How to be Death Page 7

  Well, at least I knew the gown was a success.

  “That,” Jarvis said, once the man was out of earshot, “is a bodyguard. A human one.”

  “For who?” I said, trying not to trip over the bottom of my dress as I walked. I hadn’t really thought much about mobility when I’d sat with Noisette in her shop, oohing and aahing over her concept for the gown, but reality was a bitch. It took everything I had to walk, talk, and not trip over myself at the same time.

  “For whom,” Jarvis corrected, as if he were a member of the grammar police.

  “Yes, for whom, whatever.”

  “As you know, at midnight all magic ceases and for the next twenty-four hours you and all the rest of the immortals—”

  “Including us,” Runt chimed in.

  Jarvis nodded. “Yes, that includes hellhounds and Executive Assistants, who happen to be immortal, too—”

  As we left the courtyard, I tripped over a loose stone and Jarvis had to grab my arm so I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.

  “Stupid dress,” I said under my breath, annoyed by how vulnerable being all gussied up made me feel.

  “As I was saying before you almost wiped out back there,” Jarvis continued, ignoring my glare. “For the next twenty-four hours we are all mortal—”

  I stopped in my tracks, digging my heels in where I stood, wondering why Jarvis had left this crucial piece of information out of the, like, five previous briefings we’d had about the Death Dinner.

  “Excuse me, but rewind please, Jarvis.”

  “Let’s just keep moving,” Jarvis said, but I’d staked my place on the walkway, and like a stubborn mule, I wasn’t moving until I got some answers.

  “Uh-uh, ‘you got some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy,’” I growled at him, doing my best Desi Arnaz impression.

  Jarvis sighed, knowing it would be easier to do his explaining now rather than spend ten minutes arguing with me.

  “I didn’t want to frighten you—”

  “Frighten me?” I interrupted. “You’re not frightening me, you’re just, like, leaving me majorly out of the loop. To the point where I’m gonna look like an idiot in front of the people you want me to impress.”

  “Oh, yes, I do see how that could—”

  I cut him off.

  “Jarvis, I’m here. I’m invested. I want to do this. I just need you to treat me like an adult and give me all the pertinent information so I can do my job correctly.”

  It took Jarvis a full minute of openmouthed silence to process what I’d said. He’d spent so long trying to convince me I could be good at the job, while, at the same time, kind of carrying me because I didn’t want to be good at it, that now that the time had come to take the training wheels off, he was having a hard time letting go.

  “Jarvis,” I said, taking hold of both his upper arms and squeezing them gently. “Look at me.”

  He did. I gave him a reassuring grin. Screw the nasty little voice inside my head—I could do this.

  “I can do this,” I said.

  Jarvis nodded, then repeated my words, but without as much conviction as I’d have liked.

  “You can do this.”

  My grin got even wider.

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing. Be straight with me and I promise I won’t let you down.”

  Jarvis swallowed.

  “Your friend, Marcel, aka the Ender of Death, is back. I don’t want to worry you, but you’ll be very vulnerable tonight.”

  I looked down at Runt, who whined.

  “You knew about this, too, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “Jarvis told me to be on the alert.”

  “And the bodyguards will be here to look after you, too,” Jarvis added.

  “All right,” I said, shivering despite the not so chilly temperature outside. “Good to know.”

  Suddenly I was much more aware of my surroundings, my eyes scanning the darkness for bodyguards and/or enemies—though frankly, I wasn’t sure which made me more nervous. A thousand feet below us, I could hear the crash of the surf against the cliffs, but the isolation, the idea of being so far removed from the rest of society, made me feel less secure, not more.

  “I can’t put him off forever, Jarvis,” I said, my nerves not happy about this complication.

  Jarvis ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed.

  “I know.”

  I’d made a promise to the Ender of Death—one I knew might not end well for me, but I’d had no choice. I’d been in the middle of trying to prevent my sister and the Devil from co-opting Purgatory and Death, Inc., for their own nefarious purposes, and in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’d given the Ender of Death my word that I’d fight him mano a mano once I’d dealt with the situation. He’d been gracious enough to give me a respite and, until now, had been waiting patiently, biding his time and giving me the room I needed to sort out all the ancillary stuff I’d had to handle since I’d taken over the day-to-day running of Death, Inc.

  But it seemed like my time-out was over. Marcel had reared his ugly head again and I was going to have to deal with him definitively, whether I was prepared to or not.

  “I think we’d be smart to set a time and place rather than leaving that to Marcel,” Jarvis said finally, and I could see he’d given the matter a lot of thought, but hadn’t come up with a way of dealing with the problem that was satisfactory to him.

  “Okay. Why don’t you issue him a formal challenge then?” I offered. “As soon as we’re done with the Death Dinner, I can start preparing.”

  Jarvis nodded, worry lines etching themselves deeply into his forehead and around his eyes. He knew this was the best—and only—option we had, but he didn’t have to like it.

  “Now that that’s settled, shall we continue on with the evening?” Jarvis said, taking my arm again. “We have one stop to make before the ball.”

  the library at Casa del Amo made my dad’s library at Sea Verge look like a closet. This was one large room and about ten thousand books.

  “I can’t believe this place,” I said as I stood in the middle of the room, goggling at the humungous fireplace that took up the whole of the back wall. It was so big you could’ve roasted a whole pig in it and still had room to spit a couple of turkeys on either side.

  “Agreed,” Jarvis said as he ran his finger across the unprotected book spines, his eyes devouring each title he passed. “I believe it’s the most comprehensive collection of Religious and Magical Arcana outside the Hall of Death.”

  Runt, who was never intimidated by anything, sat quietly by the door, her ears pinned back against her head.

  “I don’t like this place at all,” she said quietly. “It smells funny.”

  But when asked to elaborate on what she meant by “funny,” all she offered was: “It smells dark.”

  I had to agree with the pup. There was something odd about the place. It didn’t smell “dark” to me, but it definitely raised the “weird” alarm.

  I flopped down on one of the two red-and-gold-striped silk couches that flanked the fireplace, bypassing the three brown leather armchairs, each placed conveniently by a bookshelf with an elongated, antique gooseneck lamp standing beside it to give illumination to the chair’s occupant. I observed that two of the four walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases, each bearing a multitude of multicolored tomes, their spines packed together like sardines in a can—but the other wall was a paean to the outdoors: stuffed animal heads and an assortment of antique hunting rifles. I liked the books, but I could do without the stuffed animal heads—especially the giant moose head (its antlers were more than four feet long!) that was the centerpiece of the hunting wall.

  The octagonal tile we had in our guest room was continued here, but there were no Oriental carpets to up the warmth factor. The room was cold and sterile, like we’d stepped into the confines of a museum, leaving behind any idea that this was just a private house.

  “Scholars from all over the w
orld flock to the Haunted Hearts Castle,” I heard someone say behind me, the voice sharp but feminine.

  I whirled around in my seat to find a large girl in a shimmering purple gown standing behind me, her auburn hair in a tight chignon at the base of her neck. Her milky skin and translucent green eyes were heavily accented with shimmering bronze makeup, her full lips brushed with a touch of metallic peach.

  I knew the girl, but I didn’t know the name.

  “Calliope,” Jarvis began, instantly rushing to my side, “you remember God’s assistant, Miss Munificent—”

  “Ha!” I barked, then clamped my hand over my mouth when I realized I’d done it out loud. I wasn’t trying to offend, I just knew “munificent” meant “generous,” and that was the last thing I’d ever call this girl.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, removing my hand. “I’m Callie. Nice to meet you. Again. With names.”

  I stuck out my hand and the girl looked at it like it was a dead fish, but then she shrugged and took it anyway.

  “Munificent, but you can call me Minnie—and if you say like the mouse, I’ll cut you.”

  She delivered this line while giving my right hand, the one I’d proffered in friendship, a serious crushing.

  “Ow! I get it,” I yelped. “No mouse jokes.”

  She gave me a tight smile, then released my hand. She turned to Jarvis and winked at him.

  “I told you, a little physical intimidation and you’d have her eating out of your hand.”

  It took me a moment to realize she was talking about me.

  “Hey—” I started to interject, but she shot me a look that would’ve sent a zombie horde screaming back to their graves.

  “Now, where was I,” she said, returning her attention to Jarvis.

  “The book …” Jarvis asked.

  “Yes, the book,” she said absentmindedly as she pulled her sparkly purple clutch out from under her arm and set it down on the back edge of the couch.

  Runt took the opportunity to come and sit beside me, settling her butt down as close to my legs as she could before dropping her chin onto my lap. This was the universal signal for “pet my head.” I did as I was asked and scratched behind her ears with my noncrushed hand. Runt, her chocolate eyes moving curiously as she watched Minnie undo the clasp of her purple beaded bag, whined into the gauzy fabric of my dress.

  “Here you are,” Minnie said, triumphant as she pulled a miniature, calfskin-bound book from within the bag’s guts and handed it to me.

  “What is it?” I asked, taking the book from Minnie, but directing my question at Jarvis.

  There was a high-pitched, feminine giggle from outside and we all turned to see three women in long evening gowns, their faces masked, trundle across the courtyard, their bodies shaking with laughter. Beyond them, more partygoers emerged from the gardens, scattered buckshots of light marking the comings and goings of a hundred different wormholes.

  “The Masquerade Ball is about to begin,” Minnie said. “We better hurry this up.”

  “So, what’s the book?” I asked again after realizing the lettering on the cover was in a language I’d never seen before.

  “This is the original, fully annotated copy of How to Be Death, written in the tongue of the Angels and untouchable by humanity,” Minnie said tartly.

  “It’s all the basics that you’ve read in the translated copy your father keeps in the library, but with an added instruction manual on how to kick-start the End of Days,” Jarvis added. “And it applies to any and all religions, not just Christians.”

  “Okay,” I offered, but I was pretty uncertain as to why anyone was putting this kind of powder keg into my notoriously buttery fingers.

  “You know that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the guy’s face melts off?” Minnie said suddenly.

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded, very intimidated by the aggressive lady in purple.

  “That’s what happens to human beings who touch this book,” she said. “So don’t let any human beings touch the book, okay?”

  I nodded at what was obviously only a rhetorical question.

  “She knows this, Minnie. There are many references to it in the translated copy—” Jarvis said then stopped, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “Oh, Lord, you haven’t even read it, have you?”

  I swallowed hard, wanting to lie even though I knew honesty was the best policy … maybe not the least confrontational policy but, in the end, always the best.

  “No,” I squeaked, cringing.

  “I cannot believe you’ve gone this long without reading the book!” Jarvis pouted. “It’s amazing to me how one person can be so incredibly mature one moment and such a child the next.”

  I cowered in my gorgeous black gown on the big red sofa, feeling like a total fake. Jarvis was right. I had to suck it up and read the damned book or I was just a poseur.

  “I’ll read it! I promise,” I said. “Just stop making me feel like such a shit heel.”

  I’d forgotten Runt was there. I looked down at the pup’s wide eyes and apologized.

  “Sorry, I meant schmuck, not shit heel.”

  Damn, schmuck was, like, Yiddish for penis! That was as bad as shit heel, I thought miserably.

  “Ignore me, Runt. I have a foul mouth and I should be duly punished.”

  “It’s okay, Cal,” Runt offered sheepishly. “They say way worse things on cable.”

  From the mouths of babes.

  “So, now that I have the, uh, book what am I supposed to do with it?” I asked.

  Jarvis began to pace in front of the fireplace, looking serious, though I caught him sneaking a few quick glances in Minnie’s direction when he thought no one was watching.

  “The book becomes the property of the new Death upon the transfer of the presidency of Death, Inc.,” Minnie intoned. “Your father brought it back to God only hours before he died and now—”

  A sharp pain lanced my heart. So my dad had known exactly what he was doing when he’d let Marcel, the Ender of Death, destroy him. He’d even given back the original copy of the Death guide so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands after his death. I sat motionless on the couch, my brain awash with questions I knew I’d never, ever have the answers to.

  “So you must protect it with your immortal life.”

  “What?” I said, looking up. I’d missed Minnie’s explanation entirely.

  “You look after the book and keep it safe,” Runt chimed in.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I replied, patting her head.

  Outside, the courtyard was filling with more revelers wandering around in pairs and small groups. There was an air of restlessness about them and I wondered if they were somehow waiting for me.

  “No one knows I’ve transferred the book to you tonight,” Minnie said. “Don’t tell anyone you have it. It’s not common knowledge that Death is its keeper.”

  “The Board of Death and a few others know, but otherwise the world believes the original was destroyed when the Romans burned down the library in Alexandria,” Jarvis added. “So this book is more of a legend—”

  “Or not such a legend,” I said, looking down at it. “So why here, why now?”

  “The book can only be transferred to the new Death on All Hallows’ Eve ‘Eve.’ That’s why it’s been in Heaven until now.”

  The Afterlife was riddled with all kinds of stupid stuff like that—rituals that had no real reason to exist, but existed and were adhered to nonetheless.

  “All righty then,” I said, using the arm of the couch to hoist myself back onto my feet. “I guess that’s that. I’ll just put the book away—”

  I wedged the tiny book in between my cleavage, where it was perfectly concealed beneath a wad of gauzy fabric.

  “And then we’ll get this show on the road.”

  Jarvis and Minnie looked at each other. I fully expected one of them to protest the cleavage-book scenario, but they remained silent on the subject.

  “I promise I’ll put it in a
safe place when we get back to the room,” I added, and this seemed to ease the tension somewhat.

  Jarvis nodded, gesturing with a wave of his arm.

  “Well then, after you, my dear.”

  They waited for me to take the initiative—probably so they could give each other more “knowing looks” behind my back—but I didn’t need to be told twice. With Runt at my side, and doing my best to ignore Jarvis’s and Minnie’s palpable disapproval, I quashed all the nervous thoughts whirling around my brain. Then, with my head held high, I sashayed out the door and into the madness of the All Hallows’ Eve “Eve” Masquerade Ball.