How to be Death

by Amber Benson

  “I was looking out for you.”

  “Oh,” I said, very much liking the feel of his fingers laced through mine.

  “You have a habit of getting into trouble,” Daniel added, his ice blue eyes searching my face as he spoke. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Not sure what to say in response, I ducked my head, letting my eyes drift to the ground as I tried to collect my thoughts. I didn’t want—no, scratch that—I couldn’t get my hopes up where Daniel was concerned. If he didn’t want to be with me, really be with me, then opening myself up to him was a huge mistake. I was going to get my heart trampled on if I mistook him being nice to me as him wanting to be in a relationship again.

  Still, I couldn’t make myself drop his hand … and that meant I was already screwed.

  “Runt, can you run ahead and find Jarvis?” Freezay said, interrupting my thoughts. “Tell him to meet us in the drawing room.”

  “Sure thing,” Runt said, taking off down the path, a shadowy blur passing through the twilight.

  “Daniel, you and I are going to drop Calliope off at the drawing room and then we’re going to find Oggie.”

  “Why are you dropping me off at the drawing room?” I bristled, not liking any plan that called for me being coddled.

  “You can’t cause any trouble there,” Freezay said brusquely, treating me as if I were a recalcitrant child.

  “It’s safer there, Cal,” Daniel added as we took the long way around the pool, the marble statues looking strangely evil in the gloaming.

  “I’m not a child,” I said, dropping Daniel’s hand and striding ahead of him—and then Freezay—as I let anger fuel my speed. My frustration at being treated like a baby made me oblivious to everything around me, and I slammed right into Oggie without even seeing him, the impact strong enough that it sent us both sprawling.

  I fell backward, my head cracking against the edge of a marble pedestal that boasted a statue of the Goddess Athena. My vision tunneled, and for a moment I thought I was going to black out, but then the world slowly shifted back into focus with a startling clarity that made me blink twice. I reached up to make sure I wasn’t missing a chunk of my skull, but everything seemed to be exactly where it was supposed to be.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I sat up, wincing as I felt the beginnings of a massive headache stirring inside my cranium. “I wasn’t looking where I was—”

  And that was when I realized who I’d just power-walked myself into. Without saying another word, I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around his legs so he couldn’t escape.

  “Let me go!” Oggie cried.

  “Not a chance,” I said through gritted teeth as he fought to pry me off him.

  It only took a second for Daniel and Freezay to catch up to us. They each secured one of Oggie’s arms, trying to drag him to his feet, though he continued to flop around like a fish on a line, impeding the process.

  “Please, Madame Death, won’t you let me explain myself?” Oggie cried, his dark eyes boring into mine. He looked so pathetic hanging there that I started to feel bad about letting Daniel and Freezay manhandle him.

  “Go ahead, explain,” I said—but I was glad when the guys didn’t release him. I wasn’t fully satisfied that he wouldn’t run away again given half a chance.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he began, his sclera so exposed that his eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. “I was on my way to meet someone when I heard the shots.”

  “Who were you meeting?” Freezay asked, shaking Oggie like a rag doll.

  “Uriah Drood,” he said, letting the name drop like a stone. “I’m sure he’s responsible for what happened to the cook.”

  There was so much finger-pointing going on at the Haunted Hearts Castle, it was beginning to feel like Washington, D.C., had been transplanted to the Central Coast of California.

  “Okay, let’s go have ourselves a little chat,” Freezay said—and bowler hat askew on his towhead, he and Daniel dragged Oggie back to the house.

  the drawing room was full of people when we arrived.

  Alameda stood by the fireplace, the rigid set of her shoulders clueing me in that something had happened in our absence. Naapi sat across from her on the love seat—a sour look on his face, like he’d just swallowed something exceedingly unpalatable.

  Erlik sat in a nearby armchair, glowering over at Yum Cimil and Fabian Lazarev, who stood by the sideboard with an open bottle of bourbon between them as Lazarev made drinks.

  “What the …” Erlik said as we crossed the threshold, Freezay and Daniel dragging their prisoner behind them—but the large man immediately got up to help Daniel and Freezay settle Oggie into one of the other armchairs.

  “Zinia Monroe’s been murdered,” Freezay intoned, giving everyone in the room the stink eye. “Oggie, here, fled the scene of the crime, so it doesn’t look very good for him—”

  “No!” Alameda shrieked as she crossed the room and threw herself at Oggie’s feet. “He murdered no one!”

  “It’s all right, my dear,” Oggie whispered, stroking Alameda’s hair as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Stop it!” Naapi cried, pulling himself up off the love seat and crossing the room.

  Eyes wild, he grabbed Alameda by the shoulders and ripped her away from Oggie, lifting her bodily in the air by her collar. Oggie didn’t take too kindly to Naapi’s rude behavior.

  “Leave her alone,” he said, his voice as calm as a cobra right before it struck.

  “She’s my consort and you’d best remember it,” Naapi spat at him, Alameda wriggling like a cat in his arms.

  “I warned you,” Oggie said—and then he was on his feet, his fist connecting with the soft tissue under Naapi’s chin. The older man wasn’t prepared for the attack, immediately releasing his hold on Alameda to clutch at his injured throat. Dazed, he stumbled over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel for support.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” Alameda said to Naapi as she scampered back into Oggie’s arms.

  It was a rough thing to watch play out—an old God losing his woman to a younger, more able-bodied man—but it wasn’t really a shocker. Evidently we’d missed the big reveal while we’d been outside with Zinia’s body, and I was curious to know how long the affair had been going on and how long it would’ve continued had Naapi never discovered it.

  “Oggie didn’t murder anyone,” Fabian Lazarev said, turning around so he could glare at me. It was nice to know he’d concretized all his anger and aggression around me.

  “Then why did he run away from the crime scene?” Freezay asked.

  “He probably assumed you were going to wrongfully accuse him of the crime, so he tried to make himself scarce,” Lazarev said, scowling at the detective. “I would’ve done the same thing. You people are useless. Ineffectual and worthless.”

  Freezay shook away Lazarev’s invective like water off a duck’s back.

  “Where were the rest of you?” he asked, moving ahead with the investigation.

  “Erlik, Naapi, Alameda,” Lazarev said, ticking the names off in rapid fire succession. “And myself and Yum Cimil, of course, were in the living room.”

  “It pains me to say it, but Fabian’s right,” Erlik said, returning to his spot on the love seat. “We’ve all been together, thinking there was safety in numbers.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Oggie said. “I told you exactly why I was there.”

  “Nothing to hide?” Naapi said as he turned around and pointed at Oggie, his voice scratchy as his whole body shook with rage. “You’ve just been fucking her behind my back, that’s all. But you’re right. Nothing to hide there.”

  “I love him and he loves me,” Alameda cried, tearing herself away from Oggie to glare at Naapi.

  “Uriah Drood knew about our affair,” Oggie said to Freezay—and he had the class to look apologetic about it. “I assumed he was going to try to blackmail me when he asked me to meet him at the Assy
rian Obelisk, but he didn’t have the chance. When I got there, I heard the shots and fled, fearing for my life.”

  Well, at least that answers the question as to who Alameda was kissing in the statuary garden last night, I thought as I glanced over at Daniel, knowing that he was thinking the exact same thing.

  “Blackmail you?” Naapi laughed. “With what? He came to my room this afternoon and told me everything.”

  Before Freezay could get into the middle of the he said–he said argument, there was a loud crash out in the corridor, followed by frantic barking. Instantly, Freezay and Daniel were moving toward the open door.

  “I’m going to beat you silly for this!” I heard Kali yell—and then Horace flew headfirst through the doorway, landing hard, his face two inches from Freezay’s feet.

  “There’s no need for continued violence!” I heard Jarvis say as he and Runt burst in, hot on Kali’s heels.

  “No need for violence?” she snarled at Jarvis as she grabbed Horace by the chin and lifted him back onto his feet, her eyes never leaving the smaller man’s face. “This piece of nonhuman trash is the reason I still smell like skunk stink.”

  “I understand that,” Jarvis said, trying to calm the irate Goddess down. “But hitting him won’t make the smell go away.”

  Kali turned her head, scowling at Jarvis.

  “Really, goatboy, that’s the best you can do?” She turned to me. “White girl, is that the best he can do? Because what he said just makes me want to hit this guy more.”

  I walked over to Kali and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jarvis is right. Let’s hear what Horace has to say, and if he can’t explain himself about the skunk stink, then you can punch the crap out of him—and guess what? I’ll even hold him down for you.”

  This seemed to appease her and she relaxed her grip, letting Horace go. He backed away from her, his dark eyes amused rather than angry—which made me wonder if we didn’t have this whole thing backward. I knew Kali was tough—I’d literally watched her rip people’s heads off their necks—but I got the distinct impression Horace had wanted Kali to bring him here.

  Thankfully, Freezay chose that moment to step in.

  He pointed to Oggie and said: “I’m not through with you yet.” Then he turned his attention to Horace.

  “Skunk spray aside,” Freezay said, sitting down on the edge of the love seat. “I have another question I’d like to ask you first.”

  “You want to ask me why I killed my sister,” Horace said softly.

  And then he smiled with anticipation, as if he was very much looking forward to what was about to come.

  twenty-three

  Horace laughed, the sound swelling as it left his belly until it had taken over every molecule of air in the room.

  “His sister?” Erlik barked, rising from the love seat. “Who’s his sister?”

  Lazarev’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Horace, understanding dawning on his face.

  “Of course,” he said, setting his drink down on the sideboard and walking over to Horace. “How could I have not seen it before…”

  Lazarev trailed off, his voice full of wonderment as he reached out a hand to touch Horace’s face.

  “I wouldn’t be too excited to meet Horace … or should I call you Huitzilopochtli?” Freezay asked Horace. “You came to the Death Dinner with every intention of killing Coy, didn’t you?”

  The gleam of satisfaction in Horace’s eye made Lazarev blink in confusion, his excitement dissipating as Freezay’s words hit home—and then, without warning, he was on the attack, shoving Horace as hard as he could.

  “Why’d you kill her, you bastard!” Lazarev screamed, his hands clawing at Horace’s face, trying to rip the other man’s eyes out with grasping fingers.

  Like he was batting away a fly, Horace reached out and grabbed Lazarev’s bad wrist, twisting it until the Russian screamed. At that point, Daniel and Erlik descended on Lazarev, each grabbing an arm and pulling him away. Lazarev, enraged and in pain, kicked at his captors, alternately screaming obscenities at them and then begging them to let him go so he could kill Horace.

  “Please, let me go, let me kill him—”

  “Enough!” Freezay yelled, grabbing Lazarev by the collar of his shirt. “Behaving like a lunatic won’t bring her back!”

  Freezay’s words were as about as effective as chipping away at Mount Everest with a ball-peen hammer. Lazarev continued to struggle against his captors, his face mottled with rage.

  “Why?” Lazarev spat, the cords of his neck in bas-relief against the smoothness of his throat.

  “I didn’t kill her,” Horace said as he walked over to the fireplace, which was as far away from Lazarev as he could get.

  “I don’t believe you!” Lazarev shrieked, fighting to break free from Daniel and Erlik so he could attack Horace again.

  “Detective,” Horace said, appealing to Freezay. “I think you know as well as I do that had I been given the chance, I would’ve beheaded Coyolxauhqui myself. But alas, someone beat me to it.”

  Everyone looked at Freezay, waiting for his response.

  “Go on,” Feezay said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Someone has gone to great lengths to make it appear as if these killings were based on Aztec ritual,” Horace continued. “Do you really believe I would be so stupid as to implicate myself in such an obvious way?”

  “No, I don’t, actually,” Freezay said. “It would be a real lapse in logic on your part, one I just don’t see you making.”

  “My sister came here to steal the Death book,” Horace continued, his gaze lingering on me as he spoke, to the point where I started to feel slightly uncomfortable. “She was under the impression she could use it to call back the spirits of our four hundred dead brothers and sisters, whom I had killed, when, at Coyolxauhqui’s behest, they attacked our mother, Coatlicue. They were embarrassed by the circumstances of my inception and Coyolxauhqui incited them to violence. She, alone, escaped the massacre and has been plotting revenge against me ever since.”

  “The Death book?” Naapi asked, confused. “What’s he talking about?”

  Jarvis, who was still standing in the doorway, beat me to the punch.

  “Someone took the fully annotated copy of How to Be Death from Calliope’s room last night.”

  I decided a change in subject was necessary or we were gonna be adding mutiny to the steadily growing list of crimes on this ship.

  “You said the murders were made to look like Aztec sacrificial killings,” I said to Horace. “How can you tell that they’re not?”

  Horace considered my question for a moment.

  “The heart.”

  “The heart?” I repeated.

  Horace indicated that I should join him at the fireplace. I didn’t move until I’d gotten the okay from Freezay, who nodded. Apparently he was all for letting Horace have his way.

  “It’s all right, Calliope,” he said. “Horace has no beef with you.”

  I slowly crossed the room, coming to stand beside the powerful Aztec God, Huitzilopochtli—or Horace, as I’d called him when he was merely the dude who’d served me dinner.

  “Look here,” he said, picking up the wrought iron fireplace poker and thrusting it into the dying ashes.

  At first, I didn’t see what he was talking about, but as he sifted through the ashes, I noticed something dark and rubbery stuck inside the grate. I squatted down next to the hearth to get a better look at it.

  “What the—” I started to say.

  “Lots of fluid in the heart muscle,” Horace said, softly, kneeling down beside me. “Makes it hard to burn. Besides, we Aztecs only set fire to the hearts of willing sacrificial victims. It’s an honor for them—to have the energy from their souls released back to the sun.”

  He paused, reaching out and brushing his thumb along my cheek.

  “We eat the hearts of our enemies, lovely lady.”

  Needless to say, Horace had made his point.<
br />
  “I see,” I said, unsettled, as I stood up too quickly, all the blood rushing to my head. “Thank you for the explanation.”

  “Ah, it was my pleasure to serve you,” Horace replied, ignoring everyone else in the room as he reached out and took my hand, his lips grazing the swell of my knuckles. Then he whispered: “You might have a look at the freezer. It may prove helpful in finding the real murderer.”

  He moved to the exit but stopped at the door to give me one more meaningful look. I blushed as his dark, bedroom eyes swept callously over the curves of my body before returning to my face, his cunning gaze making me feel naked and vulnerable—something I didn’t think was possible when you were wearing pajamas—and then he was gone, disappearing through the open doorway.