“Hello, Joel.” The Reap’s voice was suddenly dark and raspy, and chills raced down her arms. “This is the Grim Reaper.”
He was breathing heavily in a fantastic Darth Vader imitation. “I am so pleased you are about to kill yourself. I am going to come to you with my scythe and rip your screaming soul from your pathetic little body, and then you will be mine. A thousand years of acid poured on your manly bits, leeches on your testicles, and my assistant will pluck out your facial hair one whisker at a time.”
He winked at Reina. “I will gnaw the meat from your bones while you are still alive and—” He grinned and tossed the phone on his desk. “He hung up screaming. I feel so validated.”
Reina frowned. “That was an interesting approach to a suicide hotline. Scare the suicidal so badly that they become too terrified of death to kill themselves.”
The Reap stretched his long legs. “I cannot have these people thinking death is better than living.” He nodded at Reina. “Go get me one of those gold balls from the bowl on my desk, darling, will you?”
“But life after death is often better than the life they had while they were alive.” Reina hurried over to the desk, still trying to think of a way to talk the Reap into giving her what she wanted.
“Well, of course it is, but they don’t need to know that. Death must be terrifying or no one would bother to fight it out and accomplish anything in real life. Where would all the great inventions be if people realized that if they just chopped off their heads, life would be wonderful? Total anarchy in society. Can’t have it.” He held up his black fingers and made a scary face. “Argh! Run away from Death, little boys and girls! I’m coming for you—”
He burst out laughing, and tears started to run down his face, smearing his makeup. “You should see some of the people I’ve scared. Grown men and women actually wetting their pants! I have to say, I miss that, I really do. I don’t miss the grind, but I miss seeing everyone so debilitated with fear and screaming my name in anguish.” He pointed to a carnation red skull on a pedestal in the middle of the floor. “Please put the ball in there, if you will be so kind.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little manipulative? Trying to terrify people into being productive members of society?” She dropped the ball into the skull, then jumped back when smoke exploded and screams filled the air. “Is someone in there?”
“Oh, no, no. Those are recordings of assorted victims. I made a collection of my favorite ones. Each time I successfully manipulate someone into a debilitating fear of death, I put a ball in the skull. Helps me keep track.” He frowned suddenly. “Haven’t you heard that recording? I left a copy with Prentiss so he could play it at reapings and terrify people.”
Um… time to change the subject, because Death most certainly did not whip out the ol’ iPod when he harvested. Reina pointed the scythe hanging above the skull. A brass plaque beneath it was inscribed with the words Ivan the Terrible, d. 1584. Wet pants three times and sobbed like a baby. A+. “Did you really make Ivan the Terrible cry?”
“Oh, yes, yes.” The Reaper beamed at her. “I toyed with him for an hour, just because it was so lovely. You may admire it.” He flicked his hand toward it, there was a clicking noise, and then brass chains lowered the scythe. “I turned off the booby traps. It’s safe now, comrade.”
“Thanks.” Reina carefully lifted it down. It was much heavier than the lightweight, metal composites that Death now employed. She did a test swing and nearly dropped it. “Does it work?”
“They always work. They’ve all been blessed.” The Reap looked at his watch. “I’m late! I hate it when Prentiss gets there first! Just because he held the title for three decades and leveraged the title into an assortment of sexual liaisons does not mean that he’s more of a Fairy Tale Hero than I am, despite what he may think.”
Reina tightened her grip on the staff. “Prentiss? You mean Death?”
Jarvis stepped back, pride evident on his face. “You’re all set. No one will know it’s a wig, and you could get caught in a hurricane and it won’t budge.”
“Fantastic.” The Reap snatched his cloak off the back of the chair. “Prentiss is bringing some new Reaper, and I must be there to make sure the new hire is up to snuff.”
Jarvis went still. “What new Reaper?”
Death was moving up Cameron’s debut? Reina looked at Jarvis’s grim face and knew he’d come to the same conclusion.
“I don’t know. All he said was that it was an appropriate choice given that the Godfather was receiving the Testosterone Award and would be killing his true love on stage in front of everyone.”
Reina’s chest tightened. “The Godfather? Killing his true love? Tonight? What are you talking about?” He was going to kill Natalie tonight? On stage? The number of things wrong with that scenario were just too many to list. What was wrong with the Sisterhood, anyway? Showcasing a murder as popular entertainment? Seriously?
“Apparently, the Sisterhood has been trying to locate him for weeks, and they finally found him. He’s on the scent of a woman, which makes him utterly inconsolable until he kills her, so they’re making it part of the ceremony. I think it’s brilliant. That’s what the award is about, anyway: men who are a danger to their women.” He peeked at his reflection in a gilded mirror. “My makeup is ruined! I can’t go like this! I am far too handsome!” He whirled around. “Hate Man, do you know how to do makeup, too?”
Jarvis shook his head. “No—”
“I do,” Reina interjected.
“Thank the good lord above!” The Reap glided across the room and snatched a gold silk purse out of the wardrobe. “My boots. I almost forgot!” He grabbed a pair of battered, thigh-highs out of the closet. They were caked in crusted blood and dried flesh… or was it the product of ground turkey breast and Elmer’s glue? “Get in the limo. We’ll do it on the way.”
“Get us inside the door with you,” Reina said quickly. They had to get inside. It was all going down now. D-day had come ahead of schedule, and there was no time for strategizing.
“And let Reina borrow the scythe,” Jarvis added.
“No, no, no!” The Reap threw his hands on his hips. “I can’t—
Jarvis held up a bobby pin. “What is done can be undone just as easily. Those bobby pins know that I’m their master. You want to walk in there with pretty boy hair?”
“And I know how to use boot polish,” Reina added. “I’m really good at buffing to a shine. That Perdue ground turkey isn’t going to make it to the event. And you look really pretty. Your fair skin is glowing and you have such lovely blue eyes.”
The Reap’s face contorted with fury. “You are both scum.”
Jarvis tapped his sword. “Thank you.”
The Reap broke into a grin. “You’re welcome! I love scum! Come on, then!” He grabbed a monstrous scythe off the wall and slung it over his shoulder, nearly taking out the doorframe. He marched over to the wardrobe and pulled out two more black robes and wigs. “If you’re coming in with me, you need to look the part. There can be no beautiful people stepping out of my limo.” He tossed them at Reina and then grabbed another scythe and handed it to Jarvis. “Hold this for Reina. Don’t try to use it,” he warned. “Only those who have been properly blessed can use it without blowing themselves up.”
Jarvis’s fists closed over the steel. “Wouldn’t want to blow myself up,” he muttered.
Reina glared at him. “That’s not funny.”
His face softened and he touched her hair. “Sorry, babe. I forget it bothers you.” He lightly kissed her forehead.
The Reap hurried them out the door. “So, Hate Man, you want to be my new handmaiden? You’re great with my hair, and we could work on the handsome thing. Some plastic surgery could deform you nicely. What do you say? You in?”
“We’ll see. Got some things to take care of first.” Jarvis took Reina’s hand as they all sprinted down the stairs.
How cute was that? A public statement that they were
together? In front of the Reap? Damn it. How come all the good ones died?
A black stretch Escalade limo was purring at the curb. On its side were black and gold letters that said The Grim Reaper, along with copious ancient drawings depicting brutal moments of death. On the back door was a large gold star that said Lifetime Achievement Winner for the Testosterone Awards. Her warm and fuzzy feeling toward Jarvis was replaced with the sobering reality of where they were going. To the place where it was all coming together. Her sister. The Godfather. Cameron. Death. They had no plan, no time to prepare, and it was happening now.
The moment where it all was lost forever, or not.
She slipped in next to Jarvis, and he threw his arm around her and hauled her up close as the Reaper climbed in after them, sweeping his robes out of his way with a flourish that was a little too threatening for comfort.
The car began to move.
“Where’s the ceremony?” Jarvis asked.
“Fenway Park. They needed the seats.”
Jarvis pulled out his phone and dialed. “Blaine, it’s—” He listened for a moment, then said, “Meet us at Fenway Park. Bring Gina inside. It’s going down tonight.”
The Reap unzipped his makeup kit and handed it to Reina. “What’s going down? Do you do have a nefarious plan? Because I like the Sisters. They honor me and are terrified of me. They have a PR department that’s fantastic, and they’ve done great things for my reputation.”
Ignoring the Reap’s babbling, Reina pulled the ash gray Estée Lauder foundation out of the bag. “What’s going on, Jarvis?”
“Blaine found Trinity and Gina. They’re okay, but Natalie and the Godfather are gone.”
“The Sisterhood has them.” Reina looked at the Reap. “Can you give me full soul harvesting powers? The ability to move souls out of a body?” And into another?
“Oh, no, no, not anymore. I can’t even do it myself these days.” He punched a button on the door, and a lighted makeup mirror rose out of the center console.
Then she had no choice. She had to force Death to promote her. Now. She let out her breath, then took out her phone. It was time to play the last card.
Heaven help her.
Chapter 22
In the shadows of the old State House and all its magnificent history, Augustus stood over the whimpering assassin who used to be his greatest competition. He raised his pink star to thrust it mercilessly into the throat of Napoleon—
“Damn it!” He flung the star into the cement where it lit up with pink fireworks. “Seven hours of combat with you and I still feel no love for killing? Do you feel inspired by our battle? Because I don’t.”
“I’m pissed, actually, that I can’t kill you until you tell me where my wife is.” Napoleon was trying to stem the fountain of blood cascading from his right side, staining the white tux shirt that was already torn and soiled.
“I could have killed you at any moment, but I was waiting for that moment of glee. But nothing.” Augustus thumped his chest with frustration. “There’s this great weight in here. This hopelessness. A cavern of emptiness.”
“You want meaning in life?” Napoleon picked up one of the many magicked daggers that Augustus had so easily knocked aside. He flipped it in his hand. “Find a girl.”
“I have many girls desperate to be impaled by a man of my stature.” Augustus stared bleakly at the blade. If Napoleon launched it at him, he wouldn’t even bother to duck. He was simply too bored and uninspired.
“Not sex. You gotta find love,” Napoleon said.
Augustus snorted. “Love? You’re kidding.”
“Hell, no, man. I was like you. Out there, making all this money, killing seven or eight beings per day. I was at the top of my game. Everyone loved me. All the governments bought me dinner at the fanciest restaurants, kids calling me all the time to set up internships, women throwing their bras at me.”
Augustus sat up. “Your friends were turning on you at a moment’s notice? You lived in solitude because no one was worthy to stand in your shadow?”
“Exactly.” Napoleon slid the blade over his jaw, trimming the beard that was haunting his gaunt face. “I was at the pinnacle.”
Augustus leaned forward. “And you weren’t happy either? I’m not the only assassin to lose the love for the job?”
“Hell, no, man! I actually was gonna kill myself.”
“No!”
“Yeah.” Napoleon laid his hand over his bleeding side again, and this time it began to seal off. “I was going through my weapons stash to find the best spell to kill myself with, the one worthy of me, because, you know, I couldn’t die by a poisoned apple or some shit like that, right?”
Augustus nodded. “I’m going to use a star made of pink diamonds. Six hundred and sixty-six carats. I’ve been saving it for myself.”
Napoleon set his hand on Augustus’s shoulder. “I had a spell to be eaten from the inside out by condoms. That’s how I was going to go.”
Augustus blinked at his opponent. “What?”
“It’s a hell of a spell.” Napoleon got a distant expression, as if remembering a special time in his life. “And a couple months ago, when I was trying to find the condom spell in my warehouse, I came across the first spell I ever taught Angelica. An illusion trick to make the socks stuffed in her training bra look real. My heart came alive the moment I saw those socks.”
Augustus inched closer, desperate to hear more. “You fell in love with the socks?”
“Hell, no, man, with her.” Napoleon grinned dreamily. “Those heart stockings made me remember how much I loved her. I knew right then that I had to bring her back into my life. And ever since then—” He shrugged. “Life got meaningful. Big time.”
Well, that was the most unhelpful advice ever. “I’ve boned every eligible female in the physical world, and a bunch who weren’t,” Augustus sighed. “No sparks. Nothing. I’ve tried them all.”
“Maybe you weren’t ready. It wasn’t until almost three hundred years after I’d killed our daughter, abandoned my wife and grandson, and fornicated my way through thousands of assassinations that I realized I’d done it all out of love for my wife.” Napoleon suddenly threw his knife so quickly Augustus didn’t even see it coming before it plunged into his chest.
“What the hell’s that for?” He yanked it from his ribs and nearly doubled over from the agony. “I thought we were bonding.”
“Sorry, mate.” Napoleon punched him on the shoulder affectionately. “But I want my wife back. Talking about her made me realize it was time to take control.”
“Well, you can’t have her!” He coughed, and rainbow bubbles drifted out of his mouth into the air. “What’d you lace this with anyway?”
“Black magic spell. I call it Leprosy on Speed.” Napoleon pulled a heart sock out of his breast pocket and laid it across Napoleon’s knee. “You’ll die in five minutes unless you tell me where she is.”
“But if I die, you’ll never find her.”
“I’ve located every target I’ve ever agreed to kill. I’m like a bloodhound with hands.” He leaned forward, and Augustus saw the ruthless determination. “I will find the woman I love, and it can be either over your dead body or your live one. Your choice.”
Oh, come on. Like the old fart had any chance of bluffing his way out of this one. They both knew he needed Augustus alive to find the love of his miserable life. But even knowing that his nemesis had just played his last card and blown it wasn’t remotely satisfying.
Clearly, Augustus had no heart left. It was time to capitulate. “I wish you the best of luck.” His fingers were turning a shade of green that was really quite putrid. Augustus leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and stared at the sky. At the stars. He was tired of fighting. Why bother? He knew the Afterlife rocked. Why not just go? “I accept death.”
“What? You can’t just accept death! You need to be so desperate to live that you tell me where my wife is so I will spare your life!” Napoleon grabbed h
is shirt and hauled him upright. “What about that woman you’re supposed to meet? Maybe it’s Reina Fleming! And you’re going to die without finding out?”
“Reina?” Augustus rolled the name over his head. “Reina Fleming, woman of my destiny,” he mused. “No, no. There’s no magic there.” Then he remembered that angelic face beaming at him as Reina had argued with him. “But you know who was really interesting? Her sister.”
“Ah…” Napoleon’s grip loosened and he got a hopeful look on his face. “Natalie? She’s a decadent little thing, isn’t she?”
“She’s got a zest for life that’s quite awe inspiring.”
“So, maybe it’s Natalie!”
Augustus contemplated her cherubic face. “Nah. She’s not my type.” His phone rang and Augustus glanced down at it. “Speak of the devil.” He sighed and picked it up, noticing that his fingernails were starting to flake off. “Reina Fleming. You got tired waiting for me to kill you, didn’t you? Well, you’re just going to have to keep waiting because—”
“I’m going to Fenway Park in ten minutes,” she interrupted. “Come take me out.”
Augustus watched his little pinkie slough off and land on the curb. “You bore me. I’m going to die now on my own. Good-bye.”
“Wait! Don’t!”
He sighed. “What now?”
“You really want to die? Then let me kill you. It’s the only way to save my sister.”
“Yes, yes, she’s dying. I already know that.” He noticed that his left foot had fallen off and was now sitting beside his leg. He raised his eyebrows at Napoleon. “Interesting spell.”
Napoleon shrugged modestly. “It has good showmanship value.”
“The Godfather’s going to kill Natalie tonight,” Reina shouted. “Can’t you do one decent thing before you die and let me kill you?”
“Tonight? The Godfather?” Augustus shot upright, sudden fury rushing through him. “That’s not acceptable! Where is she?”
“Fenway Park. Be there in ten.”
“Five. I’ll be there in five.” He shoved his phone in his pocket, whipped out a star, and held it at Napoleon’s throat. “Heal me now, peon!”
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