by D. C. Gomez
Death was unique, appearing to each person according to their own belief. For some people, Death appeared in the shape of a monster or their worst nightmares. Others saw Death as a long-lost friend or relative who came to guide them to their next journey. For me, Death was always a tall, beautiful lady with long, silky brown hair who dressed impeccably. She often resembled my dead mother.
I always wondered which one I resembled the most, my mom or my dad. I was five feet nine inches, with long black hair and a mocha complexion. In the twin cities of Texarkana, I was considered exotic to the point of attractive. Unfortunately, my parents had named me Isis Black. In the age of terrorism, my name was a constant topic of painful discussions and explanations. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t consider a nickname. It wasn’t like people ever remembered the Egyptian goddess when the name Isis was brought up.
“Isis!” I heard Eugene say my name. I didn’t know how, but he whispered and yelled at the same time. “Are you listening to me?”
Oops, I guessed I tuned him out for a while.
“Sorry. I was thinking,” I said, looking around the area. We were at the Sacred Heart Cemetery, located on Texas Boulevard across from the T-Line station. And I still didn’t understand why. “Tell me again why we are roaming around this cemetery at night.”
“Easy. Because we would probably get arrested for poking around the cemetery during the day,” Eugene told me, planting his feet in a wide stance as he folded his arms over his chest. A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Thanks Mr. Smarty-Pants. Now, think you can explain the cemetery part?” I replied as I waved my arms around to emphasize the setting.
“You have a lot of questions today,” Eugene told me with a frown.
“Yes, I do, but normally you aren’t this shady with your information. Stop changing the subject and spill it, or I’m not moving.” I put my hands on my hips and stopped walking.
Eugene wouldn’t meet my eyes, instead his gaze drifted everywhere but to me. I had to admit he looked extremely cute when he was nervous. He was a very attractive black man in his early twenties. He looked like a young Will Smith. I was talking about the Will Smith in Independence Day.
“Stop pressuring me, Isis. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
I raised my eyebrows. If Eugene was keeping secrets, it could only be for one person.
“The Mistress said this was a classified mission,” Eugene confessed in a whisper.
I knew it. The only one Eugene was this loyal to was his Horseman Pestilence. While I was Death’s Intern, Eugene was the rookie Intern for Pestilence. Pestilence was also Death’s sister, and one nasty lady. The sisters were polar opposites. While Death was warm and motherly, Pestilence was Queen B. Pestilence even made her ten Interns call her Mistress. She didn’t bother learning their names. They all went by numbers, which was completely insane. The poor guys worked and lived underground in a state-of-the-art lab. It was a good thing they were chemists and enjoyed their living conditions. Because if it was me living there, I’d be terrified.
Constantine, the five-thousand-year-old talking cat that served as the guardian and trainer for all of Death’s Interns, explained how all the Horsemen had interns. We all had different purposes and modes of operations. Normally, Interns did not interact with each other. According to Constantine, that piece of information—and so much more—could be found in my Intern manual. Who read manuals anyways? I was pretty sure my manual was MIA—missing in action and not coming back. To Constantine’s pain, I never read it. It wasn’t on purpose. It just didn’t look that important since it was so tiny.
“Eugene, talk. We don’t need another zombie apocalypse,” I told him sternly. That was how we first met, trying to stop a zombie apocalypse that Pestilence’s poor hiring practices instigated. Afterwards, Death convinced her sister to keep the partnership, and now we get to spend every weekend with Eugene.
“Fine, just don’t tell Constantine.” Eugene looked around like he was expecting Pestilence to appear. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to bring back these little white flowers that are only grown by gnomes. Pestilence is researching a new strand of the whooping cough.”
“What gnomes?” I asked as my gaze roamed the area. What was he talking about?
“Seriously, Isis. That’s what you are concerned about?” Eugene pressed his lips together.
“Your entire team is in the business of killing humanity,” I told Eugene. “Why should I be shocked that you’re developing a new strand of some deadly virus? That is standard procedure for you. But the gnome thing, that’s new.”
“You got a point there,” he agreed. “According to the mistress, now that Texarkana was a Haven, gnomes will be moving in everywhere.” Eugene looked at me like that made any sense.
“Okay, Einstein, slow it down. What’s a Haven?” I sucked today. I could barely follow this conversation, and I definitely wasn’t understanding it.
“You really need to read your manual,” Eugene told me as he crossed his arms.
“Don’t you start with that,” I replied in a firm tone. I knew the only reason he read his manual was because Pestilence had a mandatory test on it. I prayed Constantine never heard about that. “Just tell me, please. I really don’t want to ask Constantine.” And I didn’t. He was known for instilling fear in the hearts of everyone.
“That would be a painful lecture.” Eugene gave me a soft look. “Havens are a sanctuary for the supernatural communities. They are places where every creature is protected and treated fairly. In North America, Texarkana—both the Texas and Arkansas side—and even a few of its surrounding communities are the new Haven.”
“Why? Of all the places to have a sanctuary, why here?” I wanted to know who made that decision. Why wouldn’t they pick San Diego or Cancun since those are tropical areas, larger cities, and have a lot more to offer? It made no sense to me.
“I don’t know. Why did you pick Texarkana to move to?” Eugene asked me.
“What does one thing have to do with the other?” I wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing on how I landed in Texarkana running away from my past. The funny thing was, my past came knocking at my door anyway, only in the shape of Death.
“Everything.” Eugene rubbed at his sleeves. “Havens are the territory of Death. The locations are based on the places where the Interns live. Which means, Isis, you now are the town sheriff.”
“Sheriff!” I yelled, and the sound echoed through the cemetery. I couldn’t help it. I did not like the sound of that.
“Unfortunately, you are responsible for keeping everyone safe and enforcing the law.” Eugene looked at the ground when he spoke. “The good news is, everyone knows the reputations of the sheriffs so everyone behaves.” I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working.
“Eugene, what are the punishments for crimes committed in Haven?” I asked as a sick feeling tossed back and forth in my stomach.
“The usual, I guess.” He shrugged. “Banishment, beatings, and even death to all violators.”
“Great,” I mumbled, my shoulders slumping and my whole face falling. I didn’t have the stomach to kill anyone. “I’m not sure why we have intern rules if I have to violate them to do the job.”
As Death’s Interns, we had five simple rules we had to follow. Luckily, I could recite the rules in my head. One: You couldn’t tell anyone you worked for Death. Two: You couldn’t kill anyone unless it was self-defense. Three: You couldn’t contact Death unless you were actually dying. Four: Being Death’s Intern was your primary job and other jobs couldn’t interfere with it. Five: Any romantic relationship couldn’t get in the way of the job.
“Eugene, why is this happening now? I have been an Intern for over a year,” I asked him, hoping there had been a mistake.
“What I gathered from Fifty, because of the short life of Death’s Interns, Havens can only be established after your one-year anniversary,” Eugene explained. “So, congr
atulations, you made it to Haven status.” Eugene gave me two thumbs up when he finished.
I blinked at him, not nearly as excited as he was. “Thanks. We can celebrate later. For now, let’s get out of here.” I had information overload and needed time to process it.
“Great. Look for a small white flower. They grow near the headstones,” Eugene said as he leaned down, almost crawling over the tombs.
As I watched Eugene, something caught my eye. I glanced to the left, sure I’d seen something moving, but there was nothing there. Maybe it was just a branch from that big tree in the back. But then the whole tree moved, and I knew it hadn’t been my imagination.
“Oh God. Eugene, the trees are moving!” I tried to whisper, but it came out as a squeal.
“What?” Eugene turned around to stare at me. “Trees moving? What are you talking about?” he asked, the words rushing out of him in confusion.
I pointed in the direction of the nine-foot-tall tree coming at us.
“Isis, that’s not a tree,” Eugene said, his voice way higher than normal. “That’s a troll, and he is coming for us. Run.” Eugene took off, grabbing my hand and dragging me along.
“Eugene, let go of my hand. We need to split up.” I had never seen a troll before, but I knew survival tactics. “He can’t chase us both. That will give us a chance to knock him out.” After several instances of people trying to beat me up, I was a bit paranoid. I never left the house without taking certain precautions. Thanks to Eugene, I now carried a paintball gun, which he had created a special formula for the paintballs. They knocked people out without killing them.
“Unless you have a fifty-pound barrel, you don’t have enough.” I looked over my shoulder and realized Eugene was right. That thing was huge.
“Whatever. We are trying this. You go left, I’ll head right,” I told Eugene as I pulled away. He didn’t look happy, but he moved with a purpose. Eugene looked like one of those people you see at the mall powerwalking.
I, on the other hand, took off at a full sprint. At the beginning, I was doing great, weaving through the tombs and moving quickly, until I heard Eugene scream. I looked back and somehow managed to slip on some grass, landing flat on my butt. I didn’t have time to nurse my pride, not when I stared into the eyes of two very strange creatures, a male and a female. They looked like ten-inch dolls that were mixed with flowers. They had petals coming out of their heads like little hats, and branches sticking out of their bodies in different places.
“What are you?” I asked the two little creatures as I reached to touch them. They looked so cute and delicate.
“Oh no, she can see us. Get Godzilla to squish her,” the male said.
“I need to ask Constantine if our insurance covers being squished by a troll.” I giggled like a little girl. Surely, I must have a concussion if I was giggling.
“She said ‘Constantine?’” the female said as she sprayed me with sparkling dust. “We killed the Intern. We are dead.”
“It might be a different Constantine,” the male told her.
“Do you know another five-thousand-year-old talking cat?” I asked them as my head started spinning.
“Oh, we are so dead,” the female repeated.
“Nobody is going to die,” I said, trying to get up, but failing. “What are you guys?”
“Oh yes, sorry,” the female said as the little couple tried to help me stand up. They had worse luck than I did. “I’m Trish and this is Trey. We are the new gnomes in town.”
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said when I managed to sit up. “Why do I feel this way?” I asked the little gnomes.
“Sorry about that, Isis.” Trey’s voice shook when he spoke. “It’s our, you know...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I have no clue, but I’m probably too stoned to get it.” After several visits to the hospital in the Army, I knew what good narcotics felt like. Whatever this was, it was out of this world. “Is that tree-troll thing with you?” I asked the cute little couple, pointing toward the troll.
They glanced in the direction I pointed. “He is our security guy,” Trish said so softly I almost missed it.
“Great. Could you call him off before he kills my friend?” I couldn’t turn my head without feeling nauseous.
“Of course.” Trish let out a loud whistle. I couldn’t focus very well, but I did see the tree-troll retreating. “Please don’t tell Constantine.”
I giggled. That cat had everyone terrorized. “Not a problem; he will be fine.” They both took a few deep breaths. “Could you do us a favor please?” I asked, giggling again.
“Sure, anything,” Trish said, but Trey was biting his lips and looking around the place.
“Could we get some of your little white flowers?” I asked the gnomes and they looked at each other, then raised their leafy eyebrows. “My friend works for Pestilence and he needs to bring some back.”
“That crazy witch is back to her old tricks,” Trish said, shaking her head. “Sure, but only this time. This stuff is dangerous.”
“Thank you so much. You two are so cute,” I said as I leaned my head against a headstone near me. The world started spinning around me.
“She is so cute and so polite. I hope she lasts.” I heard Trish talking, but could hardly focus on her.
As soon as my eyes closed, everything went dark.
“Isis. Isis, wake up!” Eugene screamed in my ears as he nearly shook me to death.
“I’m awake. I’m awake. Stop that,” I mumbled to Eugene. My head was still spinning, but not as much. Still, I just wanted to sleep, but I forced my eyes open slowly. I hoped I wasn’t drooling.
“Oh, thank God. You scared me to death.” Eugene hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“Sorry, just don’t strangle me now,” I said, and Eugene released his tight hold.
“We need to get you out of here now,” Eugene said, pulling me up.
“Don’t forget your flowers. The gnomes left them for you,” I told him, still giddy.
“Great.” That was all he said as he struggled to pick up the flowers and keep me up. “You need fresh air and a slushy.”
I smiled happily at Eugene as he led us out. I loved slushies.
CHAPTER TWO
MY head was still fuzzy by the time we made it to Reapers. That was after an hour of Eugene driving us around and feeding me Sonic’s slushies and fries to clear my mind. I was a little jealous of Eugene today. The gnomes’ narcotics didn’t affect him. As one of Pestilence’s Interns, he was immune to any form of virus, bacteria, or any type of drug. That was a blessing with his job. Last thing anyone needed was the scientists dying from their experiments.
Reapers Incorporated—as the red Gothic letters in front of the metal building read—was our headquarters. We were located in Nash’s Business Park. From the outside, Reapers blended with all the other buildings in the park and was just another metal building. If I had been driving, we would have pulled around the back towards the vehicle entrance. Constantine had a rule that only Reapers vehicles were allowed in the building.
Eugene parked his company car, a hearse of all things, by the front door and we walked in the front entrance, then moved through the security system.
Any other day, this would not bother me. Today it was a painful experience. Reapers was a giant bomb shelter with every kind of security installed. The scanning system in the building was more precise than any you would find at an airport. It scanned for metal, explosives, and even spells. Unfortunately, the crazy blue light was giving me an aching headache. By the time we passed all the securities, I was in no condition for the climb up the stairs. In fact, it made me wonder why we didn’t have an elevator.
Reapers had a first floor and part of a second floor. The first floor housed our shooting range, personal gym, car shop, and Bob’s apartment. The second floor was a combination of bedrooms, kitchen, and central control area. The front of the second floor we called the Loft, since it served as our commo
n area and Command Center. You could see the Loft from the first floor, since the inside wall was made of glass.
I was still feeling loopy from my interaction with the gnomes. My balance was still off, so I braced myself for climbing the stairs, afraid if I didn’t I might tumble back down them. Eugene grabbed me by the waist and guided me, making sure I didn’t kill myself.
“I’m pitiful,” I mumbled to him.
“I’m actually very impressed,” Eugene whispered in my ear.
“Impressed about what?” The words sounded wrong to me, which made me think I wasn’t was enunciating properly.
“Most humans are knocked-out cold for at least twenty-four hours due to the narcotics of the gnomes.” Eugene looked me up and down as he spoke. “I can’t believe you are walking.” He gave me a sweet smile.
“I wouldn’t call this walking,” I replied in a dry tone, but I still smiled back.
By the time we made it to the second floor and into the loft, I was exhausted. I did a quick check of the area. Constantine and Bob were on the opposite side of the room, watching a movie on the large-screen TV that doubles as our teleconference screen. We had the most comfortable leather couch on that side of the loft. Around the TV we had tons of monitors, which Bartholomew used to hack into the city’s security systems. I had no idea how he did it, and I didn’t want to know.
Bartholomew sat in front of his computer station across from Bob and Constantine, and I assumed he was playing a video game. In the last five months, Bartholomew had grown another two inches. He was now only an inch shorter than me at five feet eight inches. His curly brown hair was its usual mess and his hazel eyes were glued to the screen.
Bartholomew was only twelve, but he was a certifiable genius. Last May we made a pact and I verbally adopted him as my little brother. No paper work was required, but everyone knew he was my family. Neither of us had blood siblings, so it worked out perfect. Bartholomew’s parents had died when he was young, and Death had become his guardian. A part of me wanted to give him a normal life—as normal as I could while working for Death and chasing souls around. I just hated how fast he was growing.