The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) Page 8

  “Give her some space. It would be a difficult thing for anyone to digest. Let alone when the person sacrificing themselves for you is someone you love.”

  Jarvis knew this from experience—because he did not want to imagine their world without Calliope in it, either.

  * * *

  freezay opened his eyes and saw only a black void. Then he realized there were little twinkling things in the darkness and he felt slightly better.

  Stars meant he was still alive.

  As his eyes adjusted, he became aware he was lying outside, not too far from his front door. Not too far from—

  He reached down and felt around for the gaping hole in his gut, the one Weasely Face had made when he’d stuck his hand into Freezay’s very vulnerable intestinal cavity. But to his surprise, he found nothing but unblemished skin and tattered fabric. Fabric, he decided, that had once constituted the bottom of his shirt.

  “I made them go away.”

  Freezay watched as a woman’s head came into view above him. He squinted, trying to place her, but then he realized he didn’t know the face. Because he would’ve remembered a face like this one: high cheekbones, pale ivory skin, light eyes whose color he couldn’t discern in the dark. Her hair was damp, framing the beautiful features of her face like a moonlit halo. She smiled down at him then reached out with a tentative hand to stroke his hair. That was when he noticed she wasn’t wearing any clothing, just a small, red-jeweled pendant hanging from her neck like a scarlet teardrop.

  “Who are you?” Freezay asked, struggling to sit up.

  Her fingers fell away from the white-blond strands of his hair as she stood up from where she’d been kneeling beside him, and he realized, suddenly, he didn’t want her to stop touching him; that he liked it.

  She seemed to sense his interest in her and giggled, scooting a few feet away from him so he was treated to a limited view of her naked body, her breasts and hips covered only by the long tendrils of her pale hair.

  He couldn’t lie. It was a glorious sight, her curving silhouette outlined in moonlight. He found himself full of longing; the ache to be inside of another human being so strong he was frightened by the pull. He wasn’t one to give in to carnal temptation so easily, but her nearness was severely testing his willpower.

  “I’m Starr. And I made a promise to a friend I’d get you to Sea Verge,” she said, drawing her pink lips into a perfect bow. “I hope you won’t make a liar out of me.”

  Sea Verge? That was where Death, or in this case, Calliope, lived. He’d been there before when her father was in charge, but only on official business—never as an invited guest.

  “What friend?” he asked.

  Starr made a pouty face.

  “Who do you think?” she asked, stepping back in his direction and offering him her hand so she could help him to stand. “Use your brain.”

  Once she got him standing, he realized that his head felt funny, all light and fuzzy, and he had to lean on her to keep himself upright. Something about the girl made the blood sing in his ears, only adding to his disorientation. It was lucky he was so physically incapacitated, or he’d have had a hard time not ravishing her right there on the carport.

  “You still haven’t explained who you are or why you’re helping me—other than someone asked you to get me to Sea Verge,” he said, as she led him over to the steps so he could sit down properly.

  “I’m a Siren—and I’m Calliope’s aunt. Is that helpful?” she purred as she sat down beside him, rubbing the back of his neck with her long fingers.

  Of course! No wonder he was having all these misplaced sexual urges. Siren’s were sexually intoxicating by definition. Whether they were sunbathing on rocks, luring sailors to their doom, or making an ex-detective from the Psychical Bureau of Investigations feel like a horny teenager, they were bad news. Notoriously fickle, they were sly and only lifted a finger to help if it was in their own self-interest to do so, which made them excellent mercenaries. They loved shiny objects, so it was easy to buy their allegiance: Just hold some gold coins or sparkly jewels under their noses and they’d do anyone’s bidding.

  He knew the woman who’d raised Calliope was part Siren, as were Callie’s half sisters, Thalia and Clio—so maybe the familial connection would negate some of Starr’s more Siren-ish qualities. But until he’d spent more time with her, he would proceed with caution. Even if Calliope had sent her, it didn’t mean she could be entirely trusted.

  “Yes, very helpful,” he said, better able to control his impulses now he knew his libido was being manipulated by the Siren’s nearness.

  Starr stared at him for a moment, then her pretty face became hard as stone.

  “You think I like dirty old men getting all hot and bothered over me, don’t you?” she said, standing up then glaring at him as he grasped her wrist to keep her from leaving. “Well, I don’t. It’s disgusting and I hate it. I mean, you would never blame a shark for being a predator. That’s just how they were created—and I wish you humans would afford me the same respect.”

  Freezay found he couldn’t argue with her logic.

  “But every now and then,” she continued, switching moods so easily Freezay got emotional whiplash, “you cross paths with someone you don’t mind turning on.”

  She eased herself back down on the step beside him then leaned forward seductively so her wet, pink lips were inches from his own.

  “And then it’s kind of nice to know how easily you can wrap them around your little finger.”

  She kissed him then, before he could turn away—not that he really wanted to turn away—and the kiss was electric. It sent frissons of heat coursing through his body. He reached out, his fingers entwining in her long, sea-drenched hair, the taste and smell of the ocean filling his senses. He couldn’t help himself and pulled her closer. Her naked skin, so soft and silky, made him want to weep.

  “That’s enough,” she said, pushing him away as he hungrily clambered for more.

  “What? Why?” he said, his voice thick with lust.

  She gave her knuckles a very manlike crack, then grinned at him.

  “I just wanted to show you what I could do to you…if you were nice to me.”

  He’d laughed as he realized he’d been molested on the whim of an egoist. Well, he’d had worse done to him.

  Much worse.

  He knew she was playing with him, trying to incite him into a frenzied state of sexual aggression. But instead of falling into the machismo stereotype she expected, he calmly changed the subject.

  “So if that guy put his hand through my intestinal wall, why isn’t there any damage?” he asked Starr.

  If the Siren was thrown off her game, she didn’t show it.

  “I didn’t make you an immortal or anything, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she said. “I can’t do that.”

  “But for all intents and purposes, I should be dead right now—” he said, pressing the point.

  Her laugh was like the trill of a dozen tiny bells, all vibrato and treble.

  “You should be dead. That’s true. But I used my little jewel on you.”

  She grasped the tiny red stone at her throat, lifting it in the air for him to see.

  “A wish-fulfillment jewel,” Freezay said, reaching out to touch the dark red stone.

  Starr nodded, pleased he knew what it was—but then her eyes went dark with suspicion.

  “It’s mine and you can’t have it,” she said, petulant as a child, snatching the jewel out of his line of view.

  He wasn’t about to take her pendant away from her. It was just a very rare artifact, and he was interested in getting a closer look at it.

  “I’ve never seen one before,” Freezay said softly, trying to seem as obsequious as possible in order to allay her fears.

  He really had no intention of stealing the charm out from under her nose, but he did want to get another look at the jewel.

  “That’s because they’re very rare,” she said, re
laxing her hold on the pendant and letting it drop, so it fell into the hollow of flesh between her collarbones.

  “Where did you get it?” Freezay asked, his curiosity aroused by the jewel.

  “From a friend.”

  But that was all he could get out of her. She was on guard now, hyperaware of his interest in her charm.

  “What about the kid?” he asked, changing the subject again.

  “What kid?”

  She didn’t seem to have a clue what he was talking about, and this made him feel as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  It’s good she didn’t see the ghost, he thought. It means the Harvesters and Transporters finally came to collect the kid’s soul.

  “Nothing,” he said, pleased to be unburdened from looking after the ghost kid.

  She narrowed her eyes, not buying his nonchalance.

  “Maybe I should’ve just left you for dead,” she muttered under her breath, obviously annoyed with him.

  He decided it was a rhetorical question and didn’t deserve an answer.

  “Should we go to Sea Verge now?” he asked, instead, standing up. He was still unsteady on his feet, but he was actually starting to feel better.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she purred.

  * * *

  jennice had never seen a more beautiful home in her life. It was like a museum or a castle…or something out of a Masterpiece Theatre miniseries.

  There were views of the water from almost every window on the backside of the house, making Jennice wonder what it would be like to wake up in the mornings to such a beautiful vista. Probably made the start of your day more pleasant than waking up to a brick wall, which was what she saw every morning when she opened her eyes, because her bedroom window looked out onto the brick enclosure separating her building from the next building’s Dumpsters—not a very inspiring sight.

  She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to sell a place like Sea Verge. If it’d been her home, she’d have done everything in her power to keep it. Then she realized that if she’d grown up in a home like this one, her life would’ve been very different. Money would not be an issue, and she might not be so attached to one house, in particular, because she’d probably own like fifty more of them.

  This was a sobering thought.

  Well, if the house was going to be sold, then she was glad to be the one to do it. She would take good care of Sea Verge and make sure the people who bought her were worthy of her beauty.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  Jennice turned away from the view of the sea to find Clio standing in the doorway, her cheeks red and tearstained. Jennice, her big heart always getting her in trouble, couldn’t help but reach out to the other girl.

  “Are you all right?” she heard herself asking—which was a silly question because anyone with a brain could see she wasn’t.

  “I’m okay,” Clio said, trying to smile, but the quiver of her lower lip undermined her words.

  Jennice could feel the other girl’s anguish radiating like heat, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d crossed the space between them and laid her hands on Clio’s arm. She could feel the intense whirlpool of emotion percolating inside of the other girl, and where she touched bare skin, sorrow shocked Jennice’s fingers like static electricity. It hurt, the pain making Jennice’s eyes water, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as when she worked on her mother, so she ignored the prickling sensation under her fingers and steadied her breathing. She gripped Clio’s arm, squeezing the soft flesh as she corralled the anguish, forcing it to flow out of Clio and into her own body. She let it find purchase inside of her—and then it was over, Jennice dropping her hands and falling back against the wall, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

  She had a terrible headache, but even distracted by the painful throbbing of her pulse in her temples, she was pleased to note Clio looked much better.

  “What did you just do?” Clio demanded, her eyes brimming with uncertainty.

  Jennice didn’t know what to say. She’d never let a stranger see her power before. Had never had to explain herself to anyone.

  Even as a baby, Jennice’s mother had known there was something special about her child, and she’d been very protective of her. But then when Jennice was fourteen, her mother, already old at fifty-seven, had gotten sick—so sick the pain made it impossible for her to look after Jennice properly. Jennice had learned to take care of herself, to make sure her mother’s disability checks got cashed and that there was always food on the table. Besides these chores, Jennice had become her mother’s caretaker and nursemaid, using her powers to keep her mother alive—though even they could not dull the exquisite pain her mother experienced on a daily basis.

  And then this last time…her mother had been so bad even Jennice couldn’t fix it. They’d taken her away to the hospital, where Jennice prayed the doctors could make her mother feel better.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” Jennice said, stepping away from Clio. “I’m so sorry.”

  Clio stood in the doorway, not making a move to leave. But at least the tears were gone, and she seemed like she was more in control of her emotions again.

  “I feel better,” Clio said, dropping her shoulders and rolling her head from side to side. “I can hardly even remember why I was so upset. I mean, I do remember, but it’s like an old memory. So weird.”

  She trailed off, her brow scrunched in concentration.

  “I was just worried about my sister,” she said after a long pause. “I came up to her room to see if it was really empty.”

  Jennice had never had a sister. It’d just been her and her mom for as long as she could remember.

  “It’s pretty empty,” she agreed, lamely.

  “She just…disappeared, you know, without telling me what was going on,” Clio said, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t know where she is, or what I can do to get her back.”

  Jennice realized emotions were not as easy to cure as, say, a bad ankle sprain.

  “Sorry,” she added, as she wiped the tear away and gave Jennice a weary smile.

  “Maybe she had her reasons.”

  It was just something to say. Jennice had no clue about the inner workings of Clio and her sister’s relationship, or of sisters’ relationships, in general.

  “I’m sure she did,” Clio said.

  As they stood together by the door, surveying the empty room, they would’ve been surprised to learn they were each thinking a variation on the same theme:

  It was nice just to stand with someone in companionable silence, without having to explain yourself to them.

  They stood there, watching as the late-afternoon light faded away, the sun melting into the horizon just beyond the bedroom windows.

  Finally, Clio broke the silence:

  “Tell me about what you do with your hands.”

  Jennice scanned the empty room, looking for something, anything, to take the attention away from herself, but there was nothing.

  “Stop looking all around like a cornered animal,” Clio said, seeming to sense Jennice’s discomfort. “I’m not going to bite your head off. Just tell me about what you do.”

  Jennice did not talk about her gift. Mostly because there was no one for her to talk to about it, but also a little because she was scared if she blabbed about it, it might desert her. She didn’t know where this idea had come from, or how she’d become so superstitious, but she had. She tried hard not to even really acknowledge she was doing anything “special”—even when she was in the middle of a healing.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, feeling hesitant about talking to Clio about something so intimate.

  “It’s not nothing,” Clio disagreed. “You’re a healer, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t wait for Jennice to answer.

  “Wow, there aren’t very many of you guys out there. I mean, a few, but most of them go crazy pretty early on and kill themselves
—”

  Clio realized what she’d just said and stopped herself.

  “Oh,” Jennice murmured, trying not to let what she’d heard scare her.

  “Damn, I’m sorry,” Clio said. “I should watch my mouth.”

  “I’ve never wanted to kill myself. I don’t think so, at least,” Jennice replied, softly.

  Her mind was spinning, Clio’s words ricocheting inside of her. She’d never wanted to kill herself. Had never even imagined doing something so heinous, but now the thought wouldn’t leave her brain.

  “Maybe they were just unhappy people,” she added, not believing her own words.

  Clio shook her head. She obviously didn’t believe in not being blunt in order to spare someone else’s feelings.

  “No, it has nothing to do with their personality. It’s the pain and suffering they get exposed to, it becomes overwhelming after a while.”

  Jennice understood what Clio was driving at—and she figured if she were healing a lot of different people all the time, then maybe things would be different. But she was only helping her mother, and as tiring as that could be, the love she bore for the woman who’d raised her lifted away any of the bad thoughts, probably protecting her from the burnout Clio had mentioned.

  “I don’t do it very often,” she said, finally.

  “That’s probably why you’re as well-adjusted as you are,” Clio agreed. “For someone in the supernatural world, that is.”

  Jennice was very curious about the “supernatural” world Clio was referring to, but she didn’t want to reveal too much about herself. And asking questions meant she’d have to give answers in return, something she didn’t know if she was ready to do. So she decided to keep her mouth shut and not broach the one subject she was dying to know more about:

  Where were the other people like her? And why had she never met any of them?

  If she’d grown up with even one other kid who understood what it was like to be different, she knew her life would’ve been easier. Except for her mother, there’d never been anyone else to confide in, or share her secrets with, and it’d made for a very lonely childhood.

  And this was when Jennice realized, to her own dismay, that she was tired of being alone. She wanted to reveal her secrets to someone else, someone who would understand—and she thought maybe, just maybe, Clio might be that person.