The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVELS

  the golden age of death

  “I could not have been more delighted with where this series has gone. Benson knows how to tell a good story, and she ratchets up the tension with every page.”

  —Seanan McGuire, New York Times bestselling author

  how to be death

  “You may know Amber Benson from her stint on Buffy as Tara, but her talents are multifaceted, making this series a favorite.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “How to Be Death will make you an instant fan of Amber Benson… Not only will this novel amuse you, but Benson has crafted a well-written page-turner mystery. Full of colorful characters and hilarious dialogue, this is a series supernatural fans will devour.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Reads like a clever and complex whodunit… Urban fantasy fans should not miss this lighthearted, exciting series.”

  —SciFiChick.com

  “A true suspenseful mystery, How to Be Death is also riddled with some seriously comical moments… This is a fantastic book and a wonderful addition to the Calliope Reaper-Jones series. 5 stars!”

  —Pure Textuality

  serpent’s storm

  “Calliope Reaper-Jones is hysterical. One can’t help but root for her to get the man, save the world, and get her heart’s desire in the process. This character-driven addition to the Reaper-Jones series is truly fantastic.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Amber Benson shines through her novel and entices readers. Calliope’s personality is genuine, and readers will definitely love her.”

  —Nocturne Romance Reads

  “Fast-paced but filled with humor and pathos. A powerful, action-packed thriller.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Benson has brought the series to a new, impressive height—dark, startling, and [with] plenty of shocking surprises. Urban fantasy fans should not miss this fantastic series.”

  —SciFiChick.com

  cat’s claw

  “Callie bounces from twist to twist as she explores Benson’s richly imagined world, where multiple mythologies blend and the Afterlife is run as a corporation.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “An entertaining, frenzied fantasy frolic that will have the audience laughing at the chick-lit voice of the heroine, who is willing to go to Heaven on a hellish cause.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Benson is back with a second helping of her refreshing take on death and Purgatory… Callie’s offbeat humor and viewpoint guarantee a madcap romp.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  death’s daughter

  “Amber Benson does an excellent job of creating strong characters, as well as educating the reader on some great mythology history… A fast-paced and very entertaining story.”

  —Sacramento Book Review

  “An urban fantasy series featuring a heroine whose macabre humor fits perfectly with her circumstances. Sure to appeal to fans of Tanya Huff’s Vicki Nelson series and Charles de Lint’s urban fantasies.”

  —Library Journal

  “A beguiling blend of fantasy and horror… Calliope emerges as an authentically original creation… The humorous tone never gets in the way of the imaginative weirdness of the supernatural events.”

  —Locus

  “In Death’s Daughter, Benson provides a fun romp that defines the rules of an exciting new universe you’ll be chomping at the bit to dive back into time and again. There’s action; there’s intrigue, redemption, an adorable hell puppy, and even a hot guy or two. What more could you ask for?”

  —Buffyfest

  “Amber Benson writes an amusing, action-packed, chick-lit urban fantasy loaded with more twists and curves than a twist-a-whirl… Filled with humor and wit, this is a refreshing, original thriller as double, triple, and nth crossings are the norm.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “With a creative story line as proof, Ms. Benson adds writing to her ever-growing list of talents. Set within an intriguing paranormal world, Death’s Daughter unfolds a seductive tale of power and deception. A great start to a series that will be easy for readers to get hooked on.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Opens the door on an intriguing, fully thought-out universe, with a likable main character and the potential for mayhem around every corner. It’s a lot of fun.”

  —Fangoria

  “A lively and funny story packed with nonstop action… Benson’s flair for combining mythology and pop culture to create laugh-out-loud characters and incidents strongly reminded me of Esther Friesner’s Temping Fate.”

  —The Green Man Review

  “Callie is sarcastic, smart-mouthed, and overwhelmed. I liked her a lot! I found this to be an amusing book from start to finish. It was refreshing to have a lighthearted but still-suspenseful paranormal come on the scene. The mythology and settings were unique and creepy (my favorite)… Callie’s voice was spot-on for a twenty-four-year-old assistant living in New York who is suddenly dropped into the middle of Hell. I have a feeling this is the start of a series, so I will be eagerly awaiting more adventures of Callie, Clio, and Runt the hellhound.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “A clever and well-told story… It’s also a step outside the current paranormal-fantasy rut but with enough elements in common to please fans of that form as well.”

  —Critical Mass

  Ace Books by Amber Benson

  DEATH’S DAUGHTER

  CAT’S CLAW

  SERPENT’S STORM

  HOW TO BE DEATH

  THE GOLDEN AGE OF DEATH

  the golden

  age of death

  AMBER BENSON

  ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa), Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North 2193, South Africa • Penguin China, B7 Jiaming Center, 27 East Third Ring Road North, Chaoyang District, Beijing 100020, China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  THE GOLDEN AGE OF DEATH

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with Benson Entertainment, Inc.

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / March 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Benson Entertainment, Inc.

  Cover art by Spiral Studio.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  Interior text design by Tiffany Estrei
cher.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-61953-7

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON

  For “The Shamers”—

  I would never have finished without you

  acknowledgments

  I want to thank a bunch of people, not just those who helped push along Book #5, but people who have been integral to the creation and longevity of Calliope Reaper-Jones. To Christopher Golden, who encouraged me to write books, period. He makes being a novelist look easy—even though it’s anything but. To Ginjer Buchanan, my tireless editor, who not only gave Callie and me a home but also listens graciously to drunken, brokenhearted authors and always offers the best advice. To my agent, Howard Morhaim, the word “debonair” was created for you—thank you for fixing past mistakes and treating me like a real writer. To the ladies of Ace/Roc: Rosanne Romanello, Erica Martirano, Jodi Rosoff, and Katherine Sherbo—you gals give “classy” a run for its money. To Anton Strout, my brother-in-arms—Callie and I thank you for sharing signing space with us and only laughing at us occasionally. To Robert Busch, the best proof-pages reader around. Every typo I miss, he sees. To Jennifer Vineyard, Jordan Katz, Kate Rorick, and Sarah Kuhn—you guys read the books before the world gets ahold of them. Your love and advice is invaluable. And, finally, I want to thank my Aunt Beverly, my sister, and my mom and dad for putting up with my preoccupied and bizarre mind. I love you guys.

  There are so many people out there who helped shepherd Callie along on her journey. Way too many to name in these pages—but you know who you are, and you know you have my eternal thanks.

  And most important of all: Thank you to the readers. You guys are the real rock ’n’ rollers.

  Nevertheless they perished, and became as though they had not been, and their souls descended into She’ol in Tribulation.

  —THE BOOK OF ENOCH

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  prologue

  Gerald had many duties at the dispensary, but the one he liked best was making “deliveries.” He would come into the shop and work the register when they needed him to—that was a given—but when they asked him to go out in the field, well, that was even better. He looked forward to those days like a little kid gearing up for Christmas morning.

  Luckily, he had no competition in the deliveries department because he was the only one with his own transportation: Molly, a bright red Vespa he’d bought with his own money. Money he’d earned from three years as a paperboy, doing a hideously early paper route that meant getting up at the butt crack of dawn and bicycling all over his neighborhood until every last paper had been delivered. He liked the biking part and the throwing-the-newspaper part, but he hated the early-morning part.

  That sucked.

  It was the reason he’d applied for the job at the dispensary: The place didn’t open until eleven in the morning.

  And sleep was something Gerald prized very highly. Especially after being deprived of it for the last three years. Not that he was out all night partying or anything—he just liked to stay up and watch movies. And getting up early conflicted with this. The paper route had conflicted with it, too, but he guessed he’d just wanted to buy a Vespa more than he wanted to get sleep.

  Oh, Molly, Queen of the Vespas.

  She was the apple of his eye: cherry red with black trim and shiny chrome details. She purred like a little baby kitten and rode like a dream. He loved that machine more than anything else in the world.

  Riding her around town, doing the deliveries for the store…he was The Man. He got to look cool and wave at the old ladies who congregated outside Mable’s Beauty Parlor and gun the engine when he passed the kids playing outside the elementary school.

  Damn, he loved his job.

  But today there was no time to tool around town and make the rounds. Today, he was traveling outside of his normal area, over to the Pacific Coast Highway to make a delivery to one of those fancy beach houses wealthy people lived in, but only on the weekends.

  It took him twenty minutes to reach his destination, a small bungalow—smaller than he’d imagined a rich person would own—between a stand of other mini bungalows, their identical beige stucco jobs a bland attempt at the trendy adobe style that was all the rage in town. He pulled Molly off the highway, wheeling her into a protected spot over by a row of tall hedges, then headed up the private road leading to the bungalow’s tiny carport.

  Of course it was only after he’d already rung the bell he realized he’d gotten the bungalow number wrong. He waited, hoping no one was home so he could just jog over to the right bungalow and make his delivery without some irate rich lady yelling at him for disturbing her.

  He counted to sixty, and when no one came to the door, he decided he was home free. He was just about to turn around and go when he felt a pinch in his lower back. This quickly turned into a burning sensation that spread across his torso and down his legs. He tried to scream, to call out for help, but a gloved hand appeared in front of his face, covering his mouth and muffling his cries.

  He made one last attempt to escape, thrashing against his attacker like a fish on a line, but he was hooked fast.

  After that, he didn’t remember anything.

  one

  CALLIOPE

  My name is Calliope Reaper-Jones and if I were a dessert, I like to think I’d be “Death by Chocolate.” Not that I’m looking to turn myself into a chewy, gooey, sugary mess anytime in the near future, but if you know me, then you also know my choice of “dessert self” is not only literal, but kind of meta, too. Because even though I’m still an ocean away from my late twenties, I am the sole proprietor of a bizarre business. One I can honestly say keeps me on my toes twenty-four/seven/three hundred and sixty-five days a year:

  I am the twenty-first century Grim Reaper.

  Death Not by Chocolate.

  Seems like a joke, right? I assure you it’s not.

  I am the president and CEO of Death, Inc., a multinational conglomerate specializing in the collection and transportation of the recently deceased from Earth to the Afterlife. Once there, the souls are released into their own cultural and/or religious sections of Heaven and Hell, where they are rewarded or punished for their Earthly deeds before being recycled back into the soul pool for reassignment.

  My dad was Death before me—I inherited-slash-won the job after he was kidnapped and then murdered by the Devil and my older sister, Thalia. And though it wasn’t a career path I would’ve previously seen myself pursuing, I’ve actually discovered I’m not too terrible at t
he gig.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still learning—but, luckily, I have peeps in my corner who keep me from embarrassing myself on a daily basis: my brilliant, techno geek, younger sister, Clio; my Executive Assistant, Jarvis, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of the Afterlife; and my talking hellhound pup, Runt, who makes life better just by existing—though she hasn’t been around nearly as much as I’d like because she’s been helping her dad, Cerberus, and my boyfriend, Daniel, clean up Hell.

  After the Devil was deposed from office for trying to take over Heaven, God installed Daniel as the acting “Steward” of Hell, with Cerberus, the former Guardian of the North Gate of Hell, as Daniel’s second-in-command. Together, they were dismantling the old bureaucracy and setting up a new business model based on the platform my dad used to revamp Death, Inc. Their plan included a complete overhaul of Hell—which required doing a lot of community outreach to get the populace involved.

  I hadn’t had a chance to go to Hell to see what they’d accomplished because I’d been so busy running Death, but my Executive Assistant, Jarvis, said they were making slow progress.

  The kind of reformation Daniel had planned for Hell had occurred in Purgatory decades earlier when my dad had taken over Death. Back then, the Afterlife had been a much more archaic place, and Purgatory, in particular, was a cesspool. Instead of being a way station for the recently deceased, it’d been used as a penal colony of sorts, where the dead were locked away in antiquated prison cells on an indefinite basis, with absolutely no recourse to get themselves released back into the soul pool for recycling.

  My dad had changed everything, forcing the old guard out so he could then bring Death into the modern era, creating a whole new Purgatory modeled after a corporate business structure.

  Thus Death, Inc., was born.

  Those who chose to continue their gainful employment with Death had to change their way of thinking—because the new Death, Inc., had more in common with Wall Street than Riker’s Island.