Grim Tidings

by Caitlin Kittredge

  The front door swung open and a guy literally twice my size, both high and wide, stepped forward. A thick braid curled over his shoulder and his forearms were the size of my legs. “Hold up,” he grunted.

  Leo raised one eyebrow. The swelling on his face had gone down, but the bruises and cuts were going to be there for a while. I wouldn’t have tried to stop him. “It’s pretty cold out here, pal.”

  The tree trunk lifted his massive arms, indicating Leo should do the same. “Gotta search you.”

  “Listen, Cujo,” Leo sighed. “You’re not working the door at a strip club in the Bronx. Chill out.”

  “Gotta search you,” the tree trunk repeated. His eyes, already tiny in the folded flesh of his face, narrowed even more. Leo folded his arms in response.

  “I would love to see you try.”

  “Come on,” I said, pushing past him. I was going to freeze to death in the time it took them to decide who had the bigger metaphorical penis. “You can search me,” I told the tree trunk. He shook his head.

  “No need. You’re not one of them.”

  I would have lifted one eyebrow, if they weren’t both frozen solid. “One of what?”

  “Reapers,” the girl who’d picked us up supplied helpfully. “In case you hadn’t realized, nobody around here is their biggest fan.”

  “Hey, lady, you brought us to this lovely slice of the ass-end of nowhere,” Leo said. “How about next time, if you don’t want me around you don’t pluck me off the side of the road?”

  “How about you thank me for saving your sorry hide?” she shot back, putting a fist on her hip. Her Mohawk dipped and bobbed like she was a fighting rooster.

  “Thank you, random woman I’ve never seen before, for saving me and being so fucking modest about it too,” Leo said, spreading his hands. “Now what the fuck am I doing here being fondled by your gimp?”

  The tree trunk growled—actually growled, like a bullmastiff— as he patted Leo down. Leo submitted as apathetically as possible, making the guy raise both of his arms and bend over to pat down his legs.

  “He’s clean,” he announced.

  Our driver turned on him again. “If you’re the Grim Reaper where’s your Scythe?”

  “Whoa, now,” Leo said. “Buy a guy a drink first.”

  She grabbed Leo by his lapels and pushed him into the nearest wall, so hard his head impacted the plaster and gritty dirt sifted down on my head. “I look like I have time to joke around with you, slick?” she snarled, shaking Leo like a chew toy. “Here’s a hint in case you’re slow—I’m not joking and neither is anyone else. Now are you him or not?”

  Leo shook his head, blinking plaster dust out of his eyes. He’d never stopped smiling. If that girl was smart, she’d realize she’d caught something much worse than her by the tail. Based on the way she was snarling and the vein popping out of her temple, though, I didn’t think smarts were in play just then.

  “Listen, honey,” Leo drawled, sounding every inch like the Brooklyn boy he’d been once upon a time, “I don’t know who hurt you, but your attitude problem ain’t cute. It’s not making me weak in the knees or hard in the dick, so how about you get your hands off my thousand-dollar jacket and we try this again, using our words?”

  She slammed him again, harder, and I reached out and tapped her on the shoulder, my finger pinging off the rivets studding the shoulders of her leather jacket. When she turned, I hit her.

  There’s not much complexity behind a good solid right hook. You want to get the power from your feet and hips, swing your whole upper body into the blow, make a good fist, and follow through. If you do that, no matter how small you are, hit the right spot and you’re going to put a dent in whoever pissed you off in the first place.

  Still, it was a dumb thing to do. Aggressive and impulsive. I didn’t go around hitting people just because they made me mad. At least I hadn’t before I met Leo and started caring whether or not people wanted to hurt him. If you hit someone, with that perfect right hook gained from decades of fighting dirty, you’d feel better for the few seconds they staggered and their mouth blossomed with blood.

  Then the girl caught herself on a side table piled high with sodden mail and empty pizza boxes, and let out a low snarl as she came back at me. That’s the part where you get your ass beat, and the stupid decision you made when you lost control and hit them in the first place launches you into a world of hurt.

  I braced myself for the ass-kicking, but Leo stepped between us, leveling a snub five-shot revolver at the girl’s forehead. She pulled up short, panting, her lower teeth coated with blood like she’d just torn out someone’s throat.

  “Here’s a tip,” Leo said. “You’re going to keep a gun between your seat cushions, make sure it’s where you left it when you get out of the car. And you,” he said, looking sideways at the tree trunk. “You’re gonna pat down another dude, don’t be all delicate avoiding the junk.”

  “That gun isn’t even loaded,” the girl snapped. Leo actually let out a laugh.

  “Honey, my old gig was carrying a gun for a living. I can tell it’s loaded just by the weight.” He pulled the hammer back. “Now I’m guessing none of you assholes can hit anything smaller than him”—he jerked his head at Tree Trunk—“so this is probably loaded with hollow points. At this distance your skull will be a Halloween pumpkin if I shoot you.” He stretched out his arm and pressed the barrel into the girl’s forehead, leaving an oily halo. “So how about we all calm down?”

  The girl didn’t have to think long. She put her hands up and backed away. “Yeah. Okay.” Her tongue flicked out, licking the blood off her lip.

  Leo turned slightly to me. “Ava?”

  “It’s over,” I said, my temporary insanity receding and the usual block of ice that had kept me alive this long growing back. Leo put the hammer up on the pistol and handed it to me, butt first. “Nobody needs a loaded gun in this place, least of all me.”

  Tree Trunk regarded Leo again, then turned to our driver. “It’s gotta be him,” he announced, stroking his braid.

  “Yeah, I’m me, hoo-fucking-ray,” Leo said. He slumped with a sigh onto a gold velvet sofa that was so swaybacked he sank practically to the floor. I unloaded the revolver, sticking the slugs in my pocket and the gun itself in the back of my jeans.

  “Sorry,” the driver said to Leo. She at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “But we’ve had a couple of false starts since the rumors about you started.”

  “Rumors?” I said, and she bared her teeth.

  “Was I talking to you, bitch?”

  Great. Even when I hooked up with the king of the reapers himself and rolled into town in style, I was still at the bottom of the pecking order.

  “Viv,” another woman spoke up, from the door. Behind her, I saw a small clot of four or five more people anxiously peering at Leo. Viv spun on her, a fleck of stray blood flying and landing on my cheek.

  “What, Raina?” she shouted. “You going to make me put a dollar in the swear jar?”

  “If I did, we’d all be rich,” Raina said. She was as willowy as Viv was solid, long rainbow-colored raver braids curled in a messy bun on top of her head. She was gorgeous, like a live-action Crusty Punk Barbie with copper skin and a big silver pyramid stud gleaming in her nose. “We don’t do that here,” she reminded Viv. “We don’t play that game.”

  “Personally, I’d really love it if somebody explained what the hell is happening and how it involves us,” Leo said from the sofa. “Because I got a headache that won’t quit and no patience left to speak of.”

  “When we heard the Grim Reaper had returned, some of us were happier than others,” Raina said. Her accent was perfect and clipped. She could have been narrating some genteel documentary about cheese on the BBC. “Headquarters refused to believe it, and they went after anyone who advocated for trying to reach out to you. Those of us who believed banded together,” she continued. “All twenty of us.”

  “And less every day,
” Viv piped up. “Gary ruled Headquarters for a hundred years and his butt boy Owen is just like him, jacked up on hair gel and energy drinks. If I hadn’t shown up you two would be fertilizer and he’d still be acting like it was his right to sit in the corner office.”

  “The point is,” Raina said, shooting Viv a poisonous look, “that while many reapers think the Grim Reaper is just a legend, we believe you. Even if you aren’t him, we’ve been without a leader for well over a century and Owen is not the choice anyone, including his flunkies, would make if you pressed them. But kicking Owen out is not going to come easily.”

  “I got that,” Leo said. “When he was torturing me in his basement.”

  “He claims there’s no way you’re the Grim Reaper because he has your Scythe,” Raina continued.

  That made Leo get quiet. Everyone got quiet, and the only sound was the wind battering the house. I flicked my gaze between Leo and Raina, waiting to see what he’d say. Reapers could choose their own Scythes, but Leo wasn’t like Owen and the others. He wasn’t like anything that had existed since the Dark Ages.

  Which would make it easy for a douchebag like Owen to make up whatever story he wanted.

  On the other hand, it also meant that he could be telling the truth.

  “Well, that’s bullshit,” Leo said finally. “Only I can pick and choose my own Scythe.”

  I inhaled as a look of disappointment and suspicion passed between everyone else in the room.

  “You’re different,” Raina said carefully. “And whatever Owen has, none of us can hold it. Only he can. I’ve tried to touch it and it . . . it burned me.”

  “Owen’s talking about putting down all the hounds,” Viv spoke up. “Putting us all down and just starting over. Clean house, he said.”

  “You have to help us,” Raina said. “Go to Owen on his own terms and prove you’re to lead the reapers. Otherwise we’re all marked for death.”

  Leo started to say no, but I shook my head from behind Viv. There were hounds like Wilson, who did their jobs willingly and would gladly jump off a cliff if their reaper told them to, but I got the feeling there were a lot more out there like me, scared people who’d gotten snuffed before their time and grasped on to any second chance, no matter how shitty.

  “This Owen guy grabbed us off the street,” I said, to forestall Leo messing up their chances for survival now. “What makes you think he’s going to agree to a nice little chitchat?”

  “As long as you’re around you’re a threat,” Raina said. “Without the Grim Reaper the next stop is the Pit, and the last thing Owen wants is a demon stepping in to clean house.”

  Leo massaged his forehead. “So what do you suggest we do?”

  “Tell him that unless he meets and agrees to let you try and hold the Scythe you’ll dime him out to your boss,” Viv said. “Owen can’t stand up to a demon. None of us can, except you.”

  I knew that wasn’t true, and I also thought this was pretty much the worst idea I’d heard in at least twenty years, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to volunteer that in the midst of their little club meeting. Just because Viv had gotten us away from Owen didn’t mean this group was any more stable than the suits at Headquarters.

  “That’s a good idea,” I said to Leo, trying to put enough gravity in my voice that he’d play along for now.

  “Fine.” Leo stood, straightening his jacket. “Set it up,” he told Raina. “And show me a place where I can bathe, get some clean underwear, and sleep.”

  She nodded and withdrew, and Viv jerked her thumb at the stairs. “Bathroom’s on the left. There’s a bedroom for you at the end of the hall.” When I started to follow Leo she pulled me back. “Uh-uh. We may not be a servant class here, but reapers need their privacy. Didn’t Gary teach you anything?”

  “He taught me lots,” I said, staring into her golden eyes. “Mostly how to take a beating, and how to prey on people so desperate they lose their grip on rationality and let you turn them out with shitty deals that only benefit you and your Hellspawn bosses. He was a very effective teacher.”

  Viv’s skin nostrils flared, but she let got of me, and that was all I cared about.

  Leo was running a bath into a rusty, stained tub. The water was almost as brown as the stains, and pipes shuddered from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house, groaning like a herd of dying cattle. “Classy place,” he said, stripping out of his jacket and tie. I shut the door behind me and slid down to the floor, too exhausted to stand upright anymore.

  “Leo,” I whispered. “These people are cracked.”

  “’Course they are,” he said, adding his pants and shirt to the pile and slipping out of his boxers. He lowered himself into the bathwater with a groan. “They’ve all been living like you were for a hundred goddamn years, some a lot longer. It’s no small wonder they all belong in the padded room.”

  “We should never have come here,” I said, pressing a hand over my eyes. I felt the first tears slither down my face and didn’t even bother swiping at them. That was how exhausted I was. “We should have just run and not looked back.”

  “Ava.” Leo’s voice made me look at him. He smiled at me, one arm hooked over the edge of the tub. His tattoos covered every square inch of skin, all the way down to his first knuckle. He wriggled his fingers at me and I scooted across the tile and hooked mine with his.

  “I never imagined I’d die at home surrounded by thirteen grandkids,” Leo said. “I know when you got brought in you didn’t really want it, and what Gary did to you was a violation, but it wasn’t like that for me. When I got this chance, I wasn’t upset. I’m glad I get more time, even if it is in a shitty farmhouse in the middle of a frozen wasteland.”

  “We can’t do this if you take over,” I said in a rush, letting out the thought that had been slowly crystallizing, since before we flipped the car over on the snowy road. “Nobody will accept a reaper and a hound. It’ll make the other reapers not trust you, it’ll make me have to watch my back constantly . . .”

  “The other reapers are pawnbrokers from Hades who dupe assholes out of their immortal souls with a little magic talent and a copy of a necromancy text, Ava,” Leo said. “Same as any other small-timer in any other syndicate. Nobody trusts anybody and everyone always has a knife aimed at the next guy’s back.” He leaned his head back and slid down in the water, closing his eyes in the steam. “You want the truth, being a reaper is just like when I was alive, except instead of blow, strippers, and cutting up dead bodies with power tools it’s black magic, whiny middle managers, and collecting on souls.”

  “When you put it like that . . .” I muttered, feeling the tightness in my gut relax a little.

  “Either way, I’m the boss now,” Leo murmured. “And what I say goes. And what I say is you’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Jacob Gottlieb stretched out a hand to me, his slender fingers spread.

  The forest where I’d last seen him was still dark, still muffled in snow but now the fat, wet flakes didn’t touch me and Jacob’s voice echoed and buzzed like a bad connection.

  “Phyllis,” Jacob said to me. “Phyllis, you’re stuck. You need to forget about what’s happening there and come here.”

  “Where is . . . here?” Even talking was an effort. I felt drugged, like Owen had shot me up with another dose of ketamine. Was I still in the basement? Had everything since just been a trip?

  “You’re not in a k-hole!” Jacob shouted at me, and I stared at him. Granted, we hadn’t spent much time together, but I could never picture the good doctor using that phrase. “Here!” he shouted, gesturing around him. “Kansas City. Look for me!”

  “This is Germany,” I slurred. “And you’re . . . you’re not . . .”

  “Kansas City!” Jacob said again, slowly, like he was trying to order a steak in a foreign language. “Come find me! You’re stuck there. We need you here!”

  “Why?” I murmured, trying to catch a few of the snowflakes and bl
inking as they passed right through my palm.

  “The Walking Man!” Jacob bellowed as everything started to flicker and melt like the end of an old film reel. “The Walking Man is out and none of us are safe—”

  I snapped conscious, smacking my head on the dusty bed frame that was the centerpiece of the granny nightmare Viv called a bedroom. I was pinned under a number of musty afghans, Leo snoring softly beside me.

  This hadn’t felt like a dream a warlock or a demon could push into your head, quiet and subtle as a sharpened blade to the kidney. This felt more like a crazy person at the bus station screaming in my face and then hitting me with a stick when I ignored him.

  “Wha’s goin’ on?” Leo muttered into his pillow. I lay back down and wrapped my arms around his waist, his stomach hard and warm under my hand.

  “I had a dream,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?” Leo sighed. “Was it sexy?”

  “They called me Phyllis,” I said.

  “Why the fuck would somebody call you Phyllis?” Leo said.

  I stared at the blackness where the ceiling should be, and lied. “I have no idea.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  KANSAS CITY

  JANUARY 1947

  The rambling old house popped up out of the flat fields like a mushroom, looking like it had been growing there forever. The gray clapboards and mossy roof weren’t anything special—the only thing that made the house unique was that it was a stop between Kansas City and wherever customers’ next destinations lay. It was a place you’d forget as soon as you left. The girls working were equally forgettable. That was what I needed.

  I watched the frost on the windowpane recoil from the ember of my cigarette as I looked out across the highway. Traffic was light tonight—it was too cold for all but the most hard-up johns, and even they were mostly tucked up in bed at this hour. Most of the girls, too. Even the forced laughter and tinny music from the parlor had died down. That meant it was the perfect time to go downstairs and get to work on my fourth glass of gin. Or was it the fifth? Nobody else in this place cared, I figured as I tiptoed down the stairs, my bare feet prickling against the cheap carpet runner, so why should I?