Death is a Bitch

by Masters, Cate

  The guard tucked his chin to his chest. “Pardon, lady. It is my honor to serve you.”

  She swept past him. “Please see that no one disturbs us.” Pushing open the wide oak door, she led Acragas inside. “Care for a drink?”

  “I won’t take up your time with pleasantries. I know you have much work ahead, as do I.”

  A breath of frustration escaped. She needed no reminder; the weight of her tattoo served as reminder enough. “Of course. Is there enough room here, or should we go outside?”

  “Perhaps on your veranda. I’d hate to damage any of your fine art.” He paused by a sculpture, admiration in his face. “A rendering of you? By Michelangelo?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. I’d have much rather he’d recreated David for me, but he insisted on sculpting my likeness.”

  With a satisfied smile, Acragas glanced at the paintings by Renoir, O’Keeffe, Picasso. “I wish I had more time to view your exquisite works.”

  “You’re welcome to visit anytime. I’m usually away, but Zarthan will let you in.” She glided past the wide columns to the open veranda. Several chaises graced its marble flooring, which stretched out to a wide expanse of grass lined with tall trees. Above, the aurora borealis provided a constant light show.

  Acragas stepped beside her and grasped her wrist above the bracelet. “Handle it with great care.”

  Her heart fluttered. She gingerly reached for the gleaming silver, but nervousness tamped her excitement. If it was as powerful as Acragas said, she dreaded making even the smallest of mistakes.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll help.” He released her. “Now try the charms. Give each one a good test.”

  Unsure where to begin, she studied it a moment and decided to try the one that appeared the most simple: the chain. It shot out lightning fast, making her gasp. “Wow.”

  Acragas chuckled. “Unlike the other, this chain doesn’t need to fully encircle the dissenting soul to capture it.”

  An improvement. The others proved upgrades as well. The cage now provided her the ability to view the captive souls within its confines without their knowledge; the star shone doubly bright as before.

  She touched an unfamiliar one, shaped like a boombox. “A radio?”

  A smile curled his lips. “That is solely for your enjoyment. I’ve heard you love music.”

  “Yes. Have you been asking about me?” she teased, thoroughly enjoying herself.

  He ducked his head shyly. “Only in the interest of research. I would never invade your privacy.” More businesslike, he continued. “If you care to listen to music while working, all you need do is touch this charm. It will play any genre of song, or the works of a specific musician. Much like the humans’ satellite radio.”

  “Really? How wonderful. And thoughtful. Thank you.”

  He bowed. “My pleasure.”

  She reached for the charm shaped like a camera. “What’s this?”

  His hand shot out in warning. “Careful. That’s yet untested. Because the human population has grown exponentially, I thought you could use something to make your existence easier.”

  Magic words. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

  His eyes shone with pride as he excitedly explained the mechanism. “Aim the lens at your tattoo as a new soul surfaces. With one click, it captures the image of the awaiting soul, along with all its underlying information, and transports that soul to its intended destination.”

  “Similar to when humans upload a photo to their computer and then tag it? Except that instead of an image, it moves the spirit?” Too cool.

  “Exactly.” He seemed relieved that she grasped the idea.

  Hey, I keep up with technology. Not an easy feat in the last century, particularly the last few decades, especially with such a time-suck job as harvesting souls.

  “And what’s this?”

  “I’m still refining it, but as it is, one touch will open communications with the being of your choosing.”

  “Like a two-way radio?”

  Acragas’s head bobbed. “More like one-way. That’s the part I’m working on. Even the one-way only worked sporadically. As soon as I perfect the upgrade, I’ll provide it to you. Oh, and one last thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “This bracelet has one feature no other has.”

  “What?”

  The silversmith practically beamed. “Into its silver I forged the strength of a thousand metals. If some fool should again try to bind you, move the bracelet against the chain and it will free you.”

  Some fool? Only one would be idiot enough to try. “That easily?”

  Acragas nodded. “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” She couldn’t wait to show…disappointment clouded her mind. Azrael. Would he have any interest?

  “Are you not pleased with the bracelet, milady?”

  His soft voice, edged with concern, broke through her reverie. It had been eons since anyone addressed her with such pointed deference to her femininity.

  She gave him her sweetest smile and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, surprisingly soft. “Yes, of course. I love it. I’m so grateful for your thoughtfulness and your skill, but especially for your kindness.” And because Damien would maim himself once he learned that kidnapping Death had actually worked out in her favor. He would be spending much of eternity ruing the day he’d hatched this plan. With Azrael, Damien’s insistent whisper wound through her head.

  She tried to brush that prickly thought away, but it stuck like a burr in her consciousness as she bade farewell to the silver smith.

  If it were true Azrael cared nothing for her, she’d adapt. Maybe spend a little more time at the bar socializing. She could always take earthly lovers. Plenty had propositioned her throughout the centuries. Loneliness might haunt her in the dead of night, as it haunted so many others, but she could ease that pain in another’s arms. Azrael wasn’t the only immortal in the otherworld.

  She was Death, after all. She wasn’t leaving the universe anytime soon.

  Chapter Seven

  The tattoo held so many souls Death might have carried a boulder. Now I know how Sisyphus felt each time he faced his task. Her breath twisted as she inhaled. So much to do — how could she hunt Damien and Sisyphus, plus transport all these waiting souls? It seemed heartless to touch the charm and send a soul on its way, an efficient but impersonal method. Worse were those who twisted against the restraint, locked in the netherworld between Earth and beyond, eager for escape. She had no time for such nonsense.

  Returning to her duties, Death made her face a mask of fury, and assumed the ferocity of an avenging angel. “If they thought I was a bitch before, take a look at me now.”

  Careful not to inadvertently touch any of the charms, she adjusted the bracelet on her wrist. Hopefully she could govern her thoughts to focus on each task as it appeared. She couldn’t afford any mistakes. After the first few hundred soul harvests, Death had a good grasp on the function of each charm. The next thousand went smoothly.

  Unless some disaster awaited, she had time to focus on other important tasks.

  At her request, a joint gathering convened on the plane between worlds, bringing together the forces of Heaven and the Underworld. Nervousness enveloped her as she stepped to center stage, her magnified likeness projected onto either side.

  She drew strength from her parents, Nyx and Erebos, seated at the front of the hall. Their steady focus reassured her. Hypnos sat beside Nyx, wide-eyed. Odd. Her head normally drooped to their mother’s shoulder, unable to stay awake for any event. Thank the gods she had no effect on immortals or they’d slumber through this.

  “I seek your assistance in finding two fugitives: Sisyphus and Damien.” Death’s words echoed loudly through the cosmos. She would say what needed to be said. If they mocked her because Sisyphus had captured her again, so be it. “In conspiring Sisyphus’s escape and my capture, these two committed a crime not only against me, but against us all when they ignored ancient law.
No others have done so and gone unpunished. Please help me bring them both to justice. Thank you.”

  As she hurried from the stage, she caught sight of Azrael near the back of the crowd. Her heart lurched, causing her to misstep. Stop acting like a foolish schoolgirl.

  Nyx reached out, and Death clasped hands with her mother. Hypnos squeezed her in an embrace. “I keenly felt your distress but didn’t know how to find you.”

  “The black spell cast over the bracelet must have weakened our bond, sister. Accursed Damien,” Death hissed.

  “Any sightings as yet?” her father asked.

  “No, but now that everyone’s helping, I’m hoping someone will spot them soon.” A man like Sisyphus couldn’t hide for long. Finding Damien might prove a pain in the ass, but she’d prevail.

  At seeing Azrael wind his way through the milling crowd, Death tensed.

  His features were as stiff as his gait, though his voice flooded with relief as he called her. Even his wings appeared tense, close to his back in sharp pleats, ready to spring to their full span.

  “Are you all right?” Scanning her, he frowned.

  Searching for physical wounds? No, her scars couldn’t be seen except for glimpses of doubt that might escape in her voice, or anger in her eyes. So far, she’d guarded those well.

  “I’m fine.” If only her family would leave them alone.

  At her mother’s questioning glance, Death briefly nodded, hoping it was imperceptible to anyone else. Nyx returned the slight gesture, brow raising like a bow being slowly drawn back by an archer. The implication was clear to Death: Nyx would be watching out for Death. She smiled her thanks.

  Nyx took Erebos’s arm. “We must be going, dear.”

  Her father needed no encouragement. He hated formal gatherings. “Right. We’ll be in touch soon, sweetheart.”

  Death tugged Azrael away from prying ears, but it felt like dragging a statue. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  He averted his eyes. “I’m glad you’re well.”

  “Come outside with me.” She eased closer.

  He shrunk from her touch. “I can’t. I simply wanted to touch base, make sure you were fine.”

  She walked her fingers up his arm as she whispered, “I’d be better if you’d—”

  He jerked back. “I’ll consult with my team to discuss how best to handle your backload.”

  What the hell was wrong with him? “Will you look at me, please?”

  Beneath furrowed brows, his crystal-blue eyes could have shredded hers with their sharpness. Shoulders squared, chest expanded, he cut an imposing figure, fit for a battlefield. Not for speaking to a lover.

  She had to glance away first. “What’s wrong, Azrael?”

  “I’ll let you know what the team decides.” His hoarse tone broke her heart.

  “What about our meeting? Will you schedule a private one soon?” Please?

  “My schedule’s full.”

  Lost for words, she could only stare at him.

  He went on. “It’s been on overload since you went missing, trying to deal with the slack.”

  A beating would have been more merciful than this treatment. “I’m very sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

  Approaching, Hypnos called, “Death.”

  With a wince, Azrael glanced at Death. “Excuse me.” Determination in his stride, he wended through the throng.

  She clenched her fists, uncertain whether she was relieved for the interruption, or whether she’d like to wring her sleepy sister’s neck. “Coming, Hypnos.”

  Had the worlds gone mad during her brief capture? Someone turned him against me. Which meant danger lurked in the shadows of her freedom.

  Power flowed through her as she sauntered after her twin. She was ready for whatever awaited.

  ***

  If this infernal city produced anything, it was trash. For the hundredth time that week, Sisyphus stuffed a plastic bag full into the dumpster behind the bakery. For centuries, he’d fooled himself into thinking pushing the boulder the sole repetitive task in the world, but after two weeks working at O’Reilly’s Pastries, he knew better. Repetitive tasks were also the curse of the living, mostly those holding menial positions.

  At least the boulder hadn’t smelled rotten. Sisyphus couldn’t linger near the dumpster. The foul stench turned his stomach.

  From inside, his supervisor called, “Hurry, you have a customer.”

  Grumbling, Sisyphus let the door slam behind him. “Coming.” When didn’t they have a customer? People teemed through New York City like a swarm of locusts, always consuming. Parasites, all of them.

  After quickly washing his hands to prevent yet another scolding from his employer, Sisyphus trudged to the counter. “Yes?”

  “Is that any way to greet a customer?” a familiar voice asked.

  Through narrowed eyes, Sisyphus glanced up. The demon. “May I help you?” In a whisper, he added, “What are you doing here?” The fool. He could lead any pursuers directly to him. The only reason Sisyphus didn’t flog Damien; he had to stay on the demon’s good side. Idiot. Demons have no good sides.

  “Just checking in, my man.”

  “I am not your man.” Though several male customers had inquired, Sisyphus considered himself married, even if his wife resided in an afterworld to which he had no entry.

  Damien’s clucked his tongue. “It’s an expression, dude.”

  Straightening, Sisyphus displayed his best regal demeanor. “Neither am I a dude. I am King Sisyphus.”

  “No, here you’re Sisyphus King, another anonymous face in the Big Apple. You need to blend in better, stop drawing attention to yourself.”

  Sisyphus needed no reminder. “Buy something or leave.” Before his employer complained of the lengthening line.

  Damien leaned across the counter. “Seriously. Stop singing ancient songs long out of human consciousness.” He eased back to scan the display and said more loudly, “And one of those cranberry orange muffins.”

  Sisyphus reached for a bag and tossed a muffin inside. “Three-fifty.”

  Taking the bag, Damien winked. “Put it on my tab.”

  Anger swelled Sisyphus’s tongue before he could argue. With a huff, he turned to the next man in line. “Yes.”

  “Finally. Two scones. And hurry.”

  “Right away.” Sisyphus doubted he’d ever fit into the current time. Too much hurry, too much bustle. At least in Tartarus, he could perform his task of pushing the boulder uphill in his own leisurely time. Why not—in captivity, all he had was time. Now every person he met acted as if time were the most precious commodity on Earth, so important some would kill others who presented an obstacle to their daily allotment of hours, minutes, and seconds. One morning, while trudging down the street, another man had bumped him from behind, then yelled at Sisyphus, rage contorting his features into a terrifying mask.

  The tortured souls in Hell proved more sane than humans these days.

  Chapter Eight

  Death found it necessary to use the silversmith’s tool to transport souls remotely. She couldn’t hunt Sisyphus and fulfill her duties simultaneously, and she’d delivered too many souls later than expected already. For now, it relieved the burden of her tattoo.

  Once Damien and Sisyphus had met justice, she’d only rely on the gadget in emergencies. Sisyphus escaped her reach, leaving Death weary and discouraged.

  Her tattoo signaled a waiting soul. She reached for the charm to transport the soul remotely, but then recognized the face.

  “Harry.” No, she couldn’t let him down. She’d make it fast.

  At the seniors’ home, Harry lay in bed, barely conscious. She bent to kiss his cheek, and smiled when he opened his eyes.

  Harry managed a weak smile. “If everyone knew how sweet the kiss of Death was, you’d never get any rest.”

  She flushed with pleasure. “No wonder Jo fell for you, Harry.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I kn
ow. Sorry I’m late.”

  “Better late than never. Can I go now?” He reached for her.

  “Yes, Harry. You can.” No sooner had she taken hold of his hand, his life thread dissolved, and his spirit materialized beside her, bright as the moon.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Harry joked. “Come on.”

  How ironic. For once, Death didn’t want to rush it. “Did you and Jo have a song?”

  “Yes. ‘At Last.’ Every year on our anniversary, we’d dance in our living room. Why do you ask?”

  She fidgeted with the charm, and Beyonce’s voice floated out.

  Harry’s face lit with delight. “Not exactly Etta James, but I like it. Thanks.”

  “No, thank you, Harry. It’s not often I can say it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Then why the sad face?”

  “Pardon?” How did he see through her so easily? She never revealed her emotions to humans. “I’m—”

  “You’re in love.” Harry stared in wonder, and waved off her bungled attempt to argue. “Don’t deny it. But tell me who’d be so foolish as to break your heart?”

  The need to unburden her sorrows welled up, concentrating in her quivering lower lip. “Azrael,” she whispered, slowing their journey.

  Harry grunted in acknowledgment. “Not familiar with the name, but I’m guessing he’s not a man.”

  Not a man? Azrael was the most amazing male she’d ever known, but she’d never considered that before. “No, not a man. An angel.”

  He glowed brighter with happiness. “Good, then you’ll have him forever. Whatever troubles concern you now will pass.”

  Strange that it took a dying man’s opinion to put things in perspective. As an immortal, she should not have needed such a reminder. The universe constantly changed, whether events or people or an entire world, and eventually the cycle would begin again. Yes, her troubles would pass. Either way.

  “How did you and Jo keep your love so strong?”

  Harry focused on the darkening skies ahead. “Faith? Stubbornness? I don’t know. Maybe dumb luck. I always knew she was the only one for me.”