Death's Curses

by Becca Fox

  Ralph stopped short. Adjusted his glasses. Tugged on one of his suspenders. Chewed on his lips.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, because I wasn’t one to talk. “What do you want to know?”

  He grinned before sitting down next to me. “What was Jasmine like when she was little?”

  “Pretty much the same as she was when you met her.” He seemed to be waiting for more, so I shrugged. “Obnoxiously cheerful. Creepy when you least expected it. Wise. Impulsive. Bossy.”

  Ralph nodded eagerly at every other word.

  I was tempted to be annoyed, but I could imagine how Jasmine would react if she knew her almost-boyfriend hunted me down every time I stopped by the precinct to ask random questions about her. “Oh, my God. How adorable is that?”

  I dusted the crumbs from my hands, unable to suppress a spark of affection. What could it hurt? “So there was this one time, right after we’d moved to Seattle.”

  Ralph sat up, his face practically glowing in anticipation.

  “This pigeon came flying into our uncle’s apartment and made its new home in the bathroom for some reason. My uncle wanted to call Animal Control.” I grinned. “Of course, Jasmine wouldn’t allow it…”

  ◆◆◆

  “Hey,” Esmer said, tapping me gently between the eyes. “Still with me, Charlie boy?”

  I straightened out of my slouch. “Yeah, sorry. You were saying?”

  She slurped her kuaitiao rat na. I sat there for a second, lost in the way the sun made her pale shoulders look tan. We sat by the windows of this pad thai restaurant that had become her favorite. The sun was setting, tinting the world blood orange. It was steamy warm in here, not much different than the temperature outside. Summers in Seattle were sticky. I’d always hated them. Then I saw Esmer in a tube top and I decided it was my favorite season of all. Today, she’d opted for this wrap-shirt thing that exposed her shoulders, most of her back, and her belly. It was wonderfully distracting.

  “I was saying I got a new tattoo,” she said after she’d swallowed. “Wanna see?” She hopped up from her chair and spun around before I could answer.

  There used to be only one fiery red bird’s wing tattooed on her back. Now there were two. The style wasn’t identical, obviously; they had been done by different people. But the second one came pretty damn close.

  “Ouch,” I said because the skin still looked red under the sanitary plastic wrap protecting the fresh ink.

  Esmer shrugged before sliding back into her chair. “It didn’t hurt as much as it did the first time. I guess that’s the difference between getting a tattoo from an amateur and getting one from a professional.” She stuck her fork into her noodles and started twirling it around. “I did it for Jasmine.”

  I choked on my soda. My eyes watered as I coughed. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Yeah, ya know, to celebrate her freedom.”

  “She’s Death,” I said, anger rising with each word. “A creature apart from humanity, forced to be a chauffeur for the dead for the rest of eternity. How is that freedom?”

  “She doesn’t have to die over and over and over anymore,” Esmer said, raising her eyebrows. “She doesn’t have to be in pain. She doesn’t have to be cooped up anymore. She doesn’t have to worry about you or Anthony or Victor. If you’re in trouble, she can use her new powers to save you.”

  I shook my head with a little scoff. “She’s alone. Forever.”

  “Yeah, but she knew that going in. She made her choice.” My girlfriend leaned over, trying to meet my eyes. “She got the end she chose. Ain’t nobody who can say that.”

  I rolled my shoulders, fighting against the urge to keep arguing. If I was honest with myself, I was tired of being angry and hurt. I was tired of being unhappy.

  Esmer was right. Jasmine didn’t seem particularly sad or upset whenever I caught her doing her job. Well, not until she noticed me and realized I was chasing after her. It was hard to consider her feelings when I still felt the sting of abandonment, when I still missed hanging out with her and hated not being able to talk to her. But maybe she was happy. Maybe she was at peace, knowing she’d ended Death’s curses, cured our uncle, and had the power to help us should we ever need divine intervention. Maybe that was what freedom meant to her.

  Who was I to wish that away just because I needed her?

  The thing was—I’d always needed her. All this time I’d been floundering, trying to figure out what it meant to be a person without my twin. Uncle Victor and Esmer, thank God, had been patient with me. But Jasmine was done being patient. That’s why she’d finally spoken to me today. She was nudging me on, like she always did. Only this was the last time.

  Go. Be. Live.

  For me. For you. For us.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. Esmer made a sympathetic sound, reaching toward me.

  “It’s okay.” I cleared my throat, casting a look around the restaurant. “You’re right. I’m being an ass.” I nodded at her shoulder. “It was a nice gesture. I’m sure Jasmine appreciates it.”

  If Esmer was experiencing whiplash from my crazy range of emotions, she didn’t show it. She just nodded once and went back to her meal.

  “I, uh, got an email from Mrs. Smith today,” I said, eager to change the subject.

  “Yeah?”

  “She wants to fly you, me, and Uncle Vic out to visit them in Paris. What do you think? Want to go?”

  Esmer sent me a mischievous smile from beneath her lashes. “Oh, hell yeah.”

  I couldn’t help grinning back. Maybe I’d like traveling. Maybe I’d hate it. In the end, it didn’t matter. I’d be doing what Jasmine asked. And who knew? Maybe I’d end up doing a little bit of living along the way.

  About the Authors

  Becca Fox is a socially awkward introvert who loves to read and write, binge watch crime-solving shows and anime, and play videogames next to her gamer husband. She also loves to bake, and plan trips she hopes to one day take. She has a toddler and a crawler, which means that her house truly is as messy as you’re imagining.

  Martha Agundez has a BA in English from Sacramento State University. She worked as a tutor at the Sacramento State University Writing Center for two semesters and was a journalist for The State Hornet Newspaper for one semester. She was also the Calaveras Station Literary Journal Fiction Section Editor for a semester. She has worked as a 916Ink manuscript copy editor for three years and counting, while also offering her editing services as a freelancer.