How to be Death (17 page)

While we’d been talking, said serving woman had inched her way into eavesdropping range, the tray balanced precariously in one hand, the glasses tinkling uncomfortably. I was surprised they’d hired her for this job, not because she didn’t look adorable in her too large clothing, but because she didn’t seem to have much serving experience. Even
I
saw she was cruising for a bruising when those expensive, cut-crystal glasses ended up in sticky shards on the floor.

“Can I have another sherry, please?” I asked, plucking one off the tray while Reptile Man only rolled his eyes.

“Do I know who you are?” I repeated, nervously swirling the sherry in my glass just like I’d seen wine connoisseurs do it in the movies. “Do
I
know who you are?”

Reptile Man leaned forward on the love seat, waiting to see where I was gonna go with this.

“Please, elucidate, Miss Reaper-Jones.”

I cleared my throat, feeling the effects of the first glass of sherry starting to stifle my good sense.

“Well, I obviously know a lot of things, being the new Grim Reaper and all,” I offered. “So, it only stands to reason I would know who you are.”

“Yes,” Reptile Man hissed. “Go on.”

“I’m the President and CEO of Death, Inc., and since you’re here, right now, drinking that sherry you’re so fond of,” I babbled, “then you must work for me. And that is my final answer.”

Reptile Man opened his mouth to reply—I could see the confusion on his face, his brain clicking away as he tried to make sense of what I’d just said—but I was saved from the executioner by the entrance of my dad’s old friend, Naapi.

“Calliope,” he said, grinning widely at me. “I’m so glad you’re early. I would like to introduce you to my consort, Alameda Jones.”

The lanky young woman on his arm stepped forward and I could see her underwear—or lack thereof—through the long silky dress she was wearing.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the girl breathed, her frizzy golden hair bunched into a knot on the top of her head.

She was of mixed race, with warm honey skin that glowed in the firelight and wide, full lips stretched taut over pearly white teeth. Her liquid caramel eyes took in my minidress and makeup, and I saw approval etched across them.

“Lovely dress,” she said, coming over and grasping my hand as I stood to meet her. “Noisette? Am I right?”

We grinned at each other, connecting on the shallowest of pretensions: fashion.

“She’s amazing. Am I right?” Alameda continued, reaching out and touching the ruching at my back lovingly.

“She’s unreal,” I agreed, starting to enjoy myself for the first time since we’d arrived at the Castle.

“Who is this?!” Alameda said suddenly, her eyes snapping open with excitement. “Aren’t you just the most adorable thing ever!?”

She dropped down to her knees, her fingers effortlessly finding the sweet spot behind Runt’s ears.

“Is she a hellhound?” Alameda asked. “I’d heard you had one, but to see one outside of Hell … amazing.”

“Her name’s Runt,” I said, crouching down beside Alameda, so I could give Runt a pet, too.

“Can she talk?” Alameda inquired, then without waiting for my answer, she turned to Runt. “I’m Alameda. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hi,” Runt said shyly, unsure about all the attention Alameda was lavishing on her.

“I met your father once,” Alameda said, her voice all honey and dulcet tones. “Cerberus. A great man.”

Runt gave a short yip and nuzzled her head into the back of my knee, hiding her eyes.

“Wow, I’ve never seen her get embarrassed before,” I said, amused.

“I knew you ladies would get on,” Naapi interjected as he stepped behind Alameda, helping her to her feet. I stood up, not wanting to be the only one on my knees, but I had a hard time keeping my balance because Runt kept burrowing her face into my leg, pushing me forward.

Behind us, Reptile Man cleared his throat, displeased at being ignored for so long.

“Hello, Uriah,” Naapi said absently. “I didn’t see you there.”

Because he was such a large and creepy presence, it was hard to miss him, and I got the impression Naapi had been purposely ignoring him.

“Yes, Mr. Drood and I were having a splendid conversation about sherry before you guys came in,” I said, pleased Naapi had supplied me with Reptile Man’s first name. It was easy to identify him after getting that piece of information. He was Uriah Drood, the all-powerful Head of the Harvesters and Transporters Union—and a slimy creepoid who I knew Jarvis detested with every ounce of his being.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Mistress Death—” Uriah began, but any disparaging remark he was about to make was silenced by the arrival of my favorite goddess, Kali, her milky cream sari a blood-soaked mess.

“Shut your mouth, white girl.” She glared at me as I stared at her, openmouthed, my skin crawling at the thought of where all that blood had come from. “Because it’s not like
this
isn’t all your fault anyway.”

“My fault?” I croaked.

I may have been responsible for a lot of screwups in my own life, but I couldn’t quite fathom how Kali being drenched in blood was my doing.

“Well, it is,” she said, running her hands through her plasma-soaked hair, which now hung freely down her back in long, curling waves. “I’m here at this Death Dinner because of you and now I smell like skunk and tomato!”

Well, that took me a moment to process.
Skunk and tomato?
What about all the blood … but then my nostrils were assailed by the familiar stench of skunk spray and everything clicked into place.

Oh, shit,
I thought.
Some poor, unsuspecting skunk just sprayed the bejeezus out of the Hindu Goddess of Death and Destruction.

“Kali,” I sputtered, but she held up a warning hand.

“Skunk,” she spat at me, her eyes full of fury. “And tomato juice that your stupid serving girl poured all over my head!”

I looked around, realizing for the first time the serving lady with the sherry was MIA—I guess she’d slipped out while I was talking to Alameda—obviously finding herself something way more exciting to get caught up in.

“I’m so sorry, Kali,” I said, but inside I was thinking it
might’ve been better if she’d actually been covered in blood like I’d first suspected.

“I don’t want your sorry, dipwad,” she growled at me, her lips pressed into a flat line. “I want you to make me smell like a goddamned daisy!”

“Well, why don’t we just get Jarvis to magic the smell away …” I trailed off, realizing what an idiot I sounded like when we all knew there would be no magic making to speak of for the next twenty-four hours.

“I don’t think that’s an option, white girl,” Kali said, adjusting her lids into two malevolent slits as she went all cat-eyed with wrath.

I looked around the drawing room, hoping for some help from the assemblage, but none was forthcoming. Without realizing it, the rest of the class had just voted me “most likely to de-skunk a pissed-off goddess.”

Thanks, guys.

“Okay,” I said, slowly moving toward the stinky goddess. “Why don’t we get you into a shower and then I’ll get my phone out and do a little checking around, see if we can’t find a better option than tomato juice.”

Kali looked skeptical.

“Look,” I continued, “if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s digging up info online. I mean, I wasn’t the Assistant to the Vice-President of Sales at House and Yard for nothing!”

If I thought my fierce rallying cry—go, House and Yard!—was gonna stir things up a bit and get the peeps on my side, well, I was sadly mistaken. Nonplussed was the expression of choice from the peanut gallery. Even Kali looked uncertain, but she tried to cover it by giving me a watery smile.

“I stink, white girl,” she wailed, her lips curling downward as she fought back tears. “What will become of me?”

I was shocked. I’d seen the woman bathed in blood, ripping the heads off her enemies and gorging on their entrails; I was not prepared to see her felled by the likes of a little skunk spray. To calm her down, I pulled my BlackBerry wannabe out from between my cleavage and began to type “skunk,” “spray,” and “removal” into the web browser. Instantly, a bunch of possible websites popped onto the screen and I started to scroll through them.

“All right, I think I got it,” I said—and since no one else was gonna help us out, I took Kali by the arm (damn the stench!) and led her toward the door. Runt, not wanting to be left in the drawing room alone with a bunch of strangers, took off after us. As we passed through the doorway, I inclined my head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Tell Jarvis what’s going on and see if he can get me these supplies,” I said, reeling off the list of household materials I’d need to permanently delete the stench of skunk from Kali’s flesh.

“Will do!” Runt said, happy to be of use. She trotted off in the other direction—apparently, even a muddled Kali was protection enough against the Ender of Death—while I guided my charge farther into Casa del Amo, hopefully in the direction of a bathtub.

“You wanna tell me how this happened?” I asked, for lack of anything better to talk about. Kali’s face turned beet red and she shook her head vehemently.

“Oh, come on,” I whined, “I’d tell you all the good stuff if it were me.”

Kali shook her head again, shivering as we passed through the library and into another corridor.

“There is no ‘good stuff,’” Kali said, her voice flat. “And it’s embarrassing, dipwad.”

“More embarrassing than getting finger-banged in the middle of the New York City Subway?” I said.

Kali considered this for a moment before conceding:

“Yes, you may well have the more embarrassing story, white girl.”

“So, dish then,” I said as we wove our way through the labyrinthine corridors, stopping every now and then to try a closed door—but all were locked.

“I was spying,” Kali said, eyes downcast.

I tried the next door we came to, intricately carved wood set far back into the plaster wall, and when I cranked the doorknob, it pushed right open, revealing the interior of an unoccupied guest bedroom. I didn’t wait for an invitation, since none was going to be forthcoming, but just banged the door all the way open and dragged Kali inside.

“Go on,” I said, my eyes searching for the telltale signs of
an adjoining bathroom and finding two closed doors for possibilities. “You were spying?”

I left Kali standing in the middle of the room, dripping tomato juice and skunk stink on the Oriental carpet, as I tried the first door, which only yielded a closet stuffed to the brim with men’s clothing

“Not it,” I said, slamming the door then stalking over to the other possibility.

Kali watched the proceedings with growing doubt, but before she completely lost her faith in me, I hit pay dirt.

“It,” I called as I threw open the second door to reveal a beautifully appointed, mosaic-tiled bathroom with a sunken tub and matching pedestal sink and toilet.

“Jackpot!” I said, going back to my charge and pulling her into the pristine whiteness of the bathroom.

Together, we unwrapped her sari, pulling out the pleated front from her skirt waistband—which was drenched in skunk spray—and letting it fall to the floor, where the polluted fabric pooled into a bunch at my feet. Using the toe of my shoe, I kicked it away from us, sending it between the toilet and the pedestal sink. Next, I helped her shrug out of her shirt and skirt, both of us wrinkling our noses at the horrible mixture of tomato and skunk.

“Oh my God,” I gagged. “I have to open a window.”

As Kali climbed into the bath, I ran over to the bathroom window and unlatched it, throwing both sides open to get the maximum amount of ventilation into the room.

“So, tell me who you were spying on,” I badgered as I stood at the window, inhaling the untainted air.

“Forget it, white girl, I don’t want—” she said, turning on the faucets full blast, the sound of running water drowning out her words.