by D. C. Gomez
Bob turned The Beast off. The Beast moniker is a bit of a contradiction; it is a 1980s white Toyota regular cab truck. In comparison to most vehicles in Texarkana, it is tiny. I wasn’t too impressed at first until Bob and Bartholomew finished upgrading it. The engine in that truck is to die for.
Bob and I walked into the loft to find Constantine napping in the command center area on top of the black leather couch. That couch is the most comfortable piece of furniture in the apartment. We are all in love with it. Constantine looked up at us and did his cat stretches. Bob walked over to the sink and started washing all the empty mugs he had brought up. Bob is always thoughtful. Now that he is adjusting back to “normal” life, whatever that means when you worked for Death, he has developed an obsession with cooking. He is addicted to the Food Network. Bob is the Barefoot Contessa’s number one fan.
“Isis, do I want to know why you’re wet?” Constantine had jumped on the kitchen island and was sniffing me suspiciously. “Why do you smell fishy?”
“She fell in the lake chasing the runner.” Sometimes Bob can be a little too helpful for my taste.
“Thanks, Bob.” I gave him another evil glare that he totally ignored. Instead, he just smiled wickedly.
“That sucks.” That was a very calm remark for Constantine. “Did you at least get him?”
“Yes. I eventually yelled at him to stop and was able to grab him.” I made sure not to make eye contact when I said that.
“You didn’t try that from the beginning?” Constantine’s voice had taken on a confused tone.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” I said, trying to look innocent.
“Girl, please don’t tell me you still haven’t read that manual.” Constantine was now staring at me like I had stolen his lunch.
“I’ve been busy.” I was pleading now and sounded pitiful.
“Busy, busy, my tail.” He glared at me then turned toward Bob. “You got the soul, but why are you two looking so disturbed?”
Constantine and I were now both looking at Bob. I had no idea how he was going to explain the guy.
“The runner wasn’t the problem. It was this weird guy we saw when we were leaving.”
I could tell Bob was struggling to find the words to explain.
“That is not very specific. Tons of weird guys run around Spring Lake Park. You know its history.” Constantine had taken his Sphinx pose as he spoke.
“He was different, even for Spring Lake. He took a bite out of a squirrel that was still alive.”
“You didn’t tell me they had an Ozzy concert at the park.”
I rolled my eyes. Constantine was an encyclopedia of pop culture and he used his references at the worst possible time. On the other hand, when you were as old as he was, I was sure he didn’t care.
“I wish. He was almost zombie-like.” Bob was looking perplexed and I was afraid to hear the answer to this.
“Don’t say the Z word,” Constantine growled.
“Please tell me you’re kidding. Do we have zombies in the world?” I couldn’t help it. I had seen World War Z and that was one group of supernatural creatures I could live without.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? We do not say the Z word.” Constantine growled at me this time.
“Sorry, but you’re kidding.” I was still pleading.
“Unfortunately no. There are very few things that land on Death’s bad list; those ‘things’ are one of them.” Constantine looked very thoughtful.
“Death has a bad list?” I was grateful Bob had asked the question. Bob was Constantine’s favorite human and he could get away with anything. Those two had become inseparable. It was a bit creepy.
“Well, everyone has one. Death’s list is fairly short: vampires, necromancers, and anything that doesn’t stay dead. Oh, I almost forgot, and that alchemist guy. He is a special one.” Constantine was very casual when he delivered his little speech.
“Vampires? Really?” I didn’t care about some alchemist guy unless he planned to eat my soul, but vampires were a whole different story. My job was getting more difficult. I was starting not to like Mondays anymore.
“Girl, please!” Constantine had a way of saying the word girl so it sounded like an insult it was almost like he was calling me dumb, maybe he was. “Where do you think all those stories come from? For every myth, there is a touch of truth to it.”
“Fair enough, but you didn’t say the Z word. Is it not on the list?”
“The zombies,” Constantine said, looking around before he said the word, “are not technically the problem. They are not self-created. You need a necromancer to raise them. Death has an automatic death sentence for anyone raising the dead and you are supposed to carry it out. See why we don’t want any of them running around?”
My mouth went dry and I just stared at Constantine. I am supposed to kill people. Oh wow. As I remember, Constantine told me we had five simple rules as Interns and they were simple: One, you could not tell anyone you worked for Death. This one should be deleted since everyone knew I worked for Death before I walked into the room. Two, you could not kill anyone unless it was in self-defense. Three, you could not contact Death unless you were dying. Four, being an Intern was my primary job. Other jobs could not interfere with this one. Five, any romantic relationship could not interfere with this job. Becoming an executioner was not one of the rules and I was terrified. I had never killed anyone, not even while serving in the military. I was in the Army band with the 82nd Airborne Division.
“How often do necromancers appear?” Oh, thank God Bob asked the question. I was still stunned.
“There are not many around. The ones remaining have gone underground hence the reason we probably do not have a Z problem. It’s probably somebody on drugs.”
Constantine wasn’t very convincing.
“I know this is against the rules, but shouldn’t we call Death?” I didn’t want to, but this was way over my head.
“No! At no cost do we call the boss unless we are one-hundred-percent sure.” Constantine had jumped up and looked like he was ready to pounce.
I was saved from replying when Bartholomew entered the room. He was covered in grease and carrying a package. I hadn’t seen him downstairs, so he was probably in the shooting range or in his new makeshift shop. He was too busy looking at some schematics to even make eye contact. I looked over at Bob, who shook his head, confused.
“Hi Bart, how are you?” I tried.
“Hi, Isis. Here, this came in for you.” He handed me the package, barely looking up.
“Hey, big guy. What are you working on?” Bob asked Bartholomew while I struggled to open my package.
“My robot is getting stuck and I can’t figure out why.” Bartholomew was still barely looking at us. This was unusual since he was the most social and caring person in the group.
“What robot?” I asked Bartholomew as I pulled a blowgun from the package. Attached was a small card that said, “Welcome to the family. Glad you are still alive. Jose.”
“Doesn’t anyone ever pay any attention to me? Remember I signed up for the College Bowl robotics competition.”
Oh God, I forgot that Texarkana was hosting a competition between all the universities and colleges in the area. While Texarkana did not have a college football team, it planned to have all other events to include chess, debate, and, of course, robotics.
“I’m sorry, Bart. Is that this weekend?” I was trying to calm him down. I had never seen Bart so upset before.
“Hellooo, Memorial Weekend!”
Wow, Bartholomew was becoming a very moody preteen. We were in trouble.
“Is that this weekend?” Poor Bob was going to get it by the way Bartholomew looked at him. “Calm down, big guy. We just found a zombie in the park and were a bit preoccupied.”
“There are no zombies in the park. Stop saying that.” Constantine’s fur was standing up on end. This was getting intense.
“Don’t you dare ruin this for me! I�
��m the youngest person competing. I have a lot to prove.” Bartholomew was ready to scream.
“OK everyone, calm down now. No more zombie talk till we find out what’s going on. Bart, I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine. If anything, you’ll destroy everyone. Breathe.”
Now that I thought about it, twelve-year-old boys with unlimited budgets will be noticed.
“I’ve got work to do.” Without another word, he stomped out.
“Constantine, is it wise to have him compete? Wouldn’t that draw a lot of attention to us?”
“Are you planning to tell him no?” We looked at each other and I knew he was right.
“Good point, his wrath might be worse.” I was staring out the glass panel that faced the right side of the balcony. It had a clear view of the first floor as well as the stairs leading down. Bartholomew looked pissed. I didn’t know he was so competitive.
“Isis, what did you get this time?” Bob was looking at me expectantly. That was one thing I loved about him now, never dwelled very long on stuff.
“A blowgun, and by the looks of it, it’s from South America.”
Bob walked over to look at the blowgun. Death’s Interns were a peculiar breed. Due to the high mortality rate, interns waited at least six months before welcoming others to the family.
“I really like Jose. That’s one busy boy.” Constantine sounded like a proud parent.
“How many is this now? Three?” Bob was playing with the blowgun as he talked.
“Four, if you count the penguin picture I got from the Bob in Antarctica. I also got a sword from Asia and the magic gourd from Africa. No clue how to use that one.” I guess as part of the welcoming letter you also received a gift, some of them odd.
“You got a penguin picture?” I was glad Bob asked and that he was as confused as me. “Antarctica Bob is special, but what do you expect when you live all the way down there alone? Besides, he has the most seniority.”
Constantine looked thoughtful, which always terrifies me. “Isis, what are your plans for this week?”
“I was planning to investigate the guy at the park. Help Abuelita out with food, the usual. Why?” My hackles were going up in nervous anticipation at what Constantine might be plotting.
“Isis, you need a life,” Constantine said in a very matter-of-fact way.
“What? I have a life.” I looked at Bob for moral support, but he wasn’t looking at me.
“When was the last time you went on a date?”
Was Constantine kidding? He was back into his Sphinx pose.
“I’ve been busy, between Abuelita and this job.” I did not like this conversation at all.
“Isis, you don’t have any regular shifts anymore. You need some distraction, so we set you up on a date for Wednesday. Only lunch, but it’ll be great.”
Constantine had a weird grin on his feline face and Bob was staring at the floor. I was stunned.
“Constantine, did you bump your head or something? I’m not going on a blind date. That’s crazy.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“You’ll be fine. I made you an appointment to see Patty as well. Get a facial, a manicure. The whole nine yards.” He was looking at me like this was normal. I was going to choke him. “Isis, you are becoming a hermit and losing touch with the world. Dealing with souls all the time is not good for a human. You need some normal interactions even if they are horrible. So you’re going on a date and that’s an order. I don’t need you going postal on us.” Without another word, he jumped down and headed out the kitty door.
“Can he order me to date?” I looked at Bob for support.
“If you work for Death, I guess so. Don’t worry too much, Isis. It’s only one date. How bad could it be? Besides, the guy works for the postal service and he’s harmless.” Bob handed me the blowgun and patted my shoulders. “Isis, we just worry about you.”
“Thanks.” My day had officially gotten worse. “I’ll take a shower and head over to Abuelita’s to help out.”
Bob smiled and headed out the door. Was my life so bad that I needed to be set up on a blind date by a cat?
CHAPTER 3
I drove Ladybug down to Abuelita’s. I was still in a horrible mood. Abuelita’s was a small—OK more like a hole-in-the-wall—Tex-Mex restaurant located on Highway 82 between Nash and Texarkana. While the place was little, it had the best food in town. The owner was Abuelita, so she wasn’t very original with her naming. Abuelita enjoyed being a grandmother and was proud of it since Abuelita meant “grandma” in Spanish. Abuelita was about five feet eleven, with gorgeous silver hair and curvaceous body. For a woman in her sixties—I was pretty sure that was her age—she looked incredible. There was something earthy about her that reminded me of my godmother, the fabulous woman who’d raised me. Abuelita described herself as a modern-day medicine woman. Constantine preferred the term practicing sorceress aka witch.
The restaurant was closed at this hour. Usually, Abuelita’s was only open for dinner during the week and had lunch and dinner hours during the weekend. In the past few months, business had increased. According to Abuelita, rumors spread that Death’s rookie Intern was working at her place and the entire supernatural community in the four states area was coming out en masse. That was the main reason why I was no longer working my regular hours. I never expected to be so upset about losing a waitress job, but I enjoyed the job and my regular clients. Unfortunately, after three different incidents where thugs challenged me to a fight, Bob, Constantine, and Abuelita all decided it wasn’t safe for the clients or me. Death’s Interns had a reputation for being “tough,” and everyone wanted to test their skills against me.
Fortunately, Abuelita’s business didn’t suffer from all the fights. On the contrary, its popularity increased and many continued to come in hopes of a show. Abuelita also expanded into home catering. At first, it was aimed at her elderly clients that were no longer able to drive. Then the news spread and now Abuelita was catering parties and office meetings. This new addition to the business meant Abuelita was always working. As Constantine pointed out, I didn’t have much of a life, so I came over a lot to help—or maybe just hide. I didn’t eat meat by choice, but I loved the smell of Abuelita’s kitchen. To ensure no lunatics followed me, I varied the hours I went to Abuelita’s each day.
Today it’s a late Monday morning and the place was deserted, thank the Lord. I parked behind the building next to Abuelita’s Cadillac. She was a bit eccentric, but nobody could deny she had great taste. I walked in through the back kitchen entrance. I still had my keys to the place, even though I was no longer waitressing. If I hadn’t seen the crazy scene in front of me before, I would have panicked. Abuelita looked like a mad scientist. There were pots on both of her large stoves. Steam was coming out of half of them and she was mixing some bowl as if the ingredients were on fire. Then again with Abuelita, that was possible.
“Isis, honey. Can you stir that pot over there, please? Don’t let the rice burn now.” Abuelita had this crazy ability to know who was in the room even without seeing them. After all this time, I was used to it.
“Yes, ma’am.” I walked over the pot and stirred the rice. I glanced at the other pots, where tamales were steaming, frijoles were simmering, and something sweet was boiling. “New recipe?” I asked, pointing at the boiling pot.
“Sweetie, you will never believe this. I met a Dominican the other day.” She was so excited that she stopped mixing for a moment.
I was a little confused. “A Dominican? Like a Catholic priest or like Dominican from the DR?” Honestly, this was a valid question in my mind. I had never heard of a Dominican from the Dominican Republic this far down in Texas. Most were in New England or New York City.
“Really? She rolled her eyes at me as she spoke, trying to look serious. “One from the island, of course.”
“You met a Dominican in Texarkana. Was he or she lost?” I was in awe.
“It was a guy, and honestly I thought the same thing. He was pr
eviously in service in the army and got a job at the depot. But that’s not the point. He was telling me about this dessert his mother used to make. I had to try it.” She was back to mixing with the delight only chefs and cooks get.
“That’s interesting. So what’s the dish? I know you’re dying to tell me.”
Abuelita burst into a huge smile at my question. She really couldn’t wait to tell me.
“It’s like a sweet empanada, made with guava and cream cheese. They are a bit smaller and lighter. So I’m hoping to perfect them for the College Bowl. Trying to see if we can compete with those stupid fried pies. Everyone is raving about them lately.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I shook my head. Abuelita was getting as competitive as Bartholomew. This College Bowl was going to be the death of my people. I started stirring the frijoles absently.
“Isis, are you OK?” Abuelita’s voice sounded worried.
“I guess.” I was making my rounds around all the pots, trying to avoid looking directly at Abuelita.
“Well, that’s convincing. Let me hear it, child.” Her crazy mixing had stopped and she now had a giant ball of dough in her bowl. She washed her hands and grabbed her cutting board to put her dough on it. .
“Agh. Constantine says I have no life and set me up on a blind date.” I let the words spill as quickly as possible. Abuelita stopped kneading and looked at me. She raised an eyebrow in response.
“Did he? How do you feel about it?” She slowly started kneading the dough while paying close attention to me.
“I have a life, just not a social one. Do you know how hard it is to go out when you’re chasing souls all over North America? What happened to the whole light thing?”