Cat's Claw (9 page)
Authors: Amber Benson
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary
Go figure.
Anyway, Jarvis seemed so pleased with his artisanal creation that he delicately sliced the sandwich into two equal halves and offered one of them to me. Since I hadn’t eaten anything but a gross-out, rubbery breakfast wrap at the train station, I didn’t comment on how ironic I found it that a faun was eating goat cheese. Instead, I turned my focus to inhaling my half of the delicious-smelling sandwich as quickly as possible.
“That was scrumptious,” I said as Jarvis handed me a paper napkin and I tidied up the crumbs on my face as best I could. “Anything good to drink in the fridge?”
I walked over to the Sub-Zero refrigerator-freezer combo that my mother had had special ordered in Nantucket white—to match the white, Shaker-style cabinets and the black-and-white veined marble countertops, of course—and opened the refrigerator side. I found a large pitcher of homemade strawberry lemonade waiting for me on one of the shelves and quickly moved it to the kitchen counter. Next, I took out a slim, translucent glass from one of cabinets and poured myself a taste of the good stuff.
“You’re like a twelve-year-old boy,” Jarvis said as I greedily gulped down my glass of lemonade, burping loudly when I was finished.
“Sorry,” I replied, covering my mouth. “God, I was hungry.”
Jarvis, who was still eating his own sandwich, raised a delicate eyebrow in my direction.
“You don’t look like you’re starving, Mistress Calli—” He quickly shut his mouth, pained at not being able to use the word “Mistress” in front of my name.
During his foray as my Executive Assistant, I had forbidden him to call me
Mistress
anything. Jarvis desperately loved standing on ceremony—I think it made him feel like he was in control of whatever situation he happened to be in—but I refused to let him have his way, insisting he call me Callie, or at worst, Miss Calliope—which only made me sound like a second grade teacher or a Jane Austin heroine. Take your pick.
Mistress
anything. Jarvis desperately loved standing on ceremony—I think it made him feel like he was in control of whatever situation he happened to be in—but I refused to let him have his way, insisting he call me Callie, or at worst, Miss Calliope—which only made me sound like a second grade teacher or a Jane Austin heroine. Take your pick.
“Miss Calliope, I was just going to say how well fed you’re looking these days,” Jarvis began again, giving me a smarmy smile. For a guy who rarely wore pants (why wear pants when you’ve got goat haunches instead of legs!) and was barely four-eleven on a good day, he was a pretty self-assured little devil. Pants or no pants, I guess he knew he could kick my ass any day of the week he wanted.
I gave him a dirty look, not really meaning it—okay, I meant it a little bit, because everyone knows that there’s always a grain of truth to any snarky comment someone makes. And I
had
been indulging more than usual in the office kitchen’s assortment of baked goods, so there might well be some merit to what Jarvis was saying . . . but I really, really hoped not. I so could
not
afford to gain any weight, or I’d have to go naked. And I meant that literally—I really didn’t have the money to buy anything new if I started splitting the seams on the clothes I already owned.
had
been indulging more than usual in the office kitchen’s assortment of baked goods, so there might well be some merit to what Jarvis was saying . . . but I really, really hoped not. I so could
not
afford to gain any weight, or I’d have to go naked. And I meant that literally—I really didn’t have the money to buy anything new if I started splitting the seams on the clothes I already owned.
Fat comments aside, engaging in a little verbal back-and-forth was old hat when it came to my relationship with Jarvis. I knew when he gave me attitude it was only because he liked me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have deigned to talk to me at all, the conceited little bitch.
“The same could be said for you, too, Jarvi,” I said, smiling back at him and showing as much teeth as possible. “I’m surprised Declan hasn’t mistaken you for a rump roast and put you in the oven.”
“Touché,” he answered, nodding his approval.
I just have to say now that no matter what I’ve said in the past about Jarvis, he’s a stand-up guy who risked his life to help me. If he hadn’t saved me from the clutches of a would-be baddie, God knows where my family or I would be right now—probably trapped in Purgatory with no means of escape, or worse.
Jarvis had always been a loyal and efficient Executive Assistant to my dad, but to me, he wasn’t just an employee. To me, he was . . .
my friend
. A friend who
loved
to be annoying and give lectures, but a friend nonetheless.
my friend
. A friend who
loved
to be annoying and give lectures, but a friend nonetheless.
“So, tell me about this whole summoning thing,” I said nonchalantly as I poured myself another glass of strawberry lemonade.
Jarvis sighed, pulled a pair of pince-nez from his immaculately tailored navy suit coat pocket—I was pretty sure it was an Armani number, but since I’m not a real menswear nut, I couldn’t be 100 percent certain—and placed them on his hawkish nose. For a faun, Jarvis wasn’t half-bad-looking, I decided. Except for the goat flank, shank, and hooves, he kind of reminded me of a less-laid-back Tom Selleck—especially when he was sporting his
Magnum, P.I.
mustache, which was for as long as I’d known him.
Magnum, P.I.
mustache, which was for as long as I’d known him.
“Well, I’m sure you read the notice,” Jarvis began, but I stopped him.
“What notice?” I said.
Jarvis sighed again.
“The notice that was left at your apartment by yours truly,” he said with exasperation, indicating himself.
“Was it in a red envelope?” I asked, starting to feel a little guilty.
“Yes,” Jarvis replied warily. “It was in a
red
envelope. You didn’t throw it away, did you? Oh my Lord, you didn’t!”
red
envelope. You didn’t throw it away, did you? Oh my Lord, you didn’t!”
I always hated it when someone had a conversation with you and they didn’t let you contribute . . . especially when they passed Go, collected the two hundred measly bucks, and got to the truth of the matter without your help.
I also hated the high-pitched—very British-y—tone Jarvis got when he was extremely upset. Total whine city. Seriously.
“How the hell was I supposed to know it was so important?” I screeched, almost knocking my glass of lemonade over in my agitation. “It was just sitting there for, like, ever.”
“Do you
have
no curiosity?!” Jarvis bellowed, the anxious click of his hooves on the wood floor like buckshot. His sharp, intelligent eyes raked mine and I felt so guilty I had to look away.
Damn it, why didn’t he just leave me a note or something?
I thought angrily.
have
no curiosity?!” Jarvis bellowed, the anxious click of his hooves on the wood floor like buckshot. His sharp, intelligent eyes raked mine and I felt so guilty I had to look away.
Damn it, why didn’t he just leave me a note or something?
I thought angrily.
“You obviously didn’t see the note I left with it, then, did you?” Jarvis hissed.
Oops.
Jarvis stared at me, then shook his head, frustrated.
“I give up,” he finished, picking up his plate and putting it in the overlarge side of the kitchen sink that was built for scrubbing pots and pans.
“I repeat,” I said finally, “how was I supposed to know?”
Jarvis, his back to me as he washed off his plate, said, “You were just
supposed
to know, or at the very least you were
supposed
to notice my note and read it.”
supposed
to know, or at the very least you were
supposed
to notice my note and read it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, feeling like a total heel.
I had seen the stupid red envelope sitting on my kitchen counter, and, knowing full well that it contained something I did not want to deal with, I had just casually thrown it away after ignoring it for three days first. The note, too, I guessed, had been chucked in the trash as I remembered paying as little attention as possible to the envelope as I slid it into the garbage.
“Really, I am.”
Jarvis turned back around to face me, his mouth set.
“I accept your apology and I know that this was not something you would do on purpose.”
Shit!
I thought guiltily but nodded my head like the penitent I was supposed to be. A mean thought niggled at the back of my mind, making me wonder if Jarvis knew I’d thrown the envelope out on purpose and was just digging in the knife. I decided not to push my luck—let him think I was too dumb to notice he was trying to manipulate me—and just accept my feelings of total and complete guilt as punishment enough for the day.
I thought guiltily but nodded my head like the penitent I was supposed to be. A mean thought niggled at the back of my mind, making me wonder if Jarvis knew I’d thrown the envelope out on purpose and was just digging in the knife. I decided not to push my luck—let him think I was too dumb to notice he was trying to manipulate me—and just accept my feelings of total and complete guilt as punishment enough for the day.
“What did the summons say?” I asked tentatively, but Jarvis just shrugged.
“I don’t know. I didn’t open it.”
Damn it! The bastard was enjoying this,
I thought angrily, noting the hint of a smile that was slowly transforming his face. He
knew
that I
knew
that he
knew
and he was
enjoying
it!
I thought angrily, noting the hint of a smile that was slowly transforming his face. He
knew
that I
knew
that he
knew
and he was
enjoying
it!
“You did this on purpose!” I shrieked as I started pacing back and forth next to the polished marble island that dominated the room. “You were just
waiting
for this,
weren’t
you?”
waiting
for this,
weren’t
you?”
Jarvis started to giggle and I swear to God I almost decked him.
“I had a feeling,” he moaned between breaths as the giggling became full-fledged laughter.
“Oh, you jerk, you knew I would throw it away and you specifically didn’t read it on purpose,” I said, my face turning red with anger. “You.
Suck
.”
Suck
.”
This only made him laugh harder.
“So, now what do I do?” I moaned, taking an angry sip of lemonade and nearly choking on it.
“I guess,” Jarvis said, starting to calm down now, “you go down to Hell and see what the big, three-headed dog wants.”
“And what if he wants Runt back?” I said angrily.
This was something that I didn’t want to think about. Runt had become like a part of my family and I had no intention of giving her back now. She may have stayed at Sea Verge with Clio, but that was for purely selfless reasons. I mean, what kind of life would a hellhound pup have trapped in a tiny one-bedroom flat in New York City?
A miserable one, that’s what.
Jarvis merely nodded at my question. “I assumed that was the reason for your summoning.”
Of course, Jarvis had no idea that I owed Cerberus a favor, one that he could collect on at any time, so the thought that I might be summoned for something other than Runt’s future wouldn’t have occurred to him.
“What do I do?” I asked. “How can I get him to let us keep her?”
Jarvis shrugged.
“That’s between you and him . . . and Runt.”
I looked up, startled.
“You mean, Runt may actually have a say in this?”
Jarvis shrugged again, then picked up the pitcher of lemonade and put it back in the refrigerator.
“From what I understand about hellhounds, it’s the females that you have to worry about,” Jarvis said, beginning one of those lectures he so loved to give. “They are the dominant sex of the species—”
“But Cerberus is
huge.
And he has
three heads
,” I interrupted.
huge.
And he has
three heads
,” I interrupted.
“Yes, the females may be the smaller of the two due to sexual dimorphism—and they may only have one head—but that doesn’t really matter much these days. The females are the ones in control. They choose a life partner to mate with, then after the young are weaned, they go and hunt while the males look after the children.”
“Amazing,” I said, liking how the hellhounds did business more and more. “So, why is Cerberus the Guardian of the North Gate of Hell and
not
his wife?”
not
his wife?”
Jarvis shrugged.
“I assume that the females don’t want to be tied down, so the job of Guardian would be better suited to a male.”
“Interesting,” I murmured, wondering how best to put Jarvis’s information to use while I was down in Hell.
“How long do I have before I have to go down there?”
Jarvis looked at his watch.
“Forty-seven minutes. The summons expires after that, and you could end up in Purgatory for failure to comply with a direct order from a minion of Hell,” Jarvis added quickly.
“Good thing I came to visit when I did,” I said, curious at the way fate seemed to work these things out.
“Yes,” Jarvis said, eyeing me like I was some alien creature whose actions he could just not comprehend. “
Good thing
, as you say.”
Good thing
, as you say.”
I spent the next forty-three minutes sitting in one of my favorite spots in all the grounds at Sea Verge. It wasn’t overlooking the water, or ensconced in the English rose garden. No, it was a simple little spot, just a small stone chair really, nestled between a pair of spindly pink tulip trees, but it had always felt special to me. Like it was my place.
Next to the chair was a small stone statue of a little girl kneeling beside a tiny rabbit, her fingers tentatively reaching out to touch the quivering bunny’s flank. I had no idea who the girl was, but she always seemed very sad to me. The idea of forever reaching out to touch something that you could never reach . . . Well, it was just really depressing.
I guess that was why I liked the spot so much. It reminded me of me a little bit.
I
was always reaching out to be human but remaining immortal for as long as my dad saw fit to keep me that way.
I
was always reaching out to be human but remaining immortal for as long as my dad saw fit to keep me that way.
I looked out past the water, the sound of its foaming bulk gently crashing against the rocks acting like a lullaby to my frayed nerves. Finally, I turned my attention back to Sea Verge itself.
The hands of men may have built our house, but its origins were entirely the brainchild of a woman, the shipping heiress Sophia Miles-Stanton. The legend went that she had drawn up the architectural plans herself in a frenzy of creativity one night and just presented them to her architect the way the Goddess Athena had burst fully grown from her father Zeus’s forehead.
Other books
Paris Summer by April Lynn Kihlstrom
Aaron: Book Three (Scars 3) by West, Sinden
Tracie Peterson by Entangled
Quit by Viola Grace
Reality Check by Pete, Eric
Out of Darkness by Ashley Hope Pérez
A Hideous Beauty by Jack Cavanaugh
Incubus Moon by Andrew Cheney-Feid
Dance Till you Drop by Samantha-Ellen Bound
Darkest Hour by James Holland
