Serpent's Storm

by Amber Benson

  I’d dreamed in this bedroom: While I sat at the desk “pretending” to do my winter break homework or lay on the floor staring up at the pale cream ceiling, imagining what my life might be like when I grew up. I’d had pillow fights with Clio here, and I’d lain on the bed and cried my eyes out for two days straight when I’d lost my two best friends in a car accident. This room, whether I lived in it now or not, was me, was everything that I’d been . . . that I’d hoped to be. It was like walking into a ghost, but one whose every moan you knew by heart.

  Overwhelmed, I sat down at the foot of the bed then I instantly shot back up, thinking I might find some clothes in the closet that I could change into. I got to the closet door before remembering I’d taken all my stuff with me the last time I’d visited, so I sat back down on the bed and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Calliope Reaper-Jones.”

  I sat up, my spine straightening as God’s voice punctured the silence, its honey timbre palpitating in my ears and tickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I’d experienced God’s dulcet tones before, but I was still surprised by the RuPaulish quality of his/her voice, the brassy low end mixing nicely with the high-pitched purrish vibrato.

  “Why am I here?” I asked, cutting to the chase. I didn’t have time for pleasantries.

  “Because you asked to see me,” God said.

  “But I don’t see you,” I said. “I don’t see anything but my old room.”

  Suddenly, I felt a chill race up my body. It started at my toes, rushed up my calves, through my midsection, and into my jaw before settling inside my head. I blinked twice, my thinking clearer than it had ever been before.

  “Look in the mirror,” he/she said, using my lips to give body to his/her words. I turned my head, catching my reflection in the white wicker mirror above my dresser. I looked like me, only a more “knowing” me.

  “Are you inside me?” I said, but I knew the answer.

  “When I was that I was,” God said, “I found myself to be a very lonely creature. So, I created this universe—and all the other universes—so that I would not be alone anymore. My first attempts yielded the angels and then the demons, but both of them lacked a spark, an ability to be both perfection and imperfection at once. They were rigid, inflexible, and so the perfect ones stayed in Heaven and the imperfect exiled themselves to Hell—”

  “They make it sound like you kicked them out,” I said, marveling at the oddness of having God speaking to me through my own body.

  “They exiled themselves by their very nature, but that’s neither here nor there,” God said. “You want to know why I created humans . . . it’s a question I can feel resonating inside you, even now.”

  “It’s one of many questions I have, actually,” I said.

  “I created Man in my image, Calliope, because I am a mercurial, fickle, and unknowable creature myself. I created you so that I might experience myself in every one of you. The good and the evil, the wisdom and stupidity; that Man is a living, breathing contradiction in terms thrills me . . . it is my ultimate masterpiece.”

  “I don’t want to be Death,” I said suddenly, selfishness welling inside me. “I know it’s selfish of me, that my family is depending on me, but I’m so scared to be something more than . . . just me.”

  In the mirror, I watched God laugh (using my body).

  “This is why I enjoy you so much, my dear,” I (God) said. “I spend entirely too much time losing myself in your life, in your choices. You please me more than you will ever know.”

  “Is that why you’ve helped me with the Demon Vritra and the Devil and my sister?”

  I nodded to myself in the mirror.

  “It’s why I have helped you, yes. Sharing your experiences has cheered me a great deal over the years.”

  “But I’m just some girl,” I said uncertainly.

  God’s answer was silence, and then I understood that the greatest gift we, as human beings, have been given is our humanity. No matter whether I was immortal or supernatural or just plain old human, I possessed humanity and nothing could ever take that away from me. It was this character (flaw, some might say) that made me so special . . . and so important.

  And it was the reason God had asked so much of me.

  “So, now you see,” God said.

  “I do,” I replied, as scary as it was to admit.

  “Then go do what needs to be done,” God said, his/her enthusiasm making me smile.

  “I’ll be watching.”

  i guess i shouldn’t have been surprised by what I learned, but in the end, it made a strange kind of sense: a sense that in the days to follow would become even clearer.

  jarvis was waiting for me when I returned. He wasn’t on the couch anymore, though. Instead, he’d found his way over to the secretary’s desk and was helping her put another ribbon on her old Remington typewriter. I took care to make as much noise as I could as I closed God’s office door behind me, but they both looked up, startled, like I’d caught them making out or something.

  “Get your lady friend’s number,” I said, heading back to the spiral staircase. “And then let’s get the hell out of Dodge. We’ve got shit to take care of.”

  I didn’t wait for Jarvis’s answer, just started down the stairs, my feet rap-tapping on the white lacquer as I descended. A moment later, I heard Jarvis’s matching steps behind me.

  “What did God say, Miss Calliope?” he asked breathlessly.

  I didn’t stop, or even turn around, as I spoke.

  “God likes this. All of this,” I said, “He/she built this world for conflict and now we’re gonna go give him/her a whole bunch of it.”

  As Jarvis mulled over what I’d just told him, the only sound was the staccato beat of our feet on the stairs. Finally, he asked:

  “All right, then. So, where are we going?”

  I laughed, enjoying the way the tables had turned. I was usually the one asking where we were going, not the other way around.

  “We’re going to Hell,” I replied. “The Devil and my sister have staked out Purgatory and left Hell all by its lonesome.”

  “How are we going to get there?” Jarvis asked. “I can’t call a wormhole—the Devil will be watching to see if we attempt anything and then he’ll know where we are.”

  “Oh, I’ve got all of that under control,” I said, massaging my stomach while it burbled unhappily.

  The pain had been more manageable while we were in Heaven, but now that we were leaving, the hard-core indigestion was back. I would’ve cursed Sumi and his magical jewel . . . if I hadn’t had plans to use the gem for my own nefarious purposes.

  “We have to get out of Heaven first,” I continued. “Being here hampers the jewel’s powers.”

  “You don’t plan to use the wish-fulfillment jewel, Mistress Calliope?” he said incredulously, stopping midstep.

  I turned around and put my hands on my hips. What I had to say to Jarvis, I needed to say directly to his face.

  “Jarvis,” I began. “First of all, I want you to call me Callie, not because I’m being impertinent, but because you’re my friend and friends don’t use the term ‘Mistress’ in front of other friends’ names. It’s just weird.”

  “All right,” Jarvis said, turning over my request in his mind.

  “And secondly: Damn straight I’m using the jewel to get to Hell—”

  Jarvis opened his mouth to protest, but I overrode him.

  “I don’t think Sumi and Hyacinth are working for the Devil or Thalia. I think they’re independent operators, using this opportunity to further their own agendas, whatever that may be. I want to draw them out, and the best way to do that is to use the jewel.”

  “Are you certain?” Jarvis asked.

  “Very certain,” I said, nodding. “The jewel is how Frank found me in the subway, and the more I think about that whole sordid experience, the more I think he used the jewel somehow to seduce me. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking
on my part, but who knows.”

  Jarvis’s mouth dropped open.

  “In his own totally screwed-up way,” I continued, “I think he actually likes me, and seducing me wasn’t even part of the bigger plan.”

  “Hmm, I suppose you could be right, Callie,” Jarvis said. “But my worry is that their agendas, whatever they are, will not coincide with our own.”

  My brain was already one step ahead.

  “It doesn’t matter what they’re really after,” I replied. “Because for my purposes, all they have to do is just exist.”

  “Okay, then,” Jarvis said, getting used to the idea. “You sound as though you know exactly what it is you’re doing, so command me as you will.”

  I grinned and punched him in the arm.

  “Jarvis, I command you to follow me down these goddamned stairs and then come with me while I go knock a few heads around.”

  Jarvis didn’t hesitate for a moment.

  “Sounds divine.”

  we tackled the remaining stairs with renewed vigor, cutting the time it’d taken us to originally climb them by half. They were still punishing, but not nearly as painful as they’d been on the way up. We were making great time and I actually found myself growing to enjoy each tip-tap our feet made on the lacquered stair, because I knew it meant I was one step closer to getting the hell out of there.

  I was looking forward to throwing myself onto one of the very comfy yellow couches and resting my weary calves for a minute or two when we finally reached the bottom, but to my surprise, I saw that our subway train was still there, doors wide open and waiting.

  “Looks like our chariot awaits,” I said, gesturing to the empty car as we climbed aboard and fell onto one of the benches, the doors sliding closed behind us.

  The train sprang to life, picking up speed as it sailed down the track. With my new take on life, I was in a much better frame of mind than the first time we’d boarded the train, and I found myself closing my eyes, the gentle rocking motion putting me to sleep. I wasn’t too worried about missing my stop, because Jarvis was beside me, keeping an eye out for our destination, so I snuggled against the window, using my arm as a pillow. I realized it had been like a day and a half and I hadn’t slept once. I figured I was due for a little nap—not that ten minutes of shut-eye could make up for missing a whole night’s sleep.

  I dreamed that the train was on a cloud, floating in the sky high above the earth. I could look out the window and see New York City, all swirls of gray and blue, far down below me. I felt untethered, like I was a million miles away from reality, even though I could still see the traces of my old life below.

  “Callie?”

  I woke up with a start. I was leaning against Jarvis’s shoulder, a thin trail of my saliva on his ratty jacket sleeve.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “You were snoring so loudly I didn’t want to wake you,” Jarvis said. “Well, actually it was so loud I did want to wake you, but I took pity.”

  The train had arrived at the 14th Street Station, and the doors were wide open, waiting for a few tentative people to climb aboard.

  “I guess here is as good a place as any to do this,” I said, my jaw cracking as I yawned. The nap had just served to make me groggier and hadn’t refreshed me at all.

  I stood up, leaning on Jarvis’s arm as a crutch, and together we left the safety of the subway car—and when I said “safety,” I meant safety. Standing outside on the platform, looking mightily pleased with himself, was Marcel, the Ender of Death. None of the people on the platform batted an eye at us, but they steered a wide berth around Marcel, as if they could sense the madness emanating from inside him.

  “So, we meet again,” he murmured as we approached.

  I could feel Jarvis’s arm stiffen around me, but I shook my head, letting him know he could relax because I had things well in hand.

  “I guess that’s just our fate, Marcel,” I replied, only stopping when we were a few feet away from him, an easy enough space to breach if he chose to attack.

  “I warned you that there were larger things at play here than you could understand,” he said.

  “Duly noted,” I concurred.

  “Have you figured it out yet?” he asked, grinning wickedly. It was nice that he hadn’t underestimated me. He was one of the few creatures out there that’d known I hadn’t been operating at my full potential.

  “You’re working with Sumi and Hyacinth,” I said, letting the bombshell drop casually. “The Devil and my sister, they think you’re in cahoots with them, too, but you know they’ll just cage you once they get what they want.”

  Marcel clapped his hands together happily.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it? That I’m the big winner?” he purred. “No matter who comes out on top, I win.”

  I could tell Jarvis was appalled by Marcel’s behavior, but I didn’t think he truly understood how mad the Ender of Death had become—and that the fault lay squarely at my father’s feet. He’d imprisoned Marcel—or Monsieur D, as he was called when I’d first met him—down in Hell as a way of keeping tabs on the creature that would eventually be the death of Death. The isolation had driven the poor thing crazy, had stripped him of his ability to do his intended duty.

  It had left him a shell of his former self.

  My father had done this to Marcel, not understanding the effects imprisonment and loneliness would have on the man, and because of that, fate had deemed that my dad’s destruction should come at his prisoner’s hand. It wasn’t fair that my dad had to die, but at least I finally understood why he hadn’t fought back:

  He knew he couldn’t outrun his fate forever.

  “What should my dad have done differently?” I asked Marcel. He seemed surprised, yet pleased, by the question and took his time to form an answer. As I stood there waiting, I wondered what God would make of what I was doing right then. He/she would probably be intrigued.

  “If I were your father, I would not have imprisoned me,” he began, “but as I mull over the question, I finally understand why he did as he did.”

  “He was trying to protect me and my sisters,” I said. “Actually, more me, but still he did it for all of us.”

  Marcel nodded at the truth of my words.

  “Death had never had a family before,” Marcel continued. “So it had never figured into the equation.”

  “You’ve spent a long time sparring with Death, and then my dad took away your ability to perform, or try to perform, your job.”

  “I am the balance to Death,” Marcel said. “Without me, Death becomes vulnerable, allowing others to try and fill the void I have left behind.”

  “Like my sister Thalia and her demon lover, Vritra,” I added.

  “Yes, it was your father’s fault,” Marcel said. “He loved you and your sisters so well that he caused his own demise.”

  “That’s not true!” Jarvis said, wrenching his arm from mine and making a move to clobber Marcel.

  “No, Jarvis!” I said as I grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward me. Jarvis turned on me then, his eyes full of fury.

  “How can you allow him to say these things about your father? How can you say them? After all he did for you—”

  I had expected Jarvis to react, but it was still painful to hear the anger and distress in his voice.

  “Jarvis,” I said, drawing him closer to me while all he wanted to do was beat the crap out of Marcel. “My dad was fallible; he made a mistake. I know you know it’s the truth. You don’t want to believe it and neither do I, but it was Dad’s fault. He set all of this into motion when he chained the Ender of Death to a palm tree down in Hell.”

  “He was the best of men—” Jarvis said, still unable to accept what he knew was true.

  “Yes, he was,” I said. “He was the best dad in the world, and I wish I’d let him know that more.”

  Jarvis’s eyes filled with tears and he started to sob.

&n
bsp; “He loved you and your sisters so much. He only wanted what was best for you . . .”

  “I know, Jarvi,” I said, his words ripping my heart to pieces. “I know.”

  “You were marked from the beginning. It was foretold from your birth that you would follow your father, but he wanted to give you, more than anything, the freedom to choose,” Jarvis said, wiping the tears from his face. “It had been so hard for him to adjust to the job himself, and he wanted only that you make the decision, not be forced into it by him.”

  All the years of acting out and fighting my fate and here I was, right back where I started. My dad had wanted to give me freedom, but instead, he’d wrapped the noose even more tightly around my neck.

  Well, so be it, I thought.

  I returned my gaze to Marcel, knowing I had to do this now, or I might miss the chance entirely.

  “Marcel, the Ender of Death, I ask you to take leave of me now. Allow me to assume all the rights of Death, and then, when I’m at my full power, we’ll meet at a place of your choosing and fight.”

  Marcel’s eyes flared suspiciously as he listened to my offer.

  “If I beat you fairly,” I continued, “we’ll revert back to the cat-and-mouse game that Death and the Ender of Death must always dance. If you dispatch me, then my job’ll fall to another and I’m out of it.”

  “You swear it?” Marcel breathed, his whole body rigid with anticipation as he waited for my reply.

  “I swear it.”

  “Then you are a witness,” he said to Jarvis, who nodded stiffly.

  Satisfied, Marcel proffered a low bow, which I returned with a curt nod.

  “Thank you, Marcel,” I said softly.

  “’Til we meet again, Death.”

  And then the Ender of Death turned on his heel and silently disappeared into the midafternoon commuter crowd.