Serpent's Storm

by Amber Benson

  I gulped, my head spinning, as I realized that all the strange thoughts that’d been running through my head ever since I’d met the kid were not strange at all. I’d known there was something different, no, something wrong about the kid, but I just hadn’t known what it was.

  Until now.

  “Jarvis?” I said, my voice quavering. “Is that you?”

  The kid turned and stared at me, exasperated.

  “Of course, I’m Jarvis. Who else were you expecting—Jesus Christ?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but instead, I just shrugged helplessly. The kid rolled his eyes and the gesture was so Jarvis—and so bizarre in the kid’s ungainly body—that I had to laugh, but then the laughter quickly turned to tears as I found myself hugging the big galoot for all he was worth.

  “I missed you so much,” I said, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

  The kid—I mean, Jarvis—patted my hand.

  “I missed you, too, Miss Calliope.”

  “But how did you . . .” I began. “I mean, how are you here, right now? I killed you.”

  Jarvis nodded.

  “Yes, you did put an end to my life, but I haven’t been your father’s Executive Assistant for all these decades without learning a thing or to about what to do in case of an emergency.”

  “An emergency?” I asked.

  Jarvis nodded.

  “We were set up, Miss Calliope. That’s why I was so surprised when your boss, Hyacinth, said that she was there looking after you under orders from your father. It made no sense, but of course, I was in no condition to protest, I was half-dead myself.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  The train slowed down as we approached the next station then came to a shuddering stop. A few commuters climbed on board, mostly men, but a couple of women, too, all carrying briefcases similar to the one sitting on the floor next to Jarvis’s feet. As the doors closed, the conductor called out the next station and Jarvis resumed his story.

  “Hyacinth must be working for your sister and the Devil,” he continued. “She must’ve alerted the Ender of Death when she sensed that you had arrived at the office. It has to be how he knew where to find you.”

  “That can’t be true,” I said, dropping my voice as the man across the aisle from us raised an eyebrow at the tone of our conversation.

  “I would’ve been alerted had your father made any kind of order like that, Miss Calliope,” he said with a sigh. “I managed every aspect of his office. I was involved in every decision. I would’ve known. No question.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “So if Hyacinth is a bad guy, then Sumi and Frank and Starr are playing for the other side, too.”

  Jarvis blanched when I said Sumi’s name, and I got a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh, jeez, it’s bad, isn’t it? Really bad.”

  Jarvis swallowed.

  “Watatsumi works for no one but himself,” Jarvis said. “He is the epitome of a ‘free agent,’ as they say. Offer him power, or some other prize that he craves, and he will work for anyone. I don’t know who these Frank and Starr characters might be, but if they are in cahoots with Watatsumi, they’re completely untrustworthy.”

  I felt sick—and not just from the information Jarvis had imparted. My stomach was on fire, burning with a painful ferocity that made me involuntarily open my mouth and release the smelliest, nastiest, most god-awful burp the free world had ever been exposed to. Jarvis, who was sitting closest to me, gagged. The other people on the train covered their mouths and noses with their hands or their suit jackets.

  “Sorry,” I breathed, nausea still burbling inside my belly.

  “Oh, Miss Calliope, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t what?” I cried.

  Jarvis shook his head and ran a large hand through his dark hair.

  Oh, shit, the jewel, I thought miserably.

  “Sumi said it was a wish-fulfillment jewel,” I stammered. “He said it would help when Daniel challenged me.”

  “Well, that explains how the Ender of Death tracked you to that subway station,” Jarvis said.

  “Crap,” I muttered.

  “And it is only a ‘wish-fulfillment’ jewel in the sense that Watatsumi wishes to bind you to him and that that wish is now being fulfilled.”

  “Double crap,” I said.

  “Yes, I do believe a double—possibly a triple or a quadruple—crap is in order.”

  The pain intensified in my gut and before I could cover my mouth with my hand, I had burped again. The smell was putrid. So foul, in fact, that as the train pulled into the next stop, every other person in the subway car but us got off to wait for another train.

  “Well, you definitely have a unique way of clearing a subway car,” Jarvis said.

  “So, what do I have to do to get rid of the stupid jewel?” I asked, ignoring Jarvis’s snide comment. Normally, I would’ve been snarky right back at him, but I didn’t want to do anything that would give him cause to disappear again.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Jarvis said. “I have little experience with that type of binding charm.”

  “Dammit, I don’t want to be a sitting duck for the Ender of Death—or any other bad guy—anymore,” I said. “This sucks.”

  “We are just going to have to be hypervigilant,” Jarvis offered. “And hope that the jewel will be rendered ineffective while we’re traveling in Heaven—”

  “You’re going with me?” I interrupted.

  “Of course I’m going with you, Miss Calliope,” he replied. “How else did you think you were going to get there?”

  “I was just gonna ride around on the subway until, you know, I was struck by divine intervention,” I said, feeling sheepish.

  “That’s what I’d supposed,” Jarvis said. “Well, consider yourself struck. It’s why I grabbed the closest available body I could find and made my way back to you.”

  “Speaking of bodies,” I said, pointing at Jarvis. “Nice choice. You look like a gangling schoolboy playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothes.”

  “Don’t you dare, Miss Calliope,” Jarvis replied, pulling up his jacket sleeve so I could see the track marks up and down the kid’s arm.

  “Holy shit.”

  I guess I was just too much of a “nice girl” to have ever been introduced to the kind of hard-core drug taking this kid was doing. I mean, I’d watched that show Intervention on TV, but I’d never seen anything like it in real life. Trust me when I say the TV version is a lot safer—the real-life stuff is just gross and sad.

  “It’s the only reason I was able to get inside the body,” Jarvis said sadly. “It made controlling him very difficult. But now that he’s dead—”

  “I didn’t kill him, did I?” I asked warily.

  Jarvis shook his head no.

  “The combination of drugs and the shock of your fight with the Ender of Death caused him to have a heart attack.”

  “Well, I’m sorry he was a drug addict and I’m sorry he’s dead.” I sighed. “But I’m really glad you’re here.”

  I leaned over and gave Jarvis another hug.

  “And I promise I’ll be less annoying and less obnoxious in the future, okay?”

  Jarvis snorted. “I’ll believe that one when I see it.”

  As the train hit the brakes for the next stop, Jarvis stood up.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Time to change trains.”

  The doors slid open and I followed Jarvis out onto the subway platform. It was getting late enough in the morning that the place was now teeming with commuters, some of whom hopped on our old train as it departed. I watched one woman wrinkle her nose as she took her seat, turning around in her chair to glare at the man beside her as if he were the cause of the offensive odor. Apparently, the stench of my burps lingered long after my exit.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, following Jarvis through the crowded plat
form toward a flight of stairs that led upward, but the sign above the stairway pointing toward the J, Z, and L lines clued me in to the idea that we were heading for Manhattan and leaving the outer boroughs behind us.

  We were halfway up the stairs, Jarvis in the lead, when I felt someone grab a hank of my hair and yank me backward. I lost my balance, my ankle twisting painfully underneath me as I went down.

  Not again, I thought, reaching back with my right hand and grabbing a handful of my attacker’s shirt to steady myself.

  “Jarvis!” I screamed, but there were so many people on the stairs with us, and the sound of the trains pounding down the tracks was so pervasive, it obscured my cry.

  “Don’t worry,” a male voice whispered in my ear. “I’ve got you, little one. You won’t fall.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized my attacker wasn’t the Ender of Death—but then I remembered that Frank, the owner of the Southern drawl I’d just heard, was as much my enemy as Marcel was, so I started kicking. Frank jerked away from me, but he still had hold of my hair, and when he moved, he unwittingly snapped my head back, sending a wave of pain up through my neck into my jaw.

  “Ow!” I cried as Frank pulled me close and wrapped an arm around me. Anyone walking around us would think I’d just gotten woozy and Frank was the Good Samaritan keeping me on my feet.

  “You don’t need to fight me, little lady,” Frank breathed in my ear. “We’re on the same side here.”

  “Then why are you kidnapping me,” I growled back at him.

  I got no answer. Which left me wondering how long it would take Jarvis to realize I’d disappeared.

  “Sick lady coming through,” Frank repeated as he duck-walked us back down the stairway, eliciting some nasty comments from the people trying to get up the stairs to make their transfers to other lines.

  Frank, cowboy hat in hand, ignored the comments, an apologetic smile on his lips. When we got to the bottom of the steps, he made a hard right and dragged me behind the stairwell, which, while not being totally hidden from curious eyes, did afford a bit of privacy. Holding tight to my waist, he pushed me up against the wall, pressing his hard-muscled body into mine. I glared at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

  “Calliope Reaper-Jones, you are one spitfire of a little lady,” he said, grinning at me. “Yes-sir-ee, a real hellion.”

  And then he leaned in and kissed me.

  I wish I could say I didn’t respond to the kiss, that it made me feel gross and dirty and evil, but the truth was much more confused . . . and complicated. And by “complicated,” I mean it was electric. When he slid his tongue into my mouth, I felt like a pork loin simmering away on the stove, all warm and mushy, my body melting into his. He grabbed my ass and hauled me up, my legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord. The kiss deepened, his mouth devouring mine, tasting my tongue and nipping at my lips.

  We fell back against the wall, his crotch hard against the softness between my legs. He pulled at my shirt, snaking his hands past the flimsy material so he could get at my naked flesh, his hands burning me where they touched my skin . . . but it was the good kind of burn. He slid his hand up my sides, tickling the flesh as he searched for a way to get at my breasts.

  When his nimble fingers found my bra, he sighed.

  “Oh damn, baby, you feel nice,” he moaned into my neck as he pulled my right bra cup down, freeing my aching breast, the nipple already hard and ready.

  “You’re as soft as silk, honey,” he rasped, kneading my breast with his hand. He traced his thumb over my nipple, again and again, making it stand wantonly.

  I moaned when he stabbed his crotch furtively into mine; dry humping me right there in the middle of midmorning commuter traffic. I didn’t care that we were on a subway platform doing things to each other’s bodies that should only be attempted in the privacy of one’s own bedroom, because I felt like I was on top of the world, or at least on top of a very sexy hunk of manhood.

  He started kissing my neck, sucking on the delicate skin below my ear.

  “Oh, Callie, honey,” he mouthed into my neck, then he pulled his head away, smiling up at me as I sat astride him.

  Without a word, he released me from his embrace and my body slid down the length of him. We stood there staring at each other for a full ten seconds, our eyes locked together like two dogs fucking, then he spun me around, slamming me face-first into the subway-tiled wall. It should have hurt—scrap that, it did hurt—but I was too overheated to notice or care. Especially when he stuck his hands up under my skirt and yanked down my tights. I was still wearing underwear, but it was so thin and filmy that it was like having nothing on at all.

  “Baby,” he said as he slipped his fingers underneath the lacy edges of my panties and plunged his fingers inside me. He slid his fingers in and out of me, and I groaned with every thrust, my entire body quivering as he had his way with me.

  “Oh my God,” I moaned, straining against him as I unexpectedly climaxed, my legs going all limp and useless underneath me.

  He caught me in his arms before I could hit the ground.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, kissing my temple before hauling me back up onto my feet.

  I was drunk on sex—dazed and confused, totally out of my gourd. I hadn’t done anything so hot and sexy in my entire life. It was like I’d stepped into some soft-core Showtime movie—which had absolutely nothing to do with my real life—and been mistaken for one of the sex extras. It was insanity.

  I pulled up my tights and readjusted my skirt, but there was nothing I could do to hide the flush of sex that was ripe on my face. I felt giddy with it, wanton and completely satiated—but then a little niggling feeling of guilt crept into my head, buzz-killing my sex high.

  Daniel.

  I’d just cheated on the guy I was supposed to be in love with . . . well, at least, the guy I thought I was supposed to be in love with.

  I groaned, letting my head drop into my hands.

  “What’s wrong, honey pie?” Frank said, stroking my hair.

  “I’m a jerk,” I said from in between my fingers.

  I let my hands fall to my sides and lifted my head, looking up into the face of the man who’d just tempted me away from the straight and narrow. He was still as handsome as he’d been before I’d let him touch me, muttonchops and all, and I was still attracted to him, even though I felt terrible about it, but deep inside, I knew I’d just done something really stupid.

  “Don’t feel bad, little one,” he said, running his thumb across my cheekbone—I could smell my own sex on his fingers, which only made me feel ill. “This is how it’s supposed to be.”

  “How it’s supposed to be?” I said, pissed at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

  “Uh-huh,” he answered, grinning at me before reaching down to pick up his discarded cowboy hat from the floor.

  “Yeah?” I said, getting annoyed by his lack of explanation. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that . . .” he said, lazily cupping my chin in his hand.

  “That you can take a bloody hike!” Jarvis finished for him before slamming one large, heroin-addict fist into Frank’s face.

  twenty-two

  Jarvis grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him as Frank fell to his knees, clutching his busted nose. Blood poured through his fingers, some of it dripping onto the floor, where it made a Rorschach pattern on the concrete. Eyes wide, he looked up at me askance.

  “Callie, honey?” he murmured, his voice thick from all the blood.

  But Jarvis didn’t give me the opportunity to answer him. He took me in hand, ushering me away from the scene of the crime and back onto the platform, where we quickly disappeared into the crowd.

  Jarvis was silent as we threaded our way down the platform, using the opposite staircase to take us to the next level of the station. Wordlessly, we followed the subway signs to the J, Z, and L lines. This platform was even more crowded than the previous one, but I a
llowed Jarvis to guide me to a quieter spot by one of the columns. It wasn’t as busy here and I could lean my head against the cool of the metal. Across the track, a young man with a pale yellow Afro was busking for change, his saxophone case open to catch the quarters and dollar bills people lobbed at his feet, the melancholic strains of “Nature Boy” mixing with the clamor of the commuters and the throb of the incoming and outgoing trains.

  “So, what was that all about?” Jarvis said finally.

  “I don’t know,” I said—and it was the most honest answer I could give him.

  “Who was the young man? Obviously . . . hopefully . . . someone you know?”

  Well, at least I knew where I stood with Jarvis; he thought I was a total ho-bag.

  “That was Frank,” I said. “One of Sumi’s people.”

  I expected Jarvis to get really upset and castigate me for fraternizing with the enemy, but he merely wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

  “Strange,” Jarvis said after a pause. “I cannot place the man. You would assume with those . . . muttonchops . . . he would be hard to misplace.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about him.” I shrugged. “He could be Charles Manson for all I know.”

  “Him,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, “I would remember.”

  I sighed, banging the back of my head on the metal column.

  “I can’t believe I did that, with him, in public,” I breathed, tears of frustration snaking out the corners of my eyes. “Dumb, dumb . . . dumb.”

  Jarvis put his hand between my head and the column. It was a sweet gesture, but one I didn’t deserve.

  “I’m a terrible person, Jarvi,” I said, looking over at the stranger’s face that now housed my good friend’s soul. “How could I have done that?”

  Jarvis took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Shit happens, Calliope.”

  It was such a un-Jarvis statement that I couldn’t help laughing.

  “You can either beat your head against a metal subway column, or you can own up to your mistakes and take responsibility for them,” he finished.

  “That’s much more Jarvis-like,” I said, smiling at him, although I still felt like a total shit heel. “And you’re right. What’s done is done.”