by D. C. Gomez
The first one to notice us was Bob. Bob was my first friend in Texarkana, and like me, he was prior military. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but I guessed in his forties. Bob was six feet tall, with sandy blond hair and sea green eyes. He looked like a rugged Daniel Craig. While Bartholomew was our resident arms dealer and supply sergeant, Bob had become our in-house chef and getaway driver.
“What happened to you?” Bob shouted when he finally realized Eugene was carrying me. He rushed across the room and before I could explain, he grabbed me from Eugene’s arms and sat me down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Isis inhaled quite a large amount of gnome dust,” Eugene said in a soft tone. “Don’t worry, though. She is going to be fine. I got her out before the hallucinations started.”
I was glad Eugene had failed to mention that to me earlier.
Constantine sprinted from the couch and was sitting on the table in less than two seconds. It impressed me how fast he was for a fifteen-pound cat.
“Gnomes? They found us already?” Constantine hissed as he spoke. “Who was it? I’ll take care of this.” I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like Constantine was glaring.
“Relax Constantine, they didn’t do it on purpose,” I managed to say, but not very loudly.
“They? So it was more than one?” Constantine’s claws were retracted, but he still tapped the table as he spoke. “Great. We have a plague of gnomes in town.” He looked around like the gnomes had invaded Reapers and we hadn’t noticed. “Explain how you looking like hell is not their fault, and why your clothes are dirty.” Constantine demanded me as he took a closer look.
I took a deep breath before starting, a nervous habit I’d never been able to shake. “Technically we were trespassing on a cemetery. I tripped and landed at their feet.” I was a little embarrassed to admit the last part, even under the influence of all the narcotics.
“Why were you guys at a cemetery?” It had taken Bartholomew longer than I expected to join the conversation, but when I glanced over at him and saw the headphones around his neck, I understood why.
“That is a really good question. Please explain,” Bob insisted as he walked over to the kitchen and faced the fridge.
“Eugene, how about you do us the honor since this was your idea.”
Fine, so I was a chicken, but I was not going down alone for this little adventure.
“This better be good,” Constantine told Eugene as he crouched into his favorite Sphinx pose.
“You see, what happened was…” Eugene trailed off. He was in trouble. I knew it because he always was when he started a sentence that way. His eyes searched the room, as if he wanted to bolt out the door. Eventually, he gave up looking for a way out and slumped into a chair. “It isn’t my fault. The mistress made me do it. She didn’t tell me the gnomes were going to hire a troll as a bodyguard.”
“Hold up. What troll?” Bob shouted, leaning against the open fridge door, probably looking for something to cook.
“He was huge,” I told Bob in a serious tone. “I was sure a tree was attacking us.” I spread my hands wide for emphasis.
“Are we supposed to have trolls in town?” Bartholomew asked, glancing at Constantine.
“Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time.” Constantine answered, shaking his head. “I probably don’t want to know what Pestilence sent you to get,” Constantine said, his eyes landing on Eugene.
“Some weird flower that only grows around gnomes,” I told him, rolling my eyes. I started giggling for no reason, and the boys stared at me as if I had turned into a crazy person. I guessed I was still high, so I tried to regain control by rubbing my face. “So, this Haven stuff, do we take a head count of whose moving in? I would like to know which areas might get me killed the next time Eugene wants to trespass.”
“A head count?” Constantine asked me.
“Yeah, like a census,” I answered. That made perfect sense to me in my current condition.
“That’s an interesting idea,” Constantine said as he eyed at Bartholomew.
I raised my eyebrows at the boys. “Okay what am I missing?” I was hoping it was the narcotics affecting my thought process, but I feared I was a little slow today.
“Most Interns avoid Havens like the plague. The fact you want to be involved is unusual,” Bartholomew told me. “They move around every six months to avoid establishing one,” Bartholomew finished with a sad tone to his voice. That sounded like a lot of work just to avoid people.
“Is this another one of those Intern duties nobody wants to do?” I asked.
“Isis, like I said earlier, you are now responsible for all the citizens of Haven,” Eugene jumped in. “That’s a huge responsibility on top of everything else you do.”
“Guys, I don’t like the idea of enforcing random laws or killing anyone,” I told them. “But I’m not planning to run away from my responsibilities because they aren’t fun. I joined the Army to serve and protect those I love. This is not any different. Since I’m in charge, it means you are all coming along with me. Starting today, you can consider yourselves deputies.”
Their eyes went wide with excitement.
“Yes! I’m a deputy.” Bartholomew bounced with anticipation.
“Oh Lord, wait till Shorty hears about this,” Bob said with a smile. Shorty was our resident informant to the Underground—the large network of transient citizens in Texarkana.
I looked over at Constantine and I swore he winked at me.
“Sorry Isis, the Mistress won’t let me moonlight,” Eugene told me with a frown. “But can I still get a badge?” He looked like a five-year-old waiting for a present.
“Of course, Eugene,” I told him. “Bart, sounds like you need to order us some badges and proper IDs.” I giggled again.
“Bartholomew, add developing a registry for the Haven to your list of things to do,” Constantine told Bartholomew. With a salute, Bartholomew ran to his computer, and Constantine turned to me. “And you need a shower.”
I looked down at my clothes. He was right. I was filthy. I wasn’t sure how I had gotten this dirty since I was pretty sure I had fallen on my butt. Maybe when I blacked out, I rolled around in the dirt or something. Either way, I saw no reason to argue with Constantine, so I stood from the chair and headed towards my room.
“Here, drink this.” Bob handed me a glass filled with a strange, green liquid. “It’s an Eric shake to clear your head.” Eric was Reaper’s martial arts trainer, wizard on retainer, local cop, and hunk extraordinaire. The last part I would never have said to his face, of course.
Eric’s shakes were never bad, they just looked weird. He had an ability to blend magical ingredients with super foods. My first six months at Reapers, I was on a diet of his shakes. It was the only thing that helped me make it through my training sessions, plus it ensured I didn’t die. So, there was that. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate to chug the drink as I made my way to my room.
When I turned on the light switch, big-band music filled the room. Bartholomew had rewired my room so when I flipped the lights on, the stereo would play. Death’s Interns had certain powers that would affect the dead—also the living, but that was neither here nor there. My powers came through music. Thankfully, my room was sound proof.
As I walked inside and shut the door, my eyes were pulled to the new guitar I had purchased. It stood against the wall by my dresser. My goal for the weekend was to practice playing that beautiful instrument. Death’s gifts enhanced my natural abilities, and lately I had been able to pick up and play any instrument with very little training. I was dying to see how good I could get. Though, due to my little Eugene adventure, practice was cancelled for the rest of the evening.
With a soft sigh, I headed towards my bathroom for a long, hot shower.
By the time I entered the loft again, the boys were sitting at the kitchen table playing a Dungeons & Dragons game. Bartholomew was asked to join a gaming group at Texas A&M after last May’s zombie
apocalypse. Unfortunately, he came home and converted the rest of the tribe. Imaginary mission to save or attack some random group always felt too much like work for me, so I just watched from the side.
“Isis, why didn’t you tell me your birthday is November second, the day of the dead?” Eugene asked me from the table. His eyes were on the game, so he didn’t notice how mine had bugged out.
“I don’t do birthdays,” I said.
Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but the front door burst open then, saving me from an explanation. Death walked through, looking radiant in a black and white Armani suit. I was pretty sure Eugene didn’t see the same thing. He looked a bit pale in the cheeks.
“Constantine, did you give my brother my number?” Death asked Constantine as she crossed the room.
“Brother? What brother?” If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve sworn Constantine’s voice cracked a bit. “Death, what are you talking about?”
“Constantine, I’m not playing. He has called me twenty times already.” Death pulled out her cell phone as she spoke.
The only sibling of Death’s I had met was Pestilence. If the other two, War and Famine, were anything like that crazy witch, I would rather skip the reunion.
Constantine wouldn’t meet Death’s eyes. Everyone else pretended to be busy with something else, and I made my way to the fridge to look for food. It wasn’t like we were cowards, but Death and Constantine had a special relationship—one the rest of us didn’t get involved in.
“Isis, your dinner is in the fridge,” Bob told me as he walked in my direction. I almost rolled my eyes since I was already standing in front of the fridge.
“Death, honestly, why would I do such a thing?” I heard Constantine say. Bob and I were now hiding behind the fridge door. “Hey, what’s that sound?”
At first, I thought Constantine was stalling for time, but then I heard it. Bob and I met each other’s eyes before I closed the fridge and faced everyone. It was our teleconference system, and it was ringing.
“Constantine. Do not pick that up,” Death said, her tone more than serious.
Unfortunately, her words came too late because Constantine had already sprinted across the room and pressed the button. It wasn’t his fault. Constantine was a sucker for blinking lights.
Death took a deep breath as a broad-shouldered man with an olive complexion and jet-black hair came on the screen, wearing a military uniform.
“Guerra, what’s up my man?” Constantine said to the stranger with a huge grin on his face.
“Constantine, is that you?” the man asked as he stared at Constantine. How many talking cats did he know?
“Hey, don’t hate,” Constantine replied. “This is my North America camouflage. Taking a few pointers from you,” Constantine finished, putting his pointy fangs on full display. I almost laughed out loud.
Everyone else had a different reaction to the mystery caller. Bob looked a little pale, Eugene was mesmerized by him, and Bartholomew looked like a kid in a candy store. Death, on the other hand, was glaring at her brother. She had her arms crossed and her foot was tapping furiously.
As for me, I wasn’t too impressed, so I focused on eating my food.
“Good call, easier to fit in,” the mystery caller said. “Have you seen Muerte? He’s not answering my calls. I really need to talk to him.” The mystery caller’s gaze roamed as if he could see around the screen.
“What did you say?” Constantine asked the mystery caller. “Guerra, I think I’m losing you.” Before he could reply, Constantine hit the off button, then he turned to face Death. “Sorry, boss.”
“Constantine, I’m not in the mood for this,” Death replied as she headed out the door. “Fix this.”
“Death, you know he is just going to keep calling until he finds you,” Constantine told Death.
“Not today.” That was all Death said as she walked out the door and left us all staring at the spot she had just been standing.
“Oh wow, please tell me that was War!” Eugene broke the silence.
“Who else would it be?” Constantine asked as he made his way across the room.
“Yes! Wait until I tell the guys.” Eugene bounced off his chair and ran out the door. During his weekend visits, Eugene stayed downstairs in Bob’s guest bedroom. I guessed he was heading towards his room.
“Pestilence’s Interns really do need to go out more,” Constantine said as he stared out the glass wall and watched Eugene run across the first floor.
“Bob, are you okay?” Bartholomew asked Bob. I turned around and noticed Bob had a greenish hue across his face.
“I think it was something I ate. I’m going to bed.” Bob was out the door before we could say another word.
“When I think my days can’t get any weirder, I’m always surprised,” I said out loud. “I’m heading to bed. I don’t think I can process any more today. Goodnight.” I wasn’t sure if I was still suffering the side effects of the narcotics, but whatever just happened had been odd, so before anything weirder happened, I went to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
For most of the residents of the Bible Belt, Sundays were days of rest and worship. That was not the case for me. I was a Christian, technically Catholic, so I did practice my faith. As long as I was in town, I went to mass on Saturdays at five p.m. I even volunteered for the Saturday morning services of the Church Under the Bridge. That was one of the most moving experiences of my life. A dedicated group of volunteers minister to the transient population and share a meal together. Even for those who don’t believe in magic or God, they could feel the power.
With my Saturday church schedule, Sunday became another training day. This was like being back in the military. If we were not at war, we were training. As Death’s Intern, I trained all the time. Most of my training consisted of running, hand to hand combat, firing range, and of course, music. Nobody could deny I didn’t have a diverse life. I could qualify for a musician spy. Fortunately, I was far enough in my training that I could pick my own routine.
Today I planned to do a long-run, at least fifteen miles. After my little episode with the gnomes, I wanted to make sure my head was completely clear. I had been running six days a week and doing two long-run days. On average, I ran between a five-and six-minute mile. I wanted to take all the credit for that, but I had a feeling Death’s gifts played a part. The plan was simple. Head west for seven and a half miles on Highway 72, and then turn back.
I tiptoed down the stairs before sunrise. I didn’t have to be quiet at this time of the day. The boys were night owls and there was no way I’d wake anyone up. Still, I enjoyed the silence.
I left Reapers using the pedestrian entrance. Our doors were opened by hand-scanners, which made it easy to run and not worry about keys getting lost. I did a quick stretch outside and took in the warm, fall air of October. After one last look around, I set my watch and took off.
It was almost eight by the time I made it through the security door. The weather was so perfect when I had started that it inspired me to run a couple of extra miles. I hummed out loud by the time I entered the first-floor training area. The lights were on, and I heard someone talking. As I went further inside, I found Eric on the phone, pacing the length of the work-out area. God sure had blessed that man with some good genes. He was six-feet tall and muscular, with brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes. He was also one of the most focused, no-nonsense kind of guys I had ever met. Today, he looked upset, though.
I waved at him, but he didn’t even notice me. It was not like Eric to be distracted and unaware of his surroundings.
“Honey, please let me explain,” Eric shouted into the phone.
Obviously, Eric was having a private conversation and it had nothing to do with me, so I jogged to the stairs. I knew he’d been dating a hot blonde, and there must be some trouble between them. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to describe the girl. Texas was full of hot blondes, after all, and between the big hair and the accents,
the women there made quite an impression. It wasn’t fair how one state could have so many good-looking people.
I put those thoughts out of my mind as I rushed up the stairs, hoping Bob was up and had made breakfast. I was one of the few non-meat eaters in Texarkana, so breakfast used to be fairly boring, at least until Bob had come along. I couldn’t have been happier when he’d become our resident chef, going as far as taking culinary classes at Texarkana College.
I wasn’t expecting Bartholomew or Constantine to be up when I got to the loft, but they were, along with everyone else, including Death. Bartholomew still wore his pajamas while he worked in his computer area. Death paced the room, wearing a path in the floor. Constantine did the same, only on the kitchen table. It would have looked funny if the tension wasn’t so thick. In fact, Bob even looked on edge. Every burner on the stove was covered with pots. I wasn’t sure if he was cooking or sacrificing ingredients to some secret God.
“Morning everyone. Did I miss the world domination meeting?” I asked, trying to break the tension.
“Not yet,” Bob replied, glancing at Death and Constantine. “I’m afraid it might happen soon, though.” He pointed at the TV with his spoon.
“In that case, I’m glad I made it back in time,” I joked, trying to entice a grin, but I failed. So, I gave up the humor and focused on the important issue—food. “What are you making? It smells amazing and I’m famished.”
Just like that, Bob’s shoulders relaxed and a smile brightened his face. “I got a cheese casserole with sautéed onions and peppers. The veggie quiche is in the oven with the extra bacon for Constantine and Bartholomew.” He was a pro and made sure he addressed everyone’s preference from my non-meat-eating to poor Bartholomew’s gluten intolerance.
“Do you think anyone would care if I eat now?” I pouted my lips and tried to bat my eyes, hoping to inspire a bit of sympathy.