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

  Weasely Face dropped the knife, his fingers tearing at his eyes as he tried to wipe the bug spray away. Runt used Marcel’s distraction to sink her teeth into Weasely Face’s ankle and, with a silent scream (at least on my end), the man went down like a sack of flour, clutching at his ankle with one hand and his eyes with the other.

  Marcel turned to the glass and gave me a “thumbs up” sign. Then he went back to Weasely Face and began to kick him in the gut. Weasely Face writhed on the floor, each kick connecting with his soft belly until he got wise and twisted himself into a protective fetal position. Marcel shrugged and changed his tactic, slamming his huarache into the back of Weasely Face’s head over and over again.

  I felt a surge of joy as Marcel and Runt turned the tables on their attacker. I sighed, the tension going out of me as I rested my forehead against the glass, once more wishing I was inside the house with them, or they were outside the house with me.

  When I looked up again, I was just in time to observe a tall, menacing figure emerge from the shadows and make a beeline for Marcel. I tried to catch Runt’s attention, to let her know they weren’t safe, but she was crouched in front of Weasely Face, guarding him for Marcel, and didn’t see me. I began to beat on the window, screaming for them to watch out for this new assailant, but Marcel was too intent on beating the shit out of Weasely Face to notice my frantic pantomimes.

  I screamed until my throat was raw, but it was futile. I was impotent. I had to watch, again, as Marcel was attacked from behind, the shadowy man grasping him around the back of the neck with pale white hands. The man lifted Marcel off his feet, twisting him in the air like a rag doll until he got a good grip on Marcel’s throat. The Ender of Death began to flail, eyes going wide as a tourniquet of long white fingers cut off his air.

  He’s immortal, I thought. They can make him pass out, but he won’t die.

  Still it was a horrible scene to have to be a party to.

  Marcel’s eyes began to bug out of his head, his face turning puce as the man increased the pressure on his trachea. Runt made a dive for the man’s leg, but he’d seen her go for Weasely Face and was prepared, kicking out with his foot to catch her in the belly. The movement propelled her backward and she slid across the concrete floor, crashing into a side table, where she lay, unmoving.

  I beat my fists against the glass until they ached, but it was no good. My mind raced, trying to come up with a way to break the glass, so I could climb inside.

  That’s when I remembered my tool belt.

  I reached down and ripped the ball peen hammer from its loop, hefting it in the air. Using all my strength, I slammed the head of the hammer into the windowpane, the force of the action jarring the bones in my hands and wrists and arms—but the glass held firm. I repeated the action two more times and found myself rewarded as a small crack appeared in the surface of the glass. I raised the hammer and pounded the butt end of the wooden handle against the crack, hitting it again and again with all my energy until the crack grew in size.

  Still, it wouldn’t break.

  For the first time, the shadowy man’s gaze strayed in my direction. My heart stopped as we locked eyes, and I felt the gorge rise in my throat, anger and impotence duking it out in my stomach for prominence.

  This is impossible, I thought—but part of me knew it wasn’t.

  The shadowy man was my arch-nemesis, Frank.

  I watched as the man who’d tried to kill me and ruin my relationship, dug his disgusting fingers into Marcel’s throat.

  You’re supposed to be in prison, I thought, my mind spinning. How can you be here?

  But then I understood.

  The two worlds were merging, faster even than Jarvis or I had believed possible…and Frank, or at least his alternate-universe version, was here in my world, moving with an ease I found very, very disturbing.

  Oh, shit, I thought, fear clutching at my heart as I realized something even more distressing: If the alternate-universe version of Frank was Death in his own world, then he probably came to my world endowed with all the same powers I possessed.

  Which meant he wasn’t just choking Marcel, he was killing the Ender of Death.

  fifteen

  At first, Jarvis couldn’t fathom what was happening, but then understanding blossomed in his chest as he sat back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes.

  From the backseat, he heard Noh say: “I think Daniel’s car just exploded.”

  He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

  Explosion, Daniel, car…gone.

  The words repeated in his head like a mantra as Clio slammed her foot down on the brake, sending Jarvis flying into the dashboard.

  “No!” he yelled, grabbing her arm. “Keep going!”

  She glared at him, but stamped her foot back on the gas and the car screeched forward, catching air as it hit a speed bump, then landing again with a sickening crunch.

  Jarvis didn’t know why he’d grabbed Clio like that, but some instinct had warned him stopping to investigate would mean the end for everyone in the car—and his job, the only job he now possessed, was to keep the next two “possible” Deaths safe. He could do nothing for Daniel or the others right now and he was heartsick about it, but he had to put the safety of the women in his car first.

  As he tried to reconcile these disparate feelings inside of himself, Noh reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He swiveled in his seat to look at her and she smiled at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, still shaken up.

  “What happened to that car?” Jennice said, the tone of her voice skirting the edge of hysteria. “What the hell happened to that car!?”

  Noh removed her hand from Jarvis’s shoulder, placing it on Jennice’s arm in a bid to calm her down.

  “It’s all right,” Noh said. “There’s no need to get upset.”

  Jarvis turned his head to look over at Clio, but she was staring blankly ahead, eyes locked onto the road. Her body language screamed “leave me alone!” so he did. There would be plenty of time to discuss what happened—and to figure out the how of it—when she wasn’t so angry with him.

  He reassured himself the others would be okay: Daniel was immortal. Freezay wasn’t, but he had special abilities through his paternal line and he was a master detective. Starr, he had no idea. Caoimhe…? Once again, he didn’t know for sure, but he assumed she was immortal through her daughter. Even though Calliope hadn’t known her birth mother until very recently, it didn’t preclude Caoimhe from her rights as Calliope’s mother; rights that included immortality.

  “I think we should go back,” Clio said, her cadence clipped.

  She was looking at him in the rearview mirror, her eyes dark with emotion. It was obvious she was angry and he was the object of that anger.

  “It would do no good,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Yes, he did know it, although he had no idea how to impart this to her without sounding ridiculous. She was right to want to help the others, but he knew in his gut if they went back, there’d be nothing but a wrecked car and a pack of Vargr eager to kill Jennice and Noh, and take Clio and Jarvis hostage, or worse.

  “You must trust me. If we were to go back, Daniel and Freezay and the others wouldn’t be there.”

  “They would’ve stopped for us,” she yelled. “And we just left them there!”

  Clio had her father’s temper. She was perfectly fine until you told her “no” and then she came unglued. Jarvis didn’t mind Clio yelling at him, but he was worried her anger was filtering back to Jennice, who was already skating on thin ice, emotionally.

  “I don’t want to go back!” Jennice screamed, pushing against Jarvis’s seat with both feet like an irate child. “They’re going to eat us!”

  So much for worrying about Jennice—Jarvis could see she’d already moved into irrationality and there was nothing he could do about it except use Jennice’
s words to his advantage.

  “Of course she’s right, Clio,” Jarvis said. “The girls are mortal. The Vargr will rip them limb from limb if they find us.”

  Clio saw what Jarvis was doing and fumed.

  “That’s underhanded, playing on their fear, Jarvis,” she said, shaking her head. “Unconscionable.”

  He didn’t know if “unconscionable” was the right word, and, frankly, he didn’t care, so long as it brought him the outcome he wanted.

  Clio returned her gaze to the road, ignoring him.

  “We were never going back, Ms. McMartin,” Jarvis said, using his calmest voice to placate her. “And I promise you are safe in this car.”

  She took his words at face value and it seemed to calm her down.

  “Okay.”

  She settled back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest, breathing hard. Noh reached over and patted Jennice’s arm with an almost maternal affection.

  “It’s okeydokey, I promise,” he heard Noh saying before her voice dropped to a murmur.

  He returned his attention to the road, making a mental note of their surroundings. He saw Clio was taking the Newport Bridge out of Rhode Island, heading toward Connecticut. They’d have to backtrack a bit to get where Jarvis intended them to go, but that was all right. As long as they were on the road, the car taking them far away from Sea Verge, then they would be all right.

  In this situation, one of the oddities of wormholing would work to their benefit. Though it wasn’t too hard to wormhole out of a moving vehicle, it was exponentially more difficult to wormhole into one. It could be done, but it required a terrible amount of energy and expertise. So long as they were in transit, Jarvis felt like he could relax a little, knowing it would be very tough for someone to get a bead on them.

  “When we arrive in Warwick, wake me up, please,” Jarvis said, closing his eyes.

  He heard Clio give an angry snort, but otherwise there was only the hum of the car speeding down the road.

  Sleep had been in short supply since Calliope had taken off for parts unknown with a wounded hellhound and Marcel, the Ender of Death. If Jarvis was going to keep his wits about him, then he was going to need a little shut-eye.

  As selfish as that felt.

  * * *

  clio wanted to punch Jarvis in his smarmy, hipster face.

  First, he’d ignored the suffering of their friends and made them drive on instead of helping. Then he’d almost incited Jennice into a full-on meltdown in order to get his way, and, finally, he’d gone to sleep while they were in the middle of a crisis. If he hadn’t been wearing his seat belt now, Clio might’ve been tempted to slam on the brakes and let him know exactly how she felt about his selfish attitude.

  Namely it sucked.

  Part of her wished she’d stayed at home that evening, entertaining Indra’s Bollywood cronies and drinking too much wine—and then when she woke up the next morning, she’d be sibling-less and totally oblivious to the fact.

  I’m an evil human being, she thought. I can’t believe I even thought that.

  She was just being spiteful because she was angry. In her heart, she was terrified to live in a world her sister wasn’t in. She and Callie had always been close, as much friends as sisters. They could laugh together, make fun of each other, and if either of them was ever in a pinch, they knew the other would be there to help, no questions asked.

  Clio had never felt this way about their older sister, Thalia.

  One of her very first memories was of throwing her teddy bear out of her crib so Thalia would fetch it for her. But instead of playing by the rules, Thalia had ignored Clio, choosing to read a book rather than engage with her baby sister. It was Callie, not too far out of diapers herself, who went and got Teddy and brought him back to Clio—and as Callie had threaded Teddy through the crib’s bars, Clio had felt an overwhelming love for her second-oldest sister. They’d played “throw Teddy” all afternoon, or at least until Clio had gotten tired and curled up in a ball for her nap.

  No, she wasn’t interested in living in a world where Callie didn’t exist—it wasn’t even a question. She just wished she didn’t feel so completely powerless. It was the inability to help that was making her so angry she could hardly bear it.

  She felt bad about being nasty to Jarvis. It wasn’t his fault everything was going to shit, that they were trapped in a car heading to some “safe” spot where they would be forced to sit out the whole affair while Callie battled for her life. All she’d be able to do was send “happy thoughts” in Cal’s direction—and this wasn’t nearly enough for Clio. She was fixing for a fight because, more than anything else in the world, she hated being left out of the loop. And this was exactly what was happening: She was being forcibly removed from the equation.

  There was little she could do to change her situation, especially since she was chained to Noh and Jennice.

  Jarvis was right. If a Vargr got ahold of one of the girls, they’d turn them into mush in less than two seconds flat. She couldn’t put either of the mortals in jeopardy; she had to find a way to separate herself from them, so she could do what she did best: help Callie fight bad guys.

  She knew she had to think outside the box and she had to do it quickly.

  That was when the gas gauge caught her eye.

  Why hadn’t she thought of this before? She began to formulate a plan, one leaving Jennice, Noh, and Jarvis safe and sound, but allowing her the freedom to find Callie and help her sister stop Uriah Drood from trying to destroy their universe.

  They were less than fifteen miles to Warwick with more than enough gas to get there. But she didn’t want to wait until then—she wanted out now.

  “I need to get gas,” she said to no one in particular as she flipped her turn indicator on and began the process of getting over, so she could turn off at the next exit.

  There were two gas stations and a couple of fast-food joints coming up, any of which would be a good place to call up a wormhole, but she’d specified a gas station as her destination, so she turned into the one with the heaviest traffic: four cars and a motorcycle.

  She pulled into the island farthest away from the convenience store part of the station and turned off the car. Jarvis stirred, and Clio was worried he was going to wake up and mess up her plan, but sleep caught him again and he began to snore.

  “I’ll pump,” she said, though she was careful not to catch anyone’s eye as she opened the driver’s door and climbed out.

  She pulled a credit card from her back pocket and slid it into the pump, choosing the premium grade of gasoline. Once she’d entered her zip code, she pushed the nozzle into the gas tank and let it go, watching as the pump began to rack up the dollars.

  It was time to set her plan in motion.

  She knocked on Noh’s window and mouthed: “bathroom.” Through the smoky glass, she could see Noh giving her the thumbs-up. Clio offered a short wave in reply and, without looking back, headed for the convenience store.

  Once inside, she asked for the bathroom key, waiting as the clerk behind the counter looked up from his motorcycle magazine just long enough to gesture to a slimy-looking blue key ring that had the word “Woman’s” stenciled on it in white paint. With a smile, she deftly palmed the key ring and continued on her way to the bathroom.

  There was no line for the two-stalled bathroom—and she doubted she’d have been able to wait if there had been a line because the stench in the tiny space was so disgusting. As it stood, she had to hold her breath in order just to keep herself from gagging.

  Not wanting to touch anything she didn’t have to, she avoided the walls and the stall doors, setting the key ring down on the one rusted-out sink because, though it was covered in hard water stains, it looked as though it hadn’t been touched in decades. What was supposed to pass as a soap dispenser hung from a rickety screw above the sink, though she doubted it saw much action—because soap diluted with tap water (like this was) did not really constitute soap. There we
re no paper towels in the aluminum dispenser, but this didn’t surprise her, either. If no one washed their hands, then why would they need paper towels?

  Gross.

  She set aside her disgust and focused on what she’d come in here to do. Namely, leave the mortals behind so she could go find Callie and help her kick some Afterlife ass. The one thing she didn’t know was where Callie and Marcel had gone. Jarvis hadn’t been forthcoming on that front and she didn’t dare go back out there to try to pick his brain. He’d figure out her motivations in two seconds flat and any plan she’d made would be null and void.

  Where to try first?

  She decided Purgatory would be her first destination: the Hall of Death, to be more precise. That way she could sneak a peek at the Death Records and see if they offered up any clues. She’d interned there one summer and knew her way around the records room, so it would be easy to find what she was looking for without getting caught.

  She’d learned to call up wormholes when she was a kid—not that she’d shared this secret with anyone else. Even Callie didn’t know the extent of her magical ability, or how early it’d manifested in her. She’d been nine years old when she’d discovered her powers, and this was well before she’d hit puberty, which was when most people came into their own magically. She’d been smart enough to know getting her powers at such a young age was not normal, that if she told her parents, or even Cal, what was going on, they’d have called in all kinds of specialists to poke and prod her—then they’d have barred her from attending public school with all of her Newport friends, forcing her, instead, to go to some magic handling school where she’d never learn anything about human math and science.

  This was not the future she saw for herself, so she kept her mouth shut and was very, very careful about hiding her magical abilities from the prying eyes of others. Even when she’d hit puberty, she’d still been protective of her magical prowess, not wanting anyone to see just how powerful she was. Only once, when she was ten, had she almost been caught—and it was by her older sister Thalia.