Serpent's Storm (28 page)

I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and hoist me back up onto my feet. I turned around to find the kid standing behind me, a big smile covering the bottom half of his face. I stared up at him, my gaze boring into his large brown eyes as my mind tried to piece together what was happening to me.

“Who are you?” I asked, my brain reeling.

The kid shrugged uncertainly.

“David . . . ?”

“Just David?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

His eyebrows scrunched together and I could see him thinking hard, trying to figure out what I wanted him to say.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying another approach.

This made him scrunch his thick eyebrows together even harder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t.”

I decided not to press him for any more information. He looked really confused and I didn’t want to freak him out more.

“Why don’t we sit down,” I offered, gesturing to one of the plastic benches. He seemed relieved by my suggestion, and he let go of me so we could move the party to a more recumbent position.

I sat down, thinking he’d take the seat beside me, but he chose one that was across the aisle, plopping his skeletal body down like it weighed a ton. We sat across from each other, David looking down at his hands where they sat clasped in his lap, and I stared straight ahead, exhausted by the insane almost-twenty-four hours I’d just experienced.

As the train rocked away on its tracks, I felt it lulling me into a calmer, more relaxed state. The pain in my back was almost gone and I knew I looked better now than I had even ten minutes before. I looked over at David and saw the train had worked its magic on him, too. He was slumped over, his head resting on the metal bar next to his seat. I took the opportunity to change places, swapping my seat for one across the aisle, next to the unconscious kid.

But when I sat down, I realized that there was something wrong. The kid was so still, more still than any sleeping person had a right to be. I reached over and poked his upper arm, got no response. I poked harder. Still nothing.

“David?” I said, my voice soft. “Hey, kid?”

Only silence greeted my efforts.

I put my hand under his nose, hoping to feel the steady stream of air moving in and out as he breathed, but once again I came up empty. The kid wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing, he (obviously) wasn’t responding to my prods and pokes . . . the only answer that made any sense was that I had somehow done the unthinkable:

“Not again!” I yelled as I covered my face with my hands and screamed into my palms, not caring that I looked like a total lunatic. I mean, I
was
sitting on an empty subway train, next to a big, dead kid talking to myself—so, yes, “lunatic” was definitely the correct word.

“I don’t understand,” I said to no one in particular. “I mean, I did
not
—not even
once
at any point in the like ten minutes I knew the kid—say the word ‘death’ or use the phrase ‘I wish you would die.’ ”

I stood up and started pacing, occasionally grabbing the long metal handrail that ran the length of the train to steady myself as the car rocked underneath my feet. I didn’t know what to do. Twice, the kid had saved me from the Ender of Death—putting his own existence on the line both times—and now I’d killed him. I knew I was supposed to get to Heaven and start harassing God, like
pronto
, but I just couldn’t leave the poor guy riding up and down the subway line until someone discovered he was dead and not, uhm . . . sleeping.

Frustrated, I sat back down next to the body and gave the kid a slug in the upper arm, punching the dead flesh as hard as I could. I don’t know what possessed me, I guess I was just annoyed with the pathetic-ness of the whole situation, but boy, did I get the shock of my life when the kid sat up, rubbed his arm where I’d punched him, and stared at me, large, wet eyes alert and questioning.

“Oh, crap,” I said, standing up and taking a few steps away from the living/dead man. “I didn’t know . . . Sorry about that.”

The kid continued to stare at me, brow wrinkled with consternation.

“Really, I’m very sorry,” I stammered, not sure who or what I was dealing with.

“Whatever possessed you to hit me like that?” the kid whined as he continued to rub the spot on his arm where I’d punched him.

Honestly, I hadn’t punched him
that
hard, but he was milking it for all he was worth.

“
And
after all the trouble I’ve gone to for you, Miss Calliope. It’s rude. Yes, extremely rude.”

I froze, unable to speak, my mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out. The voice issuing from the kid’s mouth was
not
the voice he’d used the last time I’d heard him speak. This new voice was more clipped, more
British
even . . . a different beast entirely.

“Seriously, you have no idea how difficult this young man is to manage,” the kid continued. “It’s like working with a very large, very overwrought marionette puppet.”

I gulped, my head spinning, as I realized that all the strange thoughts that’d been running through my head ever since I’d met the kid were not strange at all. I’d known there was something different, no, something
wrong
about the kid, but I just hadn’t known what it was.

Until now.

“Jarvis?” I said, my voice quavering. “Is that
you
?”

The kid turned and stared at me, exasperated.

“Of course, I’m Jarvis. Who else were you expecting—Jesus Christ?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but instead, I just shrugged helplessly. The kid rolled his eyes and the gesture was so Jarvis—and so
bizarre
in the kid’s ungainly body—that I had to laugh, but then the laughter quickly turned to tears as I found myself hugging the big galoot for all he was worth.

“I missed you so much,” I said, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

The kid—I mean,
Jarvis
—patted my hand.

“I missed you, too, Miss Calliope.”

“But how did you . . .” I began. “I mean, how are you
here
, right now? I killed you.”

Jarvis nodded.

“Yes, you did put an end to my life, but I haven’t been your father’s Executive Assistant for all these decades without learning a thing or to about what to do in case of an emergency.”

“An emergency?” I asked.

Jarvis nodded.

“We were set up, Miss Calliope. That’s why I was so surprised when your boss, Hyacinth, said that she was there looking after you under orders from your father. It made no sense, but of course, I was in no condition to protest, I was half-dead myself.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, confused. “I don’t understand.”

The train slowed down as we approached the next station then came to a shuddering stop. A few commuters climbed on board, mostly men, but a couple of women, too, all carrying briefcases similar to the one sitting on the floor next to Jarvis’s feet. As the doors closed, the conductor called out the next station and Jarvis resumed his story.

“Hyacinth must be working for your sister and the Devil,” he continued. “She must’ve alerted the Ender of Death when she sensed that you had arrived at the office. It has to be how he knew where to find you.”

“That can’t be true,” I said, dropping my voice as the man across the aisle from us raised an eyebrow at the tone of our conversation.

“I would’ve been alerted had your father made any kind of order like that, Miss Calliope,” he said with a sigh. “I managed every aspect of his office. I was involved in every decision. I would’ve known. No question.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “So if Hyacinth is a bad guy, then Sumi and Frank and Starr are playing for the other side, too.”

Jarvis blanched when I said Sumi’s name, and I got a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Oh, jeez, it’s bad, isn’t it? Really bad.”

Jarvis swallowed.

“Watatsumi works for no one but himself,” Jarvis said. “He is the epitome of a ‘free agent,’ as they say. Offer him power, or some other prize that he craves, and he will work for anyone. I don’t know who these Frank and Starr characters might be, but if they
are
in cahoots with Watatsumi, they’re completely untrustworthy.”

I felt sick—and not just from the information Jarvis had imparted. My stomach was on fire, burning with a painful ferocity that made me involuntarily open my mouth and release the smelliest, nastiest, most god-awful burp the free world had ever been exposed to. Jarvis, who was sitting closest to me, gagged. The other people on the train covered their mouths and noses with their hands or their suit jackets.

“Sorry,” I breathed, nausea still burbling inside my belly.

“Oh, Miss Calliope, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t
what
?” I cried.

Jarvis shook his head and ran a large hand through his dark hair.

Oh, shit, the jewel,
I thought miserably.

“Sumi said it was a wish-fulfillment jewel,” I stammered. “He said it would help when Daniel challenged me.”

“Well, that explains how the Ender of Death tracked you to that subway station,” Jarvis said.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“And it is only a ‘wish-fulfillment’ jewel in the sense that Watatsumi
wishes
to bind you to him and that that wish is now being fulfilled.”

“Double crap,” I said.

“Yes, I do believe a double—possibly a triple or a quadruple—crap is in order.”

The pain intensified in my gut and before I could cover my mouth with my hand, I had burped again. The smell was putrid. So foul, in fact, that as the train pulled into the next stop, every other person in the subway car but us got off to wait for another train.

“Well, you definitely have a unique way of clearing a subway car,” Jarvis said.

“So, what do I have to do to get rid of the stupid jewel?” I asked, ignoring Jarvis’s snide comment. Normally, I would’ve been snarky right back at him, but I didn’t want to do anything that would give him cause to disappear again.

“I honestly don’t know,” Jarvis said. “I have little experience with that type of binding charm.”

“Dammit, I don’t want to be a sitting duck for the Ender of Death—or any other bad guy—anymore,” I said. “This sucks.”

“We are just going to have to be
hyper
vigilant,” Jarvis offered. “And hope that the jewel will be rendered ineffective while we’re traveling in Heaven—”

“You’re going with me?” I interrupted.

“Of course I’m going with you, Miss Calliope,” he replied. “How else did you think you were going to get there?”

“I was just gonna ride around on the subway until, you know, I was struck by divine intervention,” I said, feeling sheepish.

“That’s what I’d supposed,” Jarvis said. “Well, consider yourself struck. It’s why I grabbed the closest available body I could find and made my way back to you.”

“Speaking of bodies,” I said, pointing at Jarvis. “Nice choice. You look like a gangling schoolboy playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothes.”

“Don’t you dare, Miss Calliope,” Jarvis replied, pulling up his jacket sleeve so I could see the track marks up and down the kid’s arm.

“Holy shit.”

I guess I was just too much of a “nice girl” to have ever been introduced to the kind of hard-core drug taking this kid was doing. I mean, I’d watched that show
Intervention
on TV, but I’d never seen anything like it in real life. Trust me when I say the TV version is a lot safer—the real-life stuff is just gross and sad.

“It’s the only reason I was able to get inside the body,” Jarvis said sadly. “It made controlling him very difficult. But now that he’s dead—”

“I didn’t kill him, did I?” I asked warily.

Jarvis shook his head no.

“The combination of drugs and the shock of your fight with the Ender of Death caused him to have a heart attack.”

“Well, I’m sorry he was a drug addict and I’m sorry he’s dead.” I sighed. “But I’m really glad you’re here.”

I leaned over and gave Jarvis another hug.

“And I promise I’ll be less annoying and less obnoxious in the future, okay?”

Jarvis snorted. “I’ll believe that one when I see it.”

As the train hit the brakes for the next stop, Jarvis stood up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Time to change trains.”

The doors slid open and I followed Jarvis out onto the subway platform. It was getting late enough in the morning that the place was now teeming with commuters, some of whom hopped on our old train as it departed. I watched one woman wrinkle her nose as she took her seat, turning around in her chair to glare at the man beside her as if he were the cause of the offensive odor. Apparently, the stench of my burps lingered long after my exit.

“Where are we going?” I asked, following Jarvis through the crowded platform toward a flight of stairs that led upward, but the sign above the stairway pointing toward the J, Z, and L lines clued me in to the idea that we were heading for Manhattan and leaving the outer boroughs behind us.

We were halfway up the stairs, Jarvis in the lead, when I felt someone grab a hank of my hair and yank me backward. I lost my balance, my ankle twisting painfully underneath me as I went down.

Not again,
I thought, reaching back with my right hand and grabbing a handful of my attacker’s shirt to steady myself.

“Jarvis!” I screamed, but there were so many people on the stairs with us, and the sound of the trains pounding down the tracks was so pervasive, it obscured my cry.

“Don’t worry,” a male voice whispered in my ear. “I’ve got you, little one. You won’t fall.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized my attacker wasn’t the Ender of Death—but then I remembered that Frank, the owner of the Southern drawl I’d just heard, was as much my enemy as Marcel was, so I started kicking. Frank jerked away from me, but he still had hold of my hair, and when he moved, he unwittingly snapped my head back, sending a wave of pain up through my neck into my jaw.