How to be Death (21 page)

“I can make you do anything I want,” Erlik breathed, his voice even. “And don’t you forget it.”

He shoved Fabian back across the table, the Russian crying out in pain as he was slammed bodily into his chair. Erlik continued to stand there, watching the other man whimper and cradle his hurt wrist.

“The show is over,” Erlik said, eyes still locked on his wounded opponent before turning abruptly and stalking out of the room.

No one said a word—I think we were all in shock.

“Someone do something, please … my hand,” Fabian said weakly. The color had drained out of his face and he seemed to be in a lot of pain.

“There’s nothing we can do for you, idiot,” Kali said, rolling her eyes. “No magic.”

I got up and circled around the table, gesturing for Jarvis to ring his crystal bell, so the servers could start collecting the broken china. I knelt down beside the wounded man. At first, he shied away from me, not wanting me to touch his hand.

“Come on. Let me see it,” I said, coaxing him into letting me examine his wrist.

I could tell immediately it wasn’t broken, and once All Hallows’ Eve was over, his immortal body would heal itself within a matter of hours. In the interim, I could make him a splint—like
I’d learned in the first aid class I’d taken at the Y two summers earlier—and load him up on Tylenol or some other over-the-counter analgesic.

“Can someone hand me their butter knife,” I said, picking up Fabian’s own from its spot on the table.

Jarvis was immediately at my side with another butter knife and a couple of cloth napkins. He’d realized what I was doing and was already two steps ahead of me.

“Tear them up into strips for me, will you?” I said to Jarvis as I gently turned Fabian’s arm over and started to place the two butter knives lengthwise under his palm, wrist, and forearm.

I’d taken the first aid course with my ex-neighbor, Patience, a very well-intentioned, but slightly vacuous lawyer who was always on the prowl for a man and was most proud of the fact that she naturally possessed 2 percent body fat. Though I make her sound a little self-involved, she wasn’t a selfish person by a long shot. She volunteered for all kinds of charitable organizations, giving as freely of her time as she could, and was an especially big proponent of helping underprivileged children get a leg up in school. So when she was offered the chance to tutor urban elementary school students on the weekends, she jumped at it—which was how I got roped into the first aid course. One of the stipulations of the tutoring program was that you had to have a first aid certificate, something Patience did not possess, so she signed herself and her unwitting accomplice (me) up for a first aid class at the local Y.

I’d been terrified at first, afraid I was going to accidentally puncture someone’s lung or wrap a wound too tightly and permanently cut off the circulation to someone’s appendage, but by the end of the first class, all my fears were allayed—it seemed that I was pretty good in a pinch and didn’t get all freaked-out over blood and saliva like a few of the other people in the class.

“What’re you doing to my linens?” Donald Ali said, breaking my concentration with his rumbling voice.

“Making a splint,” I said, giving him a steely glare that dared him to contradict me.

“We have a first aid kit in the kitchen,” he replied, amused at my fierceness.

“Oh.”

Probably should’ve asked about that
before
I got Jarvis ripping,
I thought to myself.
Note to self: Ask first, rip later.

“It’s fine,” our host said, smiling back at me. “Besides, they’re only reproductions of the originals after all.”

I looked down at the scraps of napkin Jarvis had given me, wondering why anyone would ever make a reproduction of a napkin.

“The originals belong to the set of linens Archduke Ferdinand of Austria breakfasted on the morning of his assassination,” Donald Ali continued as if he were reading my mind. “Historically significant as this led directly to the beginning of World War One.”

“That’s just morbid,” I said, but before I could finish binding the splint, Lazarev pulled his arm away, the butter knife clattering to the floor.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I appreciate what it is you’re doing, but enough.”

“Suit yourself.” I sighed, thinking about the poor ruined napkins as I got up and went back to my chair.

“. . . it’s just history,” I heard our host saying as he smiled oddly. “Though I suppose that’s something you immortals wouldn’t understand.”

“We understand more than you think, Donald,” Naapi said, moving his glass out of the way so the server could set dessert down in front of him. “It’s why I’m looking to retire. Longevity isn’t without its flaws.”

Donald Ali snorted, dismissing Naapi’s comment.

“You would last ten minutes as a mortal.”

“Well, we shall have to see about that,” Naapi replied, looking down at his hands. “When I step down, I plan to renounce my immortality as well, so…”

This comment sent the room into a tizzy. Everyone started talking at once—the overriding sentiment disbelief as they chided Naapi for his foolishness. Only Alameda Jones and Donald Ali seemed immune to the agitation, both quietly watching the scene play out, but never giving a clue as to how this startling news really affected them.

“Settle down,” I said. “Leave Naapi alone and enjoy your dessert!”

It was like dealing with a bunch of unruly kids; no one
listened unless you shouted at them. Finally, Jarvis shook the crystal bell, and this seemed to get their attention, bringing a little order to the chaos.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” I said quietly, my annoyance lowering to a simmer now that everyone had stopped screeching at each other.

Taking a deep breath to calm my agitation, I checked out the bowl sitting in front of me.

“What are you?” I asked the dessert, but it was Uriah Drood who answered.

“It’s affogato with homemade vanilla gelato,” he said, spooning the goopy-looking stuff into his mouth with relish.

I raised an uncertain eyebrow, but decided since there was vanilla in the dessert, it couldn’t be too bad. I lifted my spoon and took a bite, wrinkling my nose at the bitter espresso taste. Apparently, I wasn’t a huge affogato fan, the combination of espresso and vanilla not really doing it for me—but the homemade vanilla bean meringue cookies that came with my affogato? Now those were amazing. My mouth watered as I nibbled on the delicious, flaky cookies, and I couldn’t help marveling at how insanely delicious they were. After I’d eaten the two tiny ones off my own plate, I was seriously tempted to steal Jarvis’s bell and ring myself a to-go container of the confections.

“I’d really like to talk to you after dinner. Is that possible?” Daniel asked as he leaned toward me.

I swallowed, biding my time as I tried to figure out his angle. Why did he want to talk to me alone and (hope against hope) did this have anything to do with us getting back together again?

“Give me your cookie and I’ll think about it,” I said finally, not knowing what else to say. A simple “yes” would probably have been fine, but there was something about Daniel that brought out the argumentative side of my personality.

He gave the lone cookie on his plate a long, lingering glance then slid it in my direction. Popping it into my mouth, I sighed as I let the taste of vanilla bean melt on my tongue.

“These things are scrumptious,” I said, my mouth full of cookie. “Thank you.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on my lack of table manners. I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with my
napkin, letting him sweat a bit. I very much wanted to spend time with him, but I wasn’t about to let him get what he wanted so easily. Besides, I was peeved at him for bringing Coy to the Death Dinner. It wasn’t like he didn’t know I was going to be there (I was the host, for God’s sake) and that having her on his arm
and
sharing his room with her was going to make me feel like crap.

“So, we can talk? In private?” he said, glancing over at Jarvis, who was in the middle of a conversation with Caohime. I thought I heard her say the words “Sea Verge,” “mother,” and “Calliope,” but they were too far away, and their tones too hushed, for me to be certain.

“Sure, whatever,” I said, still focused on the other conversation.

He looked pleased, his hand covering mine so he could give my fingers a gentle squeeze. Well, that shifted the focus back to our conversation and pronto. At the feel of his touch, my heart lurched in my chest, a lump forming in the back of my throat. I clenched my teeth together to fight off any tears that might be lurking, wondering if Daniel had any idea how painful all of this was for me. He seemed fine with our situation, as if getting over me had been the easiest thing in the world for him. For me, it’d been one of the most painful experiences I’d ever had, up there with my dad getting killed and my older sister betraying me.

“Okay, I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, and then, as an afterthought, he added: “And I know Runt isn’t going to want to leave your side this evening, so she should come, too.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

He looked a little hurt by my curtness then he shook his head, releasing my hand and returning to his coffee.

While we’d been talking, everyone else had finished their affogato, making me the only one who was still nursing the dessert. Since I wasn’t going to finish it, I pushed the plate away, the small crystal bowl holding the espresso and gelato concoction shuddering against the plate with the force of the movement. Tired and heartsick, I realized it was time to bring this disastrous dinner to a close. I cleared my throat, forcing all ancillary conversations to an abrupt end, and stood up, making Runt snuffle and shift position under the table.

“Once again, thank you all for coming,” I said, looking around the room, but trying not to catch anyone’s eye. “I hope the evening and the meal were enjoyable. Jarvis, what’s next on the agenda?”

My Executive Assistant graciously accepted the gauntlet.

“Please feel free to retire to the drawing room for after-dinner liqueurs,” he said, beaming at the assemblage. “Our servers will meet you there.”

Jarvis rang the crystal bell, signaling the end of dinner and everyone stood up, shuffling out of the room. I hadn’t realized how stressed out the evening had made me, but as soon as the room had cleared and only Jarvis, Runt, and I remained, I let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Jesus, that was awful,” I said, resting my elbows on the table and dropping my chin into my hands. “Do I have to go to the drawing room, too? I don’t think I can bear it.”

Jarvis shook his head.

“I’ll go on your behalf.”

“You’re the best,” I said, blowing him a kiss. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

Jarvis laughed, coming around and patting my shoulder.

“The bodyguard will be waiting out front for you. Do not try to ditch him, please.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I would never do that.” Not true. I was notorious for flouting Jarvis’s direct commands.

“Just be very careful,” Jarvis said, his two caterpillar eyebrows scrunching together with worry. “Now is an extremely vulnerable time for you.”

“I get it,” I said. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Jarvis wasn’t totally convinced—I could tell by the nervous glint in his eye—but he nodded and let it go. Using the back of the chair like a ballet barre, I stood up and stretched, yawning with exhaustion.

“By the way, what happened to your friend Minnie? She didn’t stay for the ball or dinner?”

Jarvis turned a shade of hot pink I’d never seen on a human face before.

“I, well, er…”

I narrowed my eyes, smelling weakness.

“Jarvis, are you and Minnie … Are you,
you know
?” I needled him, making Jarvis turn an even brighter shade of pink.

“Oh, you
so
are doing naughty things with Miss Minnie,” I continued, very much enjoying Jarvis squirm.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he spluttered. “Our relationship is purely platonic!”

I snorted.

“Platonic, my ass—”

“She is almost finished with her novel and I’m helping her with the copyediting—”

“But that’s not all you want to help her with,” I shot back.

“Silence!” Jarvis yelped. “Don’t be so crude.”

“I bet she didn’t go to the ball because you were stuck with me and couldn’t play with her—”

Jarvis covered his ears with his hands, making a beeline for the exit.

“Filthy … you have a filthy mind, Calliope Reaper-Jones!”

“Of course I do!” I yelled after him as he crossed the threshold and disappeared down the corridor. “That’s why you like me so much!”

I grinned to myself, pleased with my ability to still get a rise out of Jarvis.