Death's Intern (The Intern Diaries Book 1)

by D. C. Gomez

  “Yeah, that one. Shady. That’s exactly what’s going on here.”

  “Abuelita, you do know in most cultures, people don’t meet the family until they’re really serious, like marriage material. Angelito goes through girls kind of quickly. It’s only been a week, if that.” Granted, for Angelito that was probably considered serious—even long term.

  “Isis, I know all of his friends and even those loose girls he hangs out with. Why is this one different? I don’t like it.” She went back to the kitchen before I could respond. She was furious. Thank God I had to clean outside.

  Texas didn’t have the breathtaking fall colors of New England. Instead we had a mild version of summer, with a breeze that begged you to nap. I swept the outside quietly, but I was daydreaming of napping. Tuesdays were my lazy day. I normally would be sitting on my little porch reading a book and drinking lemonade. Now I was driving around town like a maniac, chasing crazy witches, and working two jobs. I missed my lazy days.

  My daydreaming didn’t last long. I had an early customer and had to move. Fortunately, he wanted a to-go order. After he left, I picked up the pace. I couldn’t afford to waste time if customers were walking in. I barely finished on time before the place was packed. Gabe and the Joneses were in their usual seats, followed by a group of boys in the opposite corner. My third eye was closed, but I was starting to feel their energies. Gabe felt like sunshine on a summer day at the beach. The Joneses had the feel of a cool breeze before rain. The boys, on the other hand, felt like a hot day in the desert—dry but penetrating.

  “So, four flats in one day. That’s probably a new record,” Gabe said as I refilled his horchata.

  “Hey, I’m good at making an impression.”

  “That is definitely an impression.” Gabe’s smile was intoxicating. Hard to be mad when the man looked good enough to eat. I had always thought God had lost an angel, but I wasn’t expecting it to be true. Who said God doesn’t have a sense of humor?

  By the time seven rolled around, I was totally dizzy. The stress of the day, my lack of food, and all their energy were making me dizzy. I felt drunk and tired just being around them. The trash was piling up, and most of the customers were gone. I had a few to-go orders, but I could sneak outside and be back in time. I grabbed the bag and headed toward the back door. The Dumpster to the restaurant was at least twenty feet from the building. From that angle, I had a great view of the cars in the parking lot up front. The air felt amazing on my skin. I took a deep breath and felt a shiver all the way down my back. When I turned around, something hard hit me across the head.

  I flew across the back lot and landed headfirst on the dirt. The trash bag was to my left, and fortunately, it hadn’t busted on me. Everything looked a bit blurry. Someone grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up. The sensation was excruciating. I had never been in a fight before, but I finally understood why girls always put their hair up. My hands reached up, trying to free myself from the attacker. Unfortunately, that left my midsection wide open. I got a swift jab to the ribs followed by a hook to the face. I bit my lips, and I could taste the blood in my mouth.

  “You should have listened to the homeless people, little girl. Obviously you learn lessons the hard way,” a muffled female voice said in my ear. I felt the pressure of a knife on my neck as my hair was pulled again. Another female, wearing a Dora the Explorer mask, walked in front of me. These weirdos had some nerve co-opting poor Dora. Thankfully no children were passing by, or they would have been traumatized. For that matter, I was.

  I couldn’t scream without the knife digging harder into my neck. I was on my knees and barely had time to see the girl land a kick on me. She was fast. At least I was able to cover my midsection. Death was not around; time had a way of slowing down when she was near. Killing me was not part of their plan. Option two, beating the hell out of me, was. Horrible plan for me. I was truly dizzy and maybe delirious.

  Then I heard gunshots very close to my head. Were they going to shoot off my legs, too?

  “Get off her, or I will blow your head off.” Abuelita had enunciated each one of her words. She radiated cold energy that I could feel from behind. I wasn’t sure what was more frightening: Abuelita’s voice or the sound of the shotgun as she reloaded. Oh God, please don’t let her use it, or I was a goner.

  “This isn’t your fight, vieja. You don’t want to get involved,” a female voice I hadn’t heard before said from my left, with a patronizing tone.

  “Funny, you’re in my parking lot. You know the rules. This is neutral ground. You want to try this again?” Abuelita had moved into my line of vision. She was an avenging angel, shotgun at the ready, a pair of knives by her side, and a bat tied to her apron behind her.

  Without a word, the assault was over, and I was dropped to the ground. Abuelita moved slowly to cover me. I was flat on the ground, and everything hurt. I raised my head just in time to see the Whale blow up. Those psychopaths blew up my minivan, Hollywood style. Stunt coordinators would had died for that shot. The Whale was engulfed in flames, the windows were shattered, and the frame looked as if it had collapsed into itself. I rolled over to stare at Abuelita. Her mouth was wide open in shock.

  “I think it would be safer if I stopped working here.” I didn’t want Abuelita getting hurt because of me.

  “Isis, please. We’re not going to let some skinny witches run us off. Besides, family doesn’t turn on one another when things get tough.” Abuelita looked down at me and winked. For an orphan, I had gotten a huge family in a very short time. This was probably how those Chia Pets developed.

  “Thank you.” I hurt too much to say anything else.

  “No need for thanks, but let’s get you inside. The police will be here soon, and we have some explaining to do. Don’t say a word. I’ll handle it. I’ll take you home once they’re gone.”

  All I could do was nod. Everything was throbbing. She grabbed me by the arm and took me inside.

  Chapter 15

  By the time the cops left Abuelita’s, it was way past ten. I wasn’t sure what Abuelita was saying; it all sounded muffled to me. Every once in a while, they all turned toward me, Abuelita motioned for me to confirm something, and I did. I was a good little soldier when it came to following instructions, at least when the police were involved. Two cops took our statements while hot Smith watched the burning Whale. I saw him from the window, and he still had a fabulous behind.

  Reggie was at the scene before the cops were gone. I wasn’t sure how he knew. Maybe Abuelita had a panic button somewhere to call him. I had a horrible habit of making emotional attachments to things, especially things given to me. Watching the Whale hauled away, I felt as if I had let my godmother down. How was I going to explain this to her? She knew when I was lying, even over the phone. My poor Whale. It broke my heart.

  I didn’t remember when Abuelita brought me home. My body was on autopilot. I walked into the loft before I realized where I was.

  “Holy crap, what happened to you?” Bartholomew was on his feet, running toward me before he finished his sentence. He cleared the room and walked me over to the couch. I dropped down like a sack of potatoes. Absolutely no grace on that dismount. I dropped my head on the armrest. It hurt so bad everywhere. “Constantine, hurry,” Bartholomew yelled across the room.

  “Ouch. Please tell me you ran over a tree.” It took Constantine less than a minute to cross the room and land on the couch. He, on the other hand, made everything look smooth.

  “Sorry, Yoda. Got jumped from behind by our friendly neighborhood witches,” I muttered, my head on the little cushion on the couch. I had no idea when the cushion had appeared under my head. “Oh and those bitches.”

  “The witches?”

  “Yeah, that too. Thanks, Bart. Those things blew up the Whale.” I tried to get up, but everything hurt.

  “You mean the Whale looks worse than you? Now, that’s a horrible mental image.” Bartholomew sounded traumatized.

  “Why didn’t yo
u put them to sleep instead of letting them beat you?” Constantine sounded mad.

  “Put them to sleep? How? With my Jedi mind powers?” When pushed to the limit, my anger takes over.

  “If you want to call it that. Every intern gets the power to knock people out. The stronger you are, the longer the spell. Please tell me you read the manual.” Constantine was inches from my face. I closed my eyes and felt my cheeks warming up. “Isis, you are going to get yourself killed if you don’t take this seriously.” Now Constantine was mad. I hated that stupid manual.

  “Why didn’t you make an audiobook instead? It would make great listening material during your torture sessions.” I was whining. How sad. “Besides, it’s not as if I have that much free time here.”

  “Those are excuses. The result is the same—you look like a plane just used you as a landing zone.” I didn’t know it was possible, but I was sure Constantine took a deep breath to calm himself down. His eyes were glowing red, and he looked as if he were growing in size.

  “I’m sorry; you’re right. How do I make this power thing work?” When in Rome, resign to their will.

  “Each intern’s manifestation is different. You’re mixing your gifts with Death’s blessing. It’s our way to avoid unnecessary killing and keep humanity in the dark. Teck had darts that he injected with his own compound.” Constantine tried to calm down. His eyes stopped glowing, and he looked his normal size.

  “Great. I’m not an alchemist. I barely passed chemistry. I’m a musician, remember?” Maybe I had picked the wrong career path, but God, chemistry sounded so boring to me.

  “Isis, magic comes from the soul. All Death did was enhance what was already there. If you tried a spell, you probably would poison them to the ultimate slumber.” Constantine waited for his words to sink in.

  “You could do like the Pied Piper,” Bartholomew said from his chair at the workstation.

  “Thanks, Bart. I thought you were on my side. Now you, too, are making fun of me.”

  “Isis, I think Bartholomew had a great idea.” Constantine was staring at me.

  “What?” I was staring back and forth between the two of them. They had lost their minds. “OK, guys, the one who got hit in the head was me, remember?”

  Constantine rolled his eyes at me; I wasn’t sure how. “Isis, please.” People were saying that a lot lately. Constantine continued without even blinking an eye. “You’ve heard the saying ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’ Most of your folktales and stories are based on some truth. Like the religions of old are now your mythologies. Believing in things gives them power. In your case, it’s like faith.”

  “So you’re saying the Pied Piper was real.” Why was I even surprised anymore?

  “A man who used magic through his music to enchant people, yes. The rest of the story is very iffy. Think of the power music currently has. It makes people want to move, even those who can’t dance. Now image adding an intent to that. It’s powerful.” Constantine had a smirk when he finished.

  “OK, so maybe I have some hope.” I tried to sound positive.

  “You have more than hope. We do need to add some martial arts and grappling to your training. You can’t be taking any more beatings.” Oh God, he was going to kill me.

  “Constantine, if magic comes from the soul, what happens when you misuse it?” I needed to change the topic fast.

  “Your scientists and religious groups understood this very early on. Your scientists found that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The religious leaders developed the golden rule—do unto others as you wish to be done to you. The rules are simple. Anything you put out there will come back to you in one way or another.”

  Bartholomew and I were listening in silence. Neither one of us moved. Bartholomew cleared his throat. “Is that why you are always preaching about intentions?”

  “Buddhism has a beautiful saying: cause no harm to any living thing. Every time those witches use their power to kill and destroy, it destroys a part of their soul. Makes them easy marks for demons and the like.” Constantine looked sad as he spoke.

  “What about those who worship the devil?” Theoretical discussions were not my specialty—way too many variables.

  “They know where they’re going. They’re just trying to get points to have a higher status in the afterlife. Some want to transcend to demons.” I had officially heard it all. “OK, enough chitchat. We’ve got work to do. Bartholomew, go make Isis a bath. You know what to use.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bartholomew flew out of the room faster than I believed possible.

  “I can make my own bath.” I struggled to sit up.

  “No, no you can’t. We don’t have all night to watch you wobble around. In the fridge there is a shake marked Isis. Grab it on your way to the shower and drink it.” Constantine was not leaving any room to argue.

  “Do I have to?” I was afraid of drinking any weird potions.

  “Girl, don’t make me scratch your eyes out. Go to the fridge and then the bath. Sit in the tub for twenty minutes, no more and no less. Move!” He yelled the last part, since I was sitting there with my mouth open.

  There was no need to argue. I struggled to my feet and shuffled across the room. By the time I had reached the fridge, Bartholomew was back from my room. He saw me and made a beeline toward me. Without a word he opened the fridge, grabbed my shake, opened the lid, and handed it to me. No words were spoken—just smiles and nods. Bartholomew was wiser than I had ever imagined.

  I refused to admit to Constantine that the shake was actually delicious. It was a peanut-butter-and-banana shake, and probably the creamiest I had ever had. It had a hint of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. It was so good, I didn’t care what else it had. Yeah, I loved food. By the time I had shuffled to my room, the shake was half-gone. I forced myself to the bathroom instead of stopping by my bed. I would never get up if I sat down.

  The bathroom smelled like jasmine, peppermint, and vanilla. Not what I was expecting. I loved all those fragrances. It took me almost three minutes to take off my clothes. I normally could undress in under twenty seconds. I set the alarm on my phone and placed the phone on the outside ledge of the tub. My bathroom had a walk-in shower and a separate tub. The shower and tub were next to each other on the right-hand wall. The tub was a modern piece that looked as if it were carved from the wall. It had a small ledge around it.

  The toilet was on the opposite side, and it was inside what looked like a small closet. I had two sinks that formed an L shape connecting the toilet and tub. The bathroom was awesome. I didn’t know how they had done it, but it was made for me. I looked at the alarm and made sure it had twenty minutes on it. I didn’t need Constantine coming in to yell at me. Baths were not my thing, and as I placed my feet in the water, it all came back why. The water was close to boiling levels. I felt like a large lobster, and my skin was slowly cooking.

  I was told your body adjusted to baths and they stopped being as hot. Either the tub had a hidden heater, or this water was magically boiling itself—it never cooled off. By the time my alarm went off, I was a giant prune. The room felt cold after I had been boiled for twenty minutes.

  Somehow, I never felt clean after a bath. I jumped into the shower and washed off. As I rubbed my stomach, my abs didn’t hurt as much. My head wasn’t throbbing as much. It was hard to admit, but Constantine’s brew worked. I didn’t understand how, but I was significantly better.

  I walked to my room to get dressed and found a flute case on my bed. I was afraid to move closer, in case it disappeared. My heart was pounding by the time I reached the bed. A note was lying on top of the case.

  Dear Isis, your mom asked me to hold this for you. Hope it brings you as much joy as it brought her. Death.

  I cried. The last time I had seen this was in the burning vehicle with my parents. It was my mother’s flute. I had never liked the flute; I preferred the saxophone. When they died, that was all I wanted to play. I poured my heart out ov
er things a little girl is not meant to understand. Here it was, looking better than ever. I opened the case. Inside was a picture of my parents and me after my first recital. Mom had placed the picture there to remind me to have fun while I played.

  I took the picture out and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed. I needed a frame for it, but it was enough for now. I crawled into bed and took the flute with me. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I played. The most haunting melody came out, full of pain and sorrow. My pain and years of sorrow, anger, and loneliness. I played, and I felt a small pressure release in my heart. I was not an alchemist, but, by God, I was a hell of a musician. I wasn’t sure when, but I knew I could make the magic work. I fell asleep in my towel holding the flute.

  Chapter 16

  It was barely five in the morning, and I was already up and working out. I had no idea what Constantine had put in that shake, but I felt amazing. Yeah, my muscles still ached, but I wasn’t bruised from the beating last night. On top of that, I had slept like a baby. Constantine was usually up and ready to roll by the time I got up; this time I beat him. It was going to be a great day.

  I was on my fifth pull-up when I noticed the new additions to the gym. True to his word, Constantine had added a punching bag, one of those weird training mannequins you see at martial arts centers. After careful examination of the gym area, I saw that we had some weird ropes hanging from the ceiling, not to mention lots and lots of jump ropes. I was impressed and a bit worried. Constantine had some impressive connections to deliver in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, this meant that my training sessions were going to get even more painful.

  “Well, somebody woke up feeling much better today.”

  I jumped at least four feet off the ground due to Constantine’s voice. How did he do it? I knew cats were sneaky, but Constantine was the king of stealth.

  “You need a bell or something wrapped around you. You scared me to death.” My heart was racing, at least 150 beats per minute now, and it had nothing to do with my workout.