How to be Death (9 page)

Now, here I was twenty years later, following in my dad’s footsteps. I’d fought my fate for as long as I could, never realizing that maybe it wasn’t such a terrible fate after all. Death was the great leveler between Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil … and it was up to me to make sure that things stayed in balance.

Of course, the nagging little voice chose just that moment to rear its nasty head.

If you’re up for the job, that is,
it whispered.
The balance will be kept only if
you
can manage
it.

Then with doubt simmering in my brain, I took Noisette’s gown from the armoire and began to get ready for my first ever Death Dinner and Masquerade Ball.

The gown was delicate black gauze, spreading out around my feet in waves of fabric that simulated the nacre layers of a bed of oyster shells. The boning in the bodice held tight to my rib cage, dipping down to expose the rounded curves of my cleavage before nipping in at my waist and flowing sinuously over the arc of my hips in ragged swaths of material. In keeping with my position as Death, two large rhinestone skulls decorated the bodice. Except that, considering Noisette’s bill, there was a good chance they were not rhinestones …

The gown swayed as I walked, the tattered gauze flowing around me like kelp caught in the undulating currents of the sea. I’d borrowed a pair of strappy black high-heeled sandals and some simple diamonds from my mother—heck, it wasn’t like she was there to care if I raided her amazing, designer-strewn walk-in closet—but I’d eschewed any other adornment, thinking it would weigh down the ephemeral qualities of the gown.

“You look amazing,” Runt said as she watched me snap on the back of my left earring then adjust the bodice of the gown so my cleavage was a little less exposed.

“It’s the dress. Whoever said that clothes make the man, well, they were on the money,” I shot back at her, but inside I
was just as blown away as Runt was by how good I looked. Noisette was the couturier to the Gods for a reason, I decided. The woman had to weave magic into her creations because I’d never looked half as beautiful as I did in this gown.

Of course, I’d helped the gown out a little bit by doing a pretty bang-up job on my makeup and hair. After taking a quick shower, I’d set my lanky locks in hot rollers and applied a healthy dose of smoky silver eyeliner and shadow. Then I’d released my hair from the torture devices (the hot rollers) and used a spray borrowed from my sometimes-Goth kid sister, which darkened my usually fairly nondescript brownish hair to a mysterious glossy black. Then I blew it out, poufing it up far more than usual, then pulling down a few strands in what I had to admit were some pretty darn sexy wispy bangs. No denying it—I looked hot.

There was a rectangular mirror attached to the back of the delicate oak vanity and I stood in front of it, admiring my handiwork. In its surface, I could see the whole room reflected back at me: the two hand-carved teakwood beds with their glorious gold-and-scarlet coverlets, the gold gilt mantel, curving art deco armoire, and matching deco dresser that took over the far corner of the room, the delicate tracery desk and chair next to me—the whole space was a potpourri of dark wood paneling and spicy red-and-gold accents.

As I stood in my glittering black gown beside Runt, who was wearing her best dress collar (red, which looked especially nice with her fur), my dark eyes seemed lit from within. I surveyed the beauty that surrounded us and realized that I looked as if I was born for the part I was about to play.

There was a polite rap at the door—a patented Jarvis move—and Runt and I called out “Come in!” at the exact same time, which totally made us giggle.

The brass knob turned, hinges creaking as Jarvis, clad in a tailored black tuxedo, gold cufflinks, and shiny black dress shoes with gold buckles, swung the door open and stepped inside, instantly slipping his pince-nez onto the end of his nose so he could give us a quick once-over. Pleased by what he saw, he smiled and brought his hands together happily, rubbing them in anticipation.

“Noisette has outdone herself with that gown,” he purred. “Do a spin, Calliope. I want to see the ruching in the back.”

I rolled my eyes, embarrassed, but obliged him by doing a quick turn in place, the dress gracefully flowing around me as I baby-stepped in a circle.

“Perfect!” Jarvis said, giving me a wide smile. “Ladies, I have to say, you both look exquisite.”

“You look great, too, Jarvis,” Runt said. “And we were both ready on time just for you.”

“Yes, and that impresses me most of all,” Jarvis agreed. “Shall we go then?”

He offered me his arm, which I accepted, and the three of us left the comfort of the suite, stepping out into the tepid October night.

“who’s that?” i
asked as we passed a tall man I’d never seen before standing in the courtyard. He was wearing a dark suit and tie, an earpiece plugged into his right ear. He nodded to Jarvis as we passed by, his eyes giving my scantily clad upper body a discreet once-over that was both embarrassing and exciting.

Well, at least I knew the gown was a success.

“That,” Jarvis said, once the man was out of earshot, “is a bodyguard. A human one.”

“For who?” I said, trying not to trip over the bottom of my dress as I walked. I hadn’t really thought much about mobility when I’d sat with Noisette in her shop, oohing and aahing over her concept for the gown, but reality was a bitch. It took everything I had to walk, talk, and not trip over myself at the same time.

“For whom,” Jarvis corrected, as if he were a member of the grammar police.

“Yes, for whom, whatever.”

“As you know, at midnight all magic ceases and for the next twenty-four hours you and all the rest of the immortals—”

“Including us,” Runt chimed in.

Jarvis nodded. “Yes, that includes hellhounds and Executive Assistants, who happen to be immortal, too—”

As we left the courtyard, I tripped over a loose stone and Jarvis had to grab my arm so I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.

“Stupid dress,” I said under my breath, annoyed by how vulnerable being all gussied up made me feel.

“As I was saying before you almost wiped out back there,” Jarvis continued, ignoring my glare. “For the next twenty-four hours we are all mortal—”

I stopped in my tracks, digging my heels in where I stood, wondering why Jarvis had left this crucial piece of information out of the, like,
five
previous briefings we’d had about the Death Dinner.

“Excuse me, but rewind please, Jarvis.”

“Let’s just keep moving,” Jarvis said, but I’d staked my place on the walkway, and like a stubborn mule, I wasn’t moving until I got some answers.

“Uh-uh, ‘you got some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy,’” I growled at him, doing my best Desi Arnaz impression.

Jarvis sighed, knowing it would be easier to do his explaining now rather than spend ten minutes arguing with me.

“I didn’t want to frighten you—”

“Frighten me?” I interrupted. “You’re not frightening me, you’re just, like, leaving me majorly out of the loop. To the point where I’m gonna look like an idiot in front of the people you want me to impress.”

“Oh, yes, I do see how that could—”

I cut him off.

“Jarvis, I’m here. I’m invested. I want to do this. I just need you to treat me like an adult and give me all the pertinent information so I can do my job correctly.”

It took Jarvis a full minute of openmouthed silence to process what I’d said. He’d spent so long trying to convince me I could be good at the job, while, at the same time, kind of carrying me because I didn’t
want
to be good at it, that now that the time had come to take the training wheels off, he was having a hard time letting go.

“Jarvis,” I said, taking hold of both his upper arms and squeezing them gently. “Look at me.”

He did. I gave him a reassuring grin. Screw the nasty little voice inside my head—I could
do
this.

“I can do this,” I said.

Jarvis nodded, then repeated my words, but without as much conviction as I’d have liked.

“You can do this.”

My grin got even wider.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. Be straight with me and I promise I won’t let you down.”

Jarvis swallowed.

“Your friend, Marcel, aka the Ender of Death, is back. I don’t want to worry you, but you’ll be very vulnerable tonight.”

I looked down at Runt, who whined.

“You knew about this, too, huh?”

She nodded.

“Jarvis told me to be on the alert.”

“And the bodyguards will be here to look after you, too,” Jarvis added.

“All right,” I said, shivering despite the not so chilly temperature outside. “Good to know.”

Suddenly I was much more aware of my surroundings, my eyes scanning the darkness for bodyguards and/or enemies—though frankly, I wasn’t sure which made me more nervous. A thousand feet below us, I could hear the crash of the surf against the cliffs, but the isolation, the idea of being so far removed from the rest of society, made me feel less secure, not more.

“I can’t put him off forever, Jarvis,” I said, my nerves not happy about this complication.

Jarvis ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed.

“I know.”

I’d made a promise to the Ender of Death—one I knew might not end well for me, but I’d had no choice. I’d been in the middle of trying to prevent my sister and the Devil from co-opting Purgatory and Death, Inc., for their own nefarious purposes, and in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’d given the Ender of Death my word that I’d fight him mano a mano once I’d dealt with the situation. He’d been gracious enough to give me a respite and, until now, had been waiting patiently, biding his time and giving me the room I needed to sort out all the ancillary stuff I’d had to handle since I’d taken over the day-to-day running of Death, Inc.

But it seemed like my time-out was over. Marcel had reared his ugly head again and I was going to have to deal with him definitively, whether I was prepared to or not.

“I think we’d be smart to set a time and place rather than leaving that to Marcel,” Jarvis said finally, and I could see he’d given the matter a lot of thought, but hadn’t come up with a way of dealing with the problem that was satisfactory to him.

“Okay. Why don’t you issue him a formal challenge then?” I offered. “As soon as we’re done with the Death Dinner, I can start preparing.”

Jarvis nodded, worry lines etching themselves deeply into his forehead and around his eyes. He knew this was the best—and only—option we had, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Now that that’s settled, shall we continue on with the evening?” Jarvis said, taking my arm again. “We have one stop to make before the ball.”

the library at
Casa del Amo made my dad’s library at Sea Verge look like a closet. This was one large room and about ten thousand books.

“I can’t believe this place,” I said as I stood in the middle of the room, goggling at the humungous fireplace that took up the whole of the back wall. It was so big you could’ve roasted a whole pig in it and still had room to spit a couple of turkeys on either side.

“Agreed,” Jarvis said as he ran his finger across the unprotected book spines, his eyes devouring each title he passed. “I believe it’s the most comprehensive collection of Religious and Magical Arcana outside the Hall of Death.”

Runt, who was never intimidated by anything, sat quietly by the door, her ears pinned back against her head.

“I don’t like this place at all,” she said quietly. “It smells funny.”

But when asked to elaborate on what she meant by “funny,” all she offered was: “It smells
dark
.”

I had to agree with the pup. There was something odd about the place. It didn’t smell “dark” to me, but it definitely raised the “weird” alarm.

I flopped down on one of the two red-and-gold-striped silk
couches that flanked the fireplace, bypassing the three brown leather armchairs, each placed conveniently by a bookshelf with an elongated, antique gooseneck lamp standing beside it to give illumination to the chair’s occupant. I observed that two of the four walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases, each bearing a multitude of multicolored tomes, their spines packed together like sardines in a can—but the other wall was a paean to the outdoors: stuffed animal heads and an assortment of antique hunting rifles. I liked the books, but I could do without the stuffed animal heads—especially the giant moose head (its antlers were more than four feet long!) that was the centerpiece of the hunting wall.