Authors: Amber Benson
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary
Cat's Claw (8 page)
“I mean,” I said, shifting my weight as I tried to make myself more comfortable on the aluminum wedge, “if you’re busy, I don’t want to bother you, or anything.”
Her fingers still flying over the keyboard, she shook her head. “Don’t be a dweeb. I’m almost done and then I promise to give you my full, undivided attention.”
“Oh, goodie,” I mumbled sarcastically.
She gave me a sardonic smile, followed by about twenty seconds’ worth of fluttering eyelashes, then she went back to her work.
Suddenly, I felt something cool and slobbery licking the top of my right hand. Startled, I yanked my arm away with such force that I nearly fell off the wedge chair and onto the linoleum.
“Goddamn it!” I yelped as I looked down to find our hellhound puppy, Runt, happily wagging her tail at me. “Don’t do that, Runt! You nearly gave me a heart attack . . . Jeez.”
The beautiful, black hellhound pup sat back on her haunches and cocked her head at me. I could tell exactly what she was thinking: Calliope Reaper-Jones needs to take a chill pill—and she was so
not
wrong.
not
wrong.
“Sorry, Runt. It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” I said as I reached out to scratch behind her soft, furry ears. She inclined her head forward so that I could get a better purchase on her neck and amp up my scratching. I took that as a sign that she had accepted my apology and didn’t hold my being all jerk-y against me.
I looked down into her bright pink eyes and felt an overwhelming sense of love for the beautiful, midnight-colored puppy that had saved my life on more than one occasion. She was an amazing companion and friend, and I really, really, really looked forward to the time when she would develop the ability to talk. Then we could actually have a real conversation, instead of me constantly having to intuit what she was thinking.
I know that normally dogs don’t
ever
develop that kind of ability, but since she was the daughter of Cerberus, the Guardian of the North Gate of Hell—and he could talk like no one’s business—I got the distinct impression that Runt was gonna have a heck of a lot to say when her vocal cords finally started working properly.
ever
develop that kind of ability, but since she was the daughter of Cerberus, the Guardian of the North Gate of Hell—and he could talk like no one’s business—I got the distinct impression that Runt was gonna have a heck of a lot to say when her vocal cords finally started working properly.
“Uhm, about Runt,” Clio said, interrupting my thoughts.
I looked up and saw that she had shut down the computer and was now giving me her “full, undivided attention.” I gave my seventeen-year-old baby sister a long, clinical look, noting that she had finally decided to grow out her hair . . . a fact that gave me considerable pause.
Clio had been sporting a shaved head ever since her very cute twentysomething substitute biology teacher had made inappropriate overtures in the dating direction at the beginning of the school year, but now, instead of the baldpate I was used to, about two inches of fluffy black hair stood in its place. I knew that if she was starting to embrace her hotness again, then there had to be a reason for it . . . and that reason could only be of the male persuasion.
Whoever the guy was, I kind of felt sorry for him. If Clio had decided to stop hiding her beauty, then the poor guy was a goner. Seriously, my sister was probably
the
most beautiful person I had ever seen in my entire life—and that included Kate Moss and Christy Turlington—which only gave credence to the rumor that our mother was part Siren.
the
most beautiful person I had ever seen in my entire life—and that included Kate Moss and Christy Turlington—which only gave credence to the rumor that our mother was part Siren.
Only someone with Siren blood could be that amazing looking, as far as I was concerned. My mother was vehement that she was entirely 100 percent human, but I likened that to the old saying:
The lady doth protest too much.
With her pitch-black hair and doe eyes, Clio could send any man to his doom on the rocks of love without even batting an eyelash—just like all good Siren progeny.
The lady doth protest too much.
With her pitch-black hair and doe eyes, Clio could send any man to his doom on the rocks of love without even batting an eyelash—just like all good Siren progeny.
I, unlike my two sisters, wasn’t born with the gifts of beauty and/or a genius IQ. With my short brown hair and large brown eyes, I was attractive, but not beautiful—and my brain was definitely more attuned to the latest issue of
Elle
than to anything school oriented. Not that I was a terrible student, mind you, but I was definitely
glad
I would never be called on to answer another math problem in my lifetime.
Elle
than to anything school oriented. Not that I was a terrible student, mind you, but I was definitely
glad
I would never be called on to answer another math problem in my lifetime.
“Earth to Callie,” Clio said, bringing me back to reality. I was tempted to blurt out: “So, who’s the lucky guy?” but instead, I kept my mouth sensibly shut on the topic, choosing only to reply to Clio’s initial statement—as much as I was dying to pry into my sister’s love life.
“What
about
Runt?” I asked demurely, tickling the puppy’s neck underneath the pink and silver rhinestone halter she was wearing, a place where I knew she particularly loved being scratched.
about
Runt?” I asked demurely, tickling the puppy’s neck underneath the pink and silver rhinestone halter she was wearing, a place where I knew she particularly loved being scratched.
“Dad didn’t tell you?” Clio said, surprised.
“No, Dad didn’t tell me anything,” I replied, starting to get nervous. What had my dad decided
not
to tell me about now?
not
to tell me about now?
“Oh,” Clio said, scrunching up her nose, a confused look on her face. “I thought he would’ve let you know.”
“Let me know what?” I said, exasperated by all the pussy-footing around.
“That’s why I thought you were in town,” Clio continued, ignoring my question. “Because you’d been summoned.”
“What?!”
I nearly shrieked, feeling like my world was about to tip upside down again. I so could
not
deal with another round of tasks from the Board of Death—no matter whose immortality was at stake.
I nearly shrieked, feeling like my world was about to tip upside down again. I so could
not
deal with another round of tasks from the Board of Death—no matter whose immortality was at stake.
I guess my sister didn’t know me very well if she thought I’d gotten my ass up at the stroke of six on a Saturday morning to take the three-plus-hour train ride from Penn Station to Providence,
then
wait another whole hour for the pleasure of taking the ferry into Newport just so I could deal with a whole bunch of bad-news supernatural business.
then
wait another whole hour for the pleasure of taking the ferry into Newport just so I could deal with a whole bunch of bad-news supernatural business.
Trust me, if I had known I was in the process of being
summoned
, I’d have gotten on the train to Baltimore instead.
summoned
, I’d have gotten on the train to Baltimore instead.
“Oh boy,” Clio said, looking worried. “You better go see Jarvis. He has all the info.”
“Crap,” I replied.
As much as I had grown to like my father’s Executive Assistant during the time when he had been
my
Executive Assistant—and had helped me fulfill the three tasks the Board of Death had given me in order to take over my dad’s job and save my family—I still had absolutely
no
interest in getting a lecture from the faun right then. Literally, there was
nothing
Jarvis loved more than giving me a lecture—and those suckers could go on for
centuries
.
my
Executive Assistant—and had helped me fulfill the three tasks the Board of Death had given me in order to take over my dad’s job and save my family—I still had absolutely
no
interest in getting a lecture from the faun right then. Literally, there was
nothing
Jarvis loved more than giving me a lecture—and those suckers could go on for
centuries
.
It was sort of sad in a “I have no life of my own” kind of way.
“Do I have to?” I moaned, knowing that if I had been summoned . . . then I had to. “Okay, at least fill me in a little bit, Clio. Who summoned me? Dad?”
Clio shook her head.
“Mother?” I asked, desperately hoping that my mother was
not
the person doing the summoning. The last time she’d asked for a favor, I’d ended up in Hell.
not
the person doing the summoning. The last time she’d asked for a favor, I’d ended up in Hell.
Clio shook her head again as I continued to scratch Runt’s neck, her tail thumping contentedly on the floor in a legato rhythm that was very lulling.
“Who?” I moaned, not liking this one bit.
Clio looked down at Runt, then back up at me.
“Runt’s dad.”
Oh shit,
I thought.
Cerberus had summoned me?
I thought.
Cerberus had summoned me?
“Did he say why?” I asked, even though I already knew it could only be because of one of two things: He either (1) wanted his daughter back, or (2) was calling in the favor I owed him—and both options seemed incredibly unappealing to me at that moment.
Double shit.
Clio shook her head. “Sorry. That’s all I know. Not in the loop.” She shrugged.
Great. Clio was as in the dark about this whole thing as I was, which meant I couldn’t pick her brain for more succulent little details before having to go and interface with the Jarv-meister.
“Well, you leave me no choice. I guess I’d better go and see Jarvis, then,” I mumbled, not
really
wanting to but knowing that I had to.
really
wanting to but knowing that I had to.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone that I was the one that told you,” Clio said suddenly as I stood up, my butt sore from my hard metal perch. “I wasn’t supposed to know about it.”
“Will do, Captain,” I replied, giving Runt a pat on the head before heading for the door. “And thanks for the heads-up.”
I was almost out the door before I remembered the real reason I’d come to Newport in the first place.
“Uhm, could you do me a huge favor?” I asked, feeling uncharacteristically annoyed with myself for needing her help. It wasn’t like I was a complete mental reject, or anything. I mean, it was totally within the realm of possibility that I could discover Daniel’s whereabouts without having to use Clio’s phenomenal brain as some kind of human cheat sheet.
Sometimes I wished I were a little less lazy. Maybe life would be more hospitable to me if I actually applied myself to living it properly.
“Callie, your wish is my command.” Clio grinned, turning back around from her keyboard and giving me a sisterly wink.
I swallowed hard, not looking forward to the bevy of questions my “favor” was going to invoke.
“Can you tell me how I might get a look at someone’s Death Record?” I sort of mumbled, trying to sound as nonchalant as I possibly could.
Clio stared at me, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“And by
someone
, don’t you really mean you want to take a peek at your buddy
Daniel’s
Death Record?” she shot back at me.
someone
, don’t you really mean you want to take a peek at your buddy
Daniel’s
Death Record?” she shot back at me.
I could see the look of utter curiosity in her eyes and decided that the best defense was a good offense.
“Look, I would love to sit here and chat about boys with you—oh, and by the way, who’s the lucky fella?” Clio turned bright red at my words, verifying without any question that she was a smitten lady.
“I don’t—” she started to protest, but I raised my hand for silence.
“Like I said . . . I would love to stay and hear all the gory details about your new man,” I continued, not letting her get a word in edgewise, “but, you know, I gotta go deal with being summoned and all, so just let me know when you’ve got that info I needed.”
I turned and shut the door behind me as fast as I could, leaving a red-faced Clio unable to say another word.
Yes,
I thought happily,
score one for Calliope Reaper-Jones!
Yes,
I thought happily,
score one for Calliope Reaper-Jones!
Little did I know then how
badly
I was gonna get creamed in overtime.
badly
I was gonna get creamed in overtime.
five
The house that I grew up in is huge. Seriously, it’s so big that it even has its own name: Sea Verge.
When I was a little kid, I used to worry about losing my friends and never finding them again when we were playing hide-and-seek inside it. The fear was derived strictly from the fact that my house wasn’t just a
house
like everyone else’s . . . No, my house was basically its own ecosystem. And since seven- and eight-year-olds aren’t the most astute creatures in the world, with fourteen bedrooms and nine bathrooms alone in the place, you can well imagine why I would be a little freaked-out.
house
like everyone else’s . . . No, my house was basically its own ecosystem. And since seven- and eight-year-olds aren’t the most astute creatures in the world, with fourteen bedrooms and nine bathrooms alone in the place, you can well imagine why I would be a little freaked-out.
Just lose one Sally or Mary to the mysterious confines of Sea Verge and no other parent would ever let their kid go and play at
your
house again.
your
house again.
As I got older, I spent more summers than not exploring the inner workings of Sea Verge, so that it ceased to be a place that was alien to me. I think my therapist would say I was just confronting my fears, but I’m pretty sure there was no psychology involved in my efforts. In the end, I was just so damn curious about the place that I wanted to know everything I could about it.
Maybe it did offer some kind of control over my out-of-control life, just knowing the intricacies of the place I grew up in, but after a few summers of intense exploration, I got to the point where I knew every secret doorway, every hidden passage, and every dead end in the place.
My least favorite part of Sea Verge turned out to be the kitchen.
It just wasn’t as exciting to me as the rest of the house because it had been completely remodeled when my parents first bought the place. My mother loved to cook, so she’d had the kitchen tricked out with every gizmo and gadget known to modern man, as well as filled the space with so much marble that it reminded me more of a mausoleum than a kitchen—all of which was cool from a culinary perspective, and it did mean that we had the first trash compactor in the neighborhood, but I guess I’ve just never been all that bowled over by flashy kitchen appliances.
Of course, the kitchen was
exactly
where I found Jarvis. He was making himself a goat cheese (totally ironic, huh?) and sun-dried tomato pesto sandwich on focaccia bread with a side of ginger and jicama salad that my mother’s chef, Declan, whipped up when he wasn’t feeling particularly moody.
exactly
where I found Jarvis. He was making himself a goat cheese (totally ironic, huh?) and sun-dried tomato pesto sandwich on focaccia bread with a side of ginger and jicama salad that my mother’s chef, Declan, whipped up when he wasn’t feeling particularly moody.
Seriously, you could always tell what emotional state Declan was in by what you found waiting for you in the refrigerator. Fatty, home-style dishes connoted that one of his notorious black moods was on the horizon, while lighter, healthier fare meant he was in a sunnier state of mind.
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