jarvis said.

  “Once this has been decided, Death, we need to go,” Marcel said, picking up his dish and taking it to the sink. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

  “No, we’ll go when I say we go,” I said, not liking the idea of Marcel thinking he could just tell me what to do.

  “I only say it because it’s true,” Marcel said, pulling “a Jarvis” and washing his dish before placing it in the dishwasher. “They will hunt you down if you stay here. Already they may be on their way.”

  “I just need you to back off for a minute,” I said.

  Right then, all I cared about was whether Runt was going to be okay or not. I didn’t need Marcel’s matter-of-fact voice hammering in my ear.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “It’s time,” Jarvis said.

  He squatted down next to Runt.

  “Let’s see now,” he said, removing the dish towel from Runt’s neck.

  I was hoping for a miracle, but when she tried to speak, nothing came out. Not even a sigh. She hung her head before I could see the resignation in her eyes—and I had to admit to myself the magical poultice hadn’t worked.

  I started to cry. I couldn’t help myself. The tears just came of their own accord and I was unable to stop them.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I said, brushing the tears away with the back of my hands. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  Runt continued to look at the ground, mute. I reached out and pulled her to me, hugging her tightly to my chest.

  At least she’s alive, I thought. You should be grateful for that.

  Alive for now, another voice whispered, ripping the last shred of my self-control away from me.

  “They’re going to come after every one of them, aren’t they?” I cried, addressing my question to Marcel. “All the people I love. They’ll kill every one of them, won’t they?”

  These weren’t questions, more like the hysterical ramblings of someone who’s scared and guilt stricken; someone who knows they’re incapable of fixing the things that are happening to the people they love, and feels responsible for the fallout anyway.

  “They will destroy all that you hold dear, Death,” Marcel agreed. He was back at his spot by the kitchen island, his chin in his hands, watching me.

  “No one you love is safe. Every person or creature close to you will be ferreted out and killed, unless you stop this.”

  He was right. Runt would’ve been dead, if he hadn’t been there to help her.

  “How do I keep them safe?” I asked, the hysteria having abated somewhat, so I could think more clearly.

  “You can’t,” Marcel said, shaking his head. “You can only stop the two universes from merging. That’s it.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” I said, his words rekindling my anger. “I can let them know what’s happening, tell them—”

  “They can’t help you,” Marcel said, interrupting me. “They can only get in your way.”

  “I don’t want them to get hurt,” I said, turning to Jarvis and hoping a calmer head would prevail. “Can’t we bring them to Sea Verge and keep them safe here?”

  Jarvis took my question into consideration.

  “There is one possibility…”

  I was ready to hear anything.

  “We could call them and I could use a spell, a very old and powerful one.”

  Marcel snorted as he climbed off his chair. He knelt down beside me, running his hand over Runt’s head and then scratching the spot she liked behind her ears.

  “Then they will all die here together, Death,” he said, leaning forward so that his lips were almost touching my cheek.

  “No!” I said, shoving him away.

  I found myself really wanting to punch Marcel, but I restrained myself.

  “They won’t die here. I can give you twenty-four hours in which Sea Verge will be off the grid,” Jarvis said. “So long as no one wormholes here, the mansion will be impossible to pinpoint on any map or GPS unit—and it will only be visible to those who you’ve invited.”

  “You can do this?” I asked Jarvis.

  He nodded.

  “I can do it—but you have to leave first, so you won’t be bound in the spell.”

  That meant I would be saving the people I loved, but I wouldn’t get to tell them good-bye. I might never again touch Daniel’s face or kiss his sweet lips; I might never hear Clio’s voice, or spend time with my birth mother. I felt nauseous—and then I realized it was just my body reacting to the fact I might die without letting my loved ones know how much I loved them.

  “So be it,” I said, speaking with a strength I didn’t really possess.

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, Runt began to whine. Hope against hope, I prayed the spell had somehow worked, after all, and that Runt had gotten her voice back. But as her whines subsided (without any words emerging from her mouth), I had to accept the spell had been a dud.

  “Oh, Runt,” I said, nuzzling her head.

  “I’m sorry, Death,” Marcel said, sensing my utter disappointment as he offered me his hand. “Now let your assistant do his work while we do ours.”

  I wanted to say something snarky in return, but I just didn’t have the energy. Instead, I took his hand and let him lift me to my feet. Immediately, Runt stood up, too, but I shook my head.

  “You’re hurt. You have to stay here with Jarvis.”

  She stared at me.

  “This is no fight for a dog—”

  “She’s a hellhound,” Jarvis said, interrupting.

  “This is no fight for a dog or a hellhound,” Marcel replied. “This is between Death and me.”

  “And tho
se ingrates who want to destroy Death,” Jarvis mumbled. “Let’s not forget that.”

  “Of course,” Marcel said, nodding. “And as Death’s new champion, I’ll protect her from her enemies—”

  “But we don’t even know your true motives,” Jarvis said.

  “The need to know my motives is unnecessary—”

  “Unnecessary?!” Jarvis said, looking put out by Marcel’s answer.

  “I am here to help and that’s all you need to know,” Marcel shot back, his voice even.

  “Well, I think we deserve to know more than—”

  “Stop it!” I yelled, surprising both men. “I mean it. Stop talking.”

  Jarvis kept his mouth shut, but Marcel didn’t seem to understand I meant business.

  “Nope, mouth shut, thoughts to yourself!” I said, heading him off before he could speak again. “I’m the one in charge here and you better listen to me if you want to be my new champion.”

  “Champion, nappy-in,” Jarvis said, under his breath.

  “Jarvis,” I growled, warning him to keep his juvenile thoughts to himself—and he raised his hands in supplication.

  Marcel glanced over at Jarvis and Jarvis shrugged in return.

  “Stop looking at each other like that,” I said. “I know what that look means and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Sorry—” Marcel said.

  “Excuse me—” Jarvis mumbled.

  I waved their apologies away.

  “I don’t care about that. Just…listen up. I’m gonna tell you what you’re gonna do and then you’re just gonna do it, okay?”

  They nodded, two marionette puppets being worked by the same puppeteer.

  Me.

  They had no idea how similar they really were. They both liked to boss me around. They both loved to hear the sound of their own voices because neither of them knew when to shut up. Of course, I loved Jarvis, and considered him to be part of my family, while Marcel was on my permanent shit list, no matter how many of my friends he saved. The man had taken too much joy in killing my dad and I would never be able to forgive him for that, or for the murderous act, itself.

  “Marcel, Runt, and I are going to get out of here and let you cast that spell,” I said to Jarvis, pleased to see I was holding everyone’s attention with the power of my words. “Your job is to keep everyone here for the next twenty-four hours. Marcel and I are going to find Uriah Drood and stop him.”

  At the mention of her name, Runt got up and padded over to me, nuzzling my hand with her snout. I knew this meant she was throwing in her lot with me, and I was grateful for it.

  Jarvis nodded, but Marcel still didn’t look convinced.

  “But the hellhound’s injured,” he said. “She’ll be in the way.”

  I shook my head to let the Ender of Death know this wasn’t open for negotiation.

  “I trust her,” I said, patting Runt on the head. “I don’t trust you. End of story.”

  He took this better than I would have, had the roles been reversed.

  “Are you certain Runt is up for this?” Jarvis asked.

  “If she wants to come, then I want her with me,” I said, by way of an answer.

  “All right, then,” Jarvis said, letting me make the call—something I very much appreciated.

  “I promise I’ll keep her safe, Jarvis.”

  “I know you’ll try your best,” he said—and I could see he wanted to believe I could protect Runt and, by extension, myself, but I also knew he was worried. To my surprise, Marcel was the one who stepped in to reassure him.

  “I won’t let anything happen to either of them,” he said with conviction. “We’ll find the ones behind this and stop it. I want to kill Death fair and square—and I don’t want anyone else beating me to it.”

  Jarvis looked ill.

  “It’s the closest thing to a promise he’s gonna give you, Jarvis,” I said, catching my Executive Assistant’s eye. “I say you take it.”

  Jarvis and I’ve never really connected over humor—and this was just another example of him not “getting it” when I was trying to lighten the mood.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Jarvis scowled at me, but let it pass.

  “So,” I continued, giving Marcel my attention now. “Where to first?”

  “We go right to the top,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Uriah Drood, the head of the Harvesters and Transporters Union.”

  I’d already been thinking along those same lines, so I nodded, pleased with his choice.

  “You know he hates me,” I said. “That’s why he’s doing this.”

  “He more than hates you, Calliope,” Jarvis said, somberly. “You and Freezay humiliated him in front of everyone at the Death Dinner.”

  “No, this didn’t happen overnight,” Marcel said. “He’s been planning this for much longer.”

  “He despised your father,” Jarvis said, nodding his agreement. “And he does seem the kind of man who would transfer those negative feelings for your father onto you—and you didn’t help by tearing him apart at the dinner.”

  “Negative feelings?” I said, with a snort. “I wish that were the case. The guy wants to eradicate my very existence. I think his feelings run a little more deeply than just ‘negative.’”

  “I would love to stand around and debate how much Uriah Drood loves to hate you, Death, but I think we should take our leave now,” Marcel said, heading toward the door.

  But I didn’t move from my spot. There was one thing I wanted to do before I left, and it was important and private. Well, just personal more than anything.

  “I need to go upstairs,” I said, not waiting for an answer as I took off for the foyer. “It’ll only take me a minute.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, hit the landing and then sped down the hallway. When I got to my bedroom, I threw open the door, but stopped before clearing the threshold, my eyes not believing what they were seeing.

  My room was empty.

  twelve

  Hearing about something and seeing it in the flesh were two very different things.

  The creature was crouched in front of Jennice, snarling, its long, mottled gray snout dripping saliva onto the floor. It bared its teeth as it growled at her, and she discovered, to her horror, there were just too many teeth for her to count. She took an involuntary step backward, throwing her hands out in front of her as if this would somehow protect her from the werewolf-thing deciding to tear her throat out.

  “Stay back,” Jennice said, her mouth so dry the words came out in a whisper.

  The creature took a step closer, muscles rippling in its shoulders as it inched forward. Jennice could see large teats hanging from its belly and she realized it was a female—though there was nothing maternal about the bloodthirstiness of the thing crouched in front of her.

  “Please stay back,” Jennice moaned, cringing as the beast growled at her again then sat back on its hind legs.

  Before she even understood what was happening, the beast had leapt forward, its jaws snapping as they made a beeline for her throat.

  Heart stop! Jennice’s mind screamed, the thought coming unbidden from some unconscious part of her brain.

  Immediately, the beast made a strangled cry and lost all its velocity, falling at her feet like a limp rag. She waited for the creature to roll over, or make some kind of move to let her know it was just taking a breather in between attacks, but not one muscle twitched as it lay there on the floor.

  The creature was not moving and it would not be moving ever again. The thought triggered an outbreak of sweating all across her body, her fingers and toes going numb as, for a moment, time froze. It was all she could do to remain on her feet.

  Don’t be dead. Please, dear Lord, don’t let it be dead, she prayed, though she knew it was hopeless when she looked at the creature and found two swollen, glassy eyes in its head.

  The world around her blurred and her brain felt like it was running the three-minute mile with a bo
dy covered in molasses. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just done, about what she’d become.

  A murderer.

  She’d always been different, but then Clio had told her she wasn’t alone, that everyone at Sea Verge was different, somehow, too. She’d been filled with excitement because she wanted friends, people with weird powers like hers, who understood what it was like to be disconnected from the rest of the normal world. But then she’d seen what those powers could do…and she was terrified.

  She knew there were monsters in this new world that would eat you alive if you let them—she might as well have been one of them herself, now—and this knowledge made her want out.

  But you couldn’t just close the door on something once you knew it existed. You could live in denial and pretend it wasn’t real (and this would mean denying her own powers, too), but eventually you’d have to face reality—and she wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  So Jennice’s mind did the only rational thing it could do given the situation: It shut down.

  She felt it happening and was incapable of stopping it. It was an odd sensation, like leaving your body and floating up above yourself. She could still see all the action—the blond bear of a man fighting one of the monsters, Daniel slamming his fist into the spine of another, Clio and Noh fighting together, back-to-back—but she couldn’t hear any of the battle. There was just a steady rushing in her ears, one that reminded her of the ocean trapped inside the inner swirl of a conch shell.

  Her own immobile body was below her and when she looked down at it, she wondered how her soul fit so comfortably inside something so large and unwieldy. Bodies, she decided, looked very weird when you weren’t inside of them.

  She watched as Jarvis made his way toward her, his marionette body moving with a fluid grace someone so awkward should not possess. His eyes were wide with worry as he barreled across the floor.

  She felt a strong pinch in the spot where her forehead would be if she’d still been in her body, and, like a raindrop hitting hot asphalt, sound exploded in her head. Whatever made the sound return, it wasn’t finished with Jennice—it began to pour warmth all over her, weighing her down with heaviness until, with a sharp yank, she found herself back in her body.