by Amber Benson
I could tell he was annoyed with me for being so obnoxious, but seriously, I was allergic to the damned cat, and while I was in such close proximity to it, how dared he expect me to be chipper about my situation—my head hurt, my nose wouldn’t stop running, and my eyes were turning into mini waterfalls.
Madame Papillon may have been wrong about cats being my weakness, but at least I could hold on to the fact that I was still highly, highly allergic to the furry little monsters.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to get about twenty feet away from you,” I said to the cat as I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, my ankles popping loudly as I stood up.
Ow!
Great, not only was my face a red, blotchy mess, but now I was turning into an arthritic cripple, too. Boy, this was fast becoming so not my day.
As soon as I was back on my feet, I brushed the dirt and lint off my clothes and moved as far away from Bast as I could—not that it mattered anymore whether or not there was any crud on my “going to the Goodwill as soon as I get home” Missoni sweater.
Looking around me for the first time since I had awakened from my mock death, I noticed that the party had finally ended and “the neighbors” had returned to their homes again. I sighed, happy not to be the center of attention anymore, but I did wonder exactly what the people who had watched my little meltdown had thought about the whole thing.
The two monks were long gone, as well as the other people I’d spied lurking farther down the hallway. They’d been too far away, so I hadn’t been able to see who or what they were, but I knew they’d probably made a few mental connections concerning my identity.
Had they all thought I was some crazy loon who’d accidentally been let into the Hall of Death, or did they know precisely what I was? That I was the Grim Reaper’s Daughter?
I had never really given much thought before to the fact that I was a flesh-and-bone representative of my father and his administration. I’d always assumed that it didn’t matter what people thought of me, that I was my own person who could do exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, and it affected no one. But now I was starting to think otherwise, that maybe I had more of an impact on how my father was perceived here in the Afterlife than I realized.
“Uhm, Jarvis,” I asked curiously, “does everyone in here know who I am?”
Jarvis didn’t even deign to reply. He just snorted and smoothed his mustache down against his upper lip. Bast, the Queen of the Cats, continued to stare at me, her molten yellow eyes following my every move, but I wasn’t too worried about her. She and I shared a secret—she was still in possession of Daniel’s Shade—and she knew that I knew that she knew what the deal was. If she had really wanted to get me in trouble, she would’ve done it already.
No, she had other plans for me, and I was just going to have to wait and see what they were.
“We keep records of who comes and goes, so I’m sure if someone didn’t know your name before, they would after today,” Suri piped in helpfully.
The young Day Manager of the Hall of Death seemed to be in much better spirits now that the Shade was gone and the knights were back at their individual stations. I got the impression Suri was one of those people who loved to deny they had any problems—except a battalion of knights following around one of your patrons was a problem too obvious to ignore.
“Since everything seems to be in order again,” Suri said happily, “how may we at the Hall of Death help you, Death’s Daughter?”
The name made me cringe. If there was anything in this world that made me want to gnaw my own arm off, it was someone using an appellation that denoted I was not my own person . . . but some kind of derivative of my father.
“Just call me Callie,” I said to Suri, “and we’ll be just fine.”
The girl smiled at me and nodded.
“Callie it is, then, but only if you call me Suri.”
“Sure, okay, whatever you like,” I replied. Apparently, now that things had returned to normal, Suri was going to try to be my new best friend—yay!
Not.
“We have a letter from Death himself, requesting the Death Record of a particular individual,” Jarvis said, interrupting the pleasantries between Suri and me and producing a small, cream-colored envelope with the Death, Inc., seal on it.
I mouthed the words “thank you,” but Jarvis shook his head.
“Follow me, then . . . Callie,” Suri said, taking off down the hall toward the main desk. “By the way, you still need that bathroom?”
I looked over at Bast, who had apparently decided to join us for the duration, before shaking my head.
“Nope, I think having the death scared out of me kinda sent my bladder into shock,” I replied.
This seemed to put a kibosh on any more conversation and we finished our walk to the main desk in silence.
when we got there, we found a man sitting behind the desk, waiting for us. I did a double take because I hadn’t noticed him before—but here he sat, his chin in his hand, watching our ragged procession with not even the hint of a smile on his buttery, round face.
He was a pudgy man who appeared to be in his late thirties, but with the weird way time ran in the Afterlife, he could’ve been any age. The first thing that came to my mind when I looked at him was that he resembled a less flour-y, more Sumo Wrestler-y version of the Pillsbury Doughboy.
Upon our arrival, he dropped his hand from his chin so that both arms were now folded on top of the long desk, his puffy body stuffed into one of those ergonomic office chairs like a perennial breakfast favorite of mine: pigs in a blanket. The desk Pudge Boy sat behind came to my waist. It was made of warm, cherry wood and boasted lots of nicks and scratches on its scarred surface. There was a computer on the desk to the man’s right, but it didn’t look as if it was much employed. In counterpoint, the large apothecary’s cabinet standing behind the desk like an enormous green-painted sentinel seemed well-worn with age and use.
Suddenly, the man’s face broke into a wide grin and he began to laugh, his tummy rolling up and down with waves of mirth.
“Tanuki, this is—”
“I know who she is,” he said, and this only seemed to amuse him more.
“They need a Death Record, please,” Suri said, oblivious to Tanuki’s massive sense of good humor.
“Is this the one you want?” Tanuki said, his mirth instantly replaced with a mischievous grin as he whipped a bright pink folder right out of the very air. “Or is this the one you seek?”
Now the pink folder was gone, disappearing right before our eyes, only to be replaced by an even brighter orange one. I stared at him, uncertain as to what he was playing at. We were supposed to get the stupid Death Record and then get the hell out of Dodge. This wasn’t supposed to be some kind of bloody magic show.
“Neither,” I said, grabbing the orange folder right out of the man’s hand and holding it up for all to see.
There was a shocked silence as everyone looked at me, their eyes glued to the orange folder I clutched in my hand. Even poor Tanuki looked up at me with shock and maybe a little bit of awe. I don’t think he—or anyone else for that matter—thought I had the hand-eye reflexes necessary to pull off that kind of sleight of hand. Little did they know the bizarro things I’d had to do since I’d started my job over at House and Yard. My boss, Hy, was a tricky bitch, so that meant in order to stay employed, I’d had to learn a few tricks of my own.
“You seem like a very sweet guy, whatever your name is, but I’m in no mood to play any games with you right now,” I said, my voice loud enough to carry down the hall. “Now, here’s your folder back.”
I put the orange folder back into his hand. He looked down at it, then started to giggle.
“I like this one,” he said to Suri. “She means business.”
“I try,” I said helpfully. “Hey, Jarvis, pass my friend here the note from Pop.”
Jarvis bristled at my calling my dad “Pop,” but he forke
d over the letter without further hesitation.
“Here,” I said, passing it across the desk to Tanuki, “this oughta do it.”
Tanuki unfolded the envelope and pulled the letter Jarvis had forged out of its cream binding. He scanned it quickly, then nodded.
“It’s a red folder, Suri,” Tanuki said, looking nervously over at his boss.
Suri only shrugged.
“So be it,” she said.
“But—” he started to say before Suri cut him off.
“Just call it up, Tanuki.”
Tanuki sighed unhappily and turned around in his rolling chair. He used his tiny legs to scoot himself across the carpeted floor and over to the apothecary’s cabinet. He opened one of the little drawers, closed it, then opened it again. He scooted all the way down to the far side of the cabinet and repeated the process with another drawer. This time, before he closed it, he whispered the name “Senenmut” into the drawer.
Somewhere up above us, I knew that a cascade of folders was flipping its little guts out, as it searched for the Death Record that we wanted. Almost immediately, the last drawer that Tanuki had closed flew open and a bright red folder popped out of it. Tanuki moved so quickly that I barely registered he’d even caught the folder, let alone that he was now holding it out for me to take. I reached for it and Tanuki caught hold of my wrist.
“Be careful. The red files are always bad news,” he whispered in my ear, before he released my arm. I took the file folder he pressed into my hands, holding it to my chest.
Part of me didn’t want to deal with what was in that file, but the other, more intrepid side of myself was itching to find out where Cerberus’s lost charge might be.
“Open it,” I heard a soft, reedy voice say.
I looked over and saw that Bast had taken the opportunity to jump up onto the desktop and was now sitting on her haunches beside me, waiting for me to proceed with the opening of the folder.
“Is that an official spirit guide request?” I asked as I covered my nose with the back of my sleeve, hoping to ward off another sneezing fit.
Bast purred and rubbed her head against my arm.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, answering my own question. Slowly, I eased the folder open, and a thin slip of paper fell out onto the desk.
“What does it say?” Jarvis asked, squeezing past Suri to get a better look.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to flip the page over.”
“Do it,” Bast urged, her tail flicking dangerously close to my nose as she stood up.
“All righty, then,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”
I reached out to pick up the flimsy piece of paper, but just as I grasped its razor-thin edge, a giant sneeze I didn’t even know was inside me escaped my sinuses and sent the piece of paper wafting off the desk and onto Tanuki’s side of the floor.
Tanuki, the mischievous grin back on his moon face, bent down and picked up the piece of paper and put it, right side up this time, on the desk.
“Told you red folders were bad news,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. I returned his grin before looking down at the paper.
“That makes absolutely no sense, Suri,” Jarvis said as I let my eyes scan over the words that he had already speed-read ahead of me. I had no idea what Jarvis was talking about. What was written on the paper seemed pretty straightforward to me.
“What makes no sense?” Suri asked as she, too, stepped up to the desk. I moved out of her way—and out of Bast range—so that she could see the paper better.
“Oh, but that can’t be,” she said after a few moments of consideration. “There must be some mistake.”
She went around to the other side of the desk, so that she stood beside Tanuki, and started haphazardly opening every drawer in the apothecary cabinet.
“Tanuki, help me, please,” she said as she yanked one of the drawers out of its slot.
“I can’t help if I can’t read it,” he said, another broad smile on his face.
Suri sighed, looking heavenward.
“You have my permission.”
Tanuki greedily reached for the paper, almost inhaling the words that were inscribed on it. Satisfied, he sat back in his chair, as unhelpful as he had been before he’d read what was on the paper.
“Well?” Suri said. “What do you make of it?”
“Is it a mistake?” Jarvis chimed in.
I was starting to feel totally left out of the loop here.
“Is what a mistake?” I asked, but my request was greeted only by silence. Annoyed by everyone’s lack of explanation, I picked up the paper and started walking back down the hallway.
“Hey, does anyone here know where I can find the Jackal Brothers?”
“Calliope Reaper-Jones!”
Jarvis’s stern tone followed me down the hallway, but I ignored it, just like he and everyone else had ignored me earlier. I know I was acting like a petulant child, but sometimes I’ve found that the louder the fuss, the more people do what you want them to do.
“I’m looking for the Jackal Brothers,” I continued. “Any takers?”
I felt something small yet sturdy pressing up against my leg, and I looked down to find Bast rubbing herself against me.
“Please don’t do that,” I asked as nicely as I could muster. “You’re gonna give me a respiratory attack or something.”
Bast ceased her rubbing and sat back on the Oriental carpet, waiting.
“I can take you to them, if you would like,” she said.
It was really strange to see the English language spoken via a cat’s mouth, but I supposed it was good practice for when Runt started talking.
“I would like that,” I murmured, looking down the hall where Jarvis and Suri were steadily gaining ground on us, Jarvis moving as quickly as his little faun legs would carry him. I thought my dad’s Executive Assistant looked pretty pissed off, but since I didn’t know Suri that well, I couldn’t imagine how she was taking all this.
“They can’t come with us,” Bast said, her tail twitching excitedly as she spoke, her eyes ratcheted to mine.
I’d had a feeling that that one was coming.
“Okay,” I said.
“Good,” she purred. “I’m glad you agree. It’s so much easier when you do what I want.”
It’s not like you gave me much choice, I thought to myself.
“Follow me,” she said as she got up off her haunches and started sashaying toward the knight, cat, and unicorn tapestry that was fast becoming a favorite of mine.
As I stared at the tapestry, something niggled at the back of my brain. When I realized what was bothering me, I almost choked. The small golden cat that had been in the tapestry when I’d first encountered it was missing. I gave Bast a questioning glance, but she stared back at me, mute. I wanted to ask if she was the cat I’d just seen hanging in the woven panel, but before I could form the words, Bast picked up her gait and disappeared into the tapestry. Let me repeat: She disappeared into the tapestry, not through it, not around it, but into it.
I stopped, shocked as I watched the image of a cat begin to weave itself into the fabric.
I guess that answers my question.
I knew that I was supposed to follow her, but it seemed like such an alien thing to do that I was having a hard time making myself do it.
This is craziness, I thought to myself. Who follows a cat into a medieval tapestry without the proper vaccinations and visas? Anyone ever hear of the bubonic plague? Anyone?
I swallowed hard, fear tiptoeing up my spine as I finally made my decision. It was now or never—and I wanted Runt as a permanent member of my family, so I was left with no other choice. I took one step, then another and another, until I was mere inches from the tapestry.
“Here goes nothing,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to make my fear disappear. I took a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly, then lifted my leg and took a final step forward, half expecting to run into the cool limestone wall t
hat I knew intellectually was waiting only a foot or so in front of me. But instead of slamming headfirst into the wall, I felt only calm and the sense that my body was being enveloped in a welcoming warmth.
I wonder what I look like as a tapestry princess? I thought curiously as the warmth overwhelmed my senses and I felt my body disintegrate into nothingness.
sixteen
I opened my eyes to find myself in what I can only call a medieval torture chamber.
I knew that it was a torture chamber primarily because there was a stretching rack in one corner of the cold, stone room; a Catherine wheel directly across from that; and a big bronze pot—which I assumed was used to dunk people in boiling oil—making up the vertex of what could only be termed a “torture triangle.”
To add to that, there were heavy iron manacles roughly embedded into the walls, a rusty shackle affixed to each long dendrite of chain. Oh, and let’s not forget the pièce de résistance—the occasional human being tethered to said manacles like a rabbit’s foot dangling at the end of a lucky key chain.
There were no windows in the room. The only light in the place came from a half dozen torches set into the walls, each one emitting such a paltry glow that it barely illuminated what was directly beneath it. As they burned, they gave off an overpoweringly noxious stench that made my throat burn and my sinuses sting. I decided that even if they Cloroxed the whole place, whitewashed the walls, and let the prisoners out for good behavior, there was no way in Hell this place was gonna ever be up to EPA standards. I actually had half a mind to call my local environmental protection agent and complain—until I remembered that even if the EPA wanted to shut this place down, they wouldn’t have any jurisdiction to do it because we were in the Afterlife.
I did take note of the one door in the place—a big wooden monstrosity that appeared to have what looked like bloodstains splashed across its oaken mass—but the large iron lock wedged below the keyhole was more than enough to deter any burgeoning escape plan.
It was oddly silent for a place so full of human misery, I decided. I mean, I expected to hear at least a few moans of agony, but there was nothing, not even a snore.