The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL)

by Amber Benson

  twenty-four

  Freezay’s shoes made funny splotching noises as he jogged along the sidewalk. He felt awkward, all cold and wet and alone, as he made his way down the well-kept suburban street, but he tried not to think about where he was—just focused his mind, instead, on where he wanted to be going.

  He’d swum until he’d hit the beach and then he’d started running, his feet sinking into the sand as the tiny grains did everything in their power to slow him down. He’d ignored the pain in his calves, pushing himself to pick up the pace as he hit the stairwell leading up to the road, and then taking the stairs two at a time.

  He didn’t know why he felt compelled to run, but the sensation of his body being in forward locomotion was ecstatic. Even the ache in his calves was tolerable, making him feel alive for the first time in days. He was happy to be moving, to be stretching his muscles and using the pent-up energy he always carried around inside of him.

  This was the energy that got him into trouble. Energy he had to slake with activity, or else it would make him cross lines he shouldn’t be crossing. It was what had gotten him kicked out of the Psychical Bureau of Investigations—

  No, he didn’t want to think about that right now. He’d made a mistake, asked the wrong questions, and turned himself into the enemy. It was dead and done now. Nothing left to say or do, but move forward with his life and not dwell in the past.

  As he jogged down the street, a quiet stretch of sidewalk and asphalt lined with clapboard houses and small dune-like yards full of beach grass, he began to assemble the puzzle in his mind’s eye. There was enough light from the moon and the streetlights above him to get the gist of where he was headed, and he found he quite enjoyed running in the semi-darkness. It was cold out, the wind causing the skin underneath his wet clothes to pimple with gooseflesh. He ignored the chill, pushing himself harder as he let his mind wander where it wanted, picking up the pieces of the plot and fitting them together where he could.

  He had a cell phone, but it was for sure waterlogged, and he didn’t know who he would’ve called anyway. He was on his own for now and he’d best use his time wisely, best put his thinking cap on and figure out what kind of mess Calliope had gotten herself into before it was too late.

  He didn’t know what’d happened to Caoimhe and Daniel and Starr, but he suspected—no, he knew there was something fishy about the car explosion. It had Starr’s fingerprints all over it, but he couldn’t be 100 percent certain she was responsible. Sure, she was a little bitch and she’d made a number of sly moves, had manipulated him, and dragged him around by the penis, but it didn’t mean she was responsible for the car getting blown up.

  The more he thought about it, the less it jibed with the Siren’s modus operandi. She was a narcissist, one who favored easy manipulations to turn a situation in her favor—so, why go to all the trouble of blowing up a car and tying him to a coral reef? How did she benefit?

  As an investigator, he’d learned early on that a rush to judgment usually meant you were missing some of the more pertinent pieces of information. He knew Starr had an angle—because everyone had one—he just didn’t know what it was.

  So, who had wanted him dead and why? Who had a vested interest in seeing him wiped off the face of the Earth for good?

  He wracked his brains, thinking of old cases, people who held grudges, angry men and women he’d brought to justice. His gut told him it would be someone connected to the ocean, someone who felt safest working in water, as water had been their weapon of choice.

  And then it hit him—he knew who Starr was working for.

  Years ago, Freezay had had a run-in with one of the Japanese Sea Gods. Watatsumi was the schmuck’s name and he’d lived in a squirrelly underwater grotto deep in the waters off the Eastern Seaboard. A real piece of work, he’d been using wish-fulfillment jewels to seduce wealthy, seagoing human beings. Once he’d suckered them in with the jewel’s magic, he’d turn his victims into tuna, treating the poor human-fish hybrid creatures as though they were his own personal slaves.

  Freezay’s department had put a stop to Watatsumi’s little sideline business, but he remembered the Japanese Sea God’s name had come up more recently in connection with Callie and one of the other “possible” Deaths. The guy called Frank, who was now doing time in a Purgatorial prison for trying to murder Callie with…a wish-fulfillment jewel.

  Now all the pieces of the puzzle were fitting together.

  “So, you still run when you’re thinking.”

  The voice came out of the darkness. It was so unexpected Freezay lost his rhythm and tripped, landing hard on the road, hands and knees slamming into uneven asphalt. He could feel the skin on his palms tearing and the small lacerations filling up with blood.

  “Shit, I’m sorry I scared you like that,” Caoimhe said, stepping into the light and kneeling down beside him.

  He noticed the tiny owlet on her shoulder and wondered why she had Anjea’s bird with her. The last time he’d seen the creature, it’d helped him catch a killer at the Haunted Hearts Castle.

  “What’re you doing with Anjea’s little guy?” he said gruffly as he begrudgingly let her help him back onto his feet.

  He immediately saw she was wearing a white shirt with no bra—and he found it really hard not to look at the way her breasts strained against the cottony material. Damn, he just seemed to have no control over his libido these days.

  To his embarrassment, she caught him just as he was dragging his eyes away from her breasts.

  “You’re so predictable.”

  He shrugged, glad it was too dark for her to see how red his cheeks were.

  “That’s what makes me, me.”

  At least he knew better than to outright lie when he was caught being naughty.

  “The owlet is how we’re getting out of here, so be nice to her,” Caoimhe said, abruptly changing the subject.

  They were standing in a pool of light beneath one of the overhead streetlights and it was hard not to stare at Caoimhe. She was that beautiful.

  “So I ended up underwater. Some Japanese Water God jonesing for my death,” he said, wiping his bloody palms on his ocean-damp pants. “But Calliope’s mother, the half Siren who raised her, came and saved my ass. She’s playing hooky in the ocean and she looks like shit warmed over.”

  Caoimhe snorted.

  “You’ve always had a way with words, haven’t you, Free.”

  It was a cheeseball nickname, one she’d given him years before—but it made him feel all mushy she was using it. It’d been so long since she’d called him anything.

  “I like when you call me that,” he said, taking a step closer to her. Her body was so ridiculously warm and he was so goddamned cold.

  She put a hand up between them, blocking him from getting too close.

  “I know you too well to trust you.”

  But she wasn’t angry—and she was right. He was getting fresh with her at a very inopportune moment.

  “So now you know where I ended up,” he said, stepping back and giving her room to breathe again. “What happened to you?”

  She rocked back and forth on her heels, choosing her words carefully.

  “Morrigan…I think she bargained with someone—maybe your Japanese Water God—for my safe return.”

  This was an odd twist to the story.

  “Go on,” he said.

  She clasped her hands, rubbing them together nervously.

  “I don’t know details. I woke up and, I think, she’d drugged me, to keep me from helping Callie.”

  Caoimhe looked down at her hands, and Freezay could see she was trying not to cry.

  “Stop looking so pretty when it’s fucking freezing out,” he said, trying to make her laugh.

  She knew what he was doing, and smiled up at him, gratefully.

  “After that, Anjea—who’s in the, uhm, owlet right now—came to my window. She can help us find Callie.”

  Freezay stared at the tiny brown creatur
e on Caoimhe’s shoulder.

  “Anjea’s in there?” he asked, uncertainly.

  Caoimhe nodded.

  “Uh-huh, she’s in there all right. But she hasn’t, uh, talked since we left my flat in Dublin.”

  “She always was an obstinate old thing,” Freezay said.

  Then he turned and addressed the bird.

  “You got someplace you want us to go? Let’s go.”

  * * *

  the ghosts were quick to let Noh know someone had arrived. She’d immediately asked them if this someone was good or bad. The ghosts had answered with a resounding: “Both.”

  This answer had not inspired much confidence in Jennice. Plus, she’d just gotten used to being in Henry’s attic room, the only place in the whole building that was clean and warm, and now Noh and Jarvis wanted to follow the ghosts out to the front grounds again, to see this Mr. or Ms. Bad and Good. She wanted to tell them she was just gonna stay up here in the nice, warm attic room all by herself, but the thought that she wasn’t alone, that there were little kid ghosts all over the place she couldn’t see, gave her the willies. So, she’d decided she’d rather go outside with the living people she knew than stay inside with the dead people she didn’t.

  Saying good-bye to safety, she followed Jarvis and Noh as they made their way back to the rickety stairwell. She’d felt bad about gripping Jarvis’s hand when they’d climbed the stairs the first time—especially when she’d realized her thumbnail had actually poked bloody, crescent-shaped holes in his palm.

  She’d felt awful and had wanted to heal the wounds for him, but Jarvis had demurred. He said pain was good; it reminded him he was still alive.

  When he’d discovered his book was missing, she’d thought he really was going to die. All the color had drained from his face and he’d made these strange mewling noises, almost like he’d turned into a panicky baby kitten. She’d patted him on the back, thinking maybe he’d swallowed funny when he was sneezing, but he’d waved her away. Though not before she’d noticed his whole body was trembling.

  Jennice was an observant woman. She’d seen the trembling and had immediately known something terrible had happened. Noh, on the other hand, was too busy talking to her dead school friends to notice Jarvis’s distress, and by the time she’d turned around to see what was keeping them on the stairwell, he’d already collected himself.

  But Jennice had seen the whole thing—and though he acted like everything was fine, she noticed his hands still shook slightly whenever he used them to gesticulate while he was talking.

  Something he did a lot.

  “Do you want to hold on to me?” Jarvis asked, offering her his arm.

  She shook her head; she was a big girl and she was going to get down those stairs under her own steam even if it killed her.

  “I think I got it,” she said, hoping she sounded confident.

  Jarvis didn’t seem at all put off by her refusal, just gestured for her to go ahead of him.

  Noh was already halfway down the stairs, chattering to herself. At least that’s what it looked like to Jennice. It was really weird to think Noh was actually talking to a ghost.

  Very weird.

  The stairs were less rickety than they looked, and she was able to make it down without incident by taking her time and holding on to the thick wooden banister. Jarvis was nothing but kindness, not once hurrying her or making her feel bad for going so slowly. She thought he was a real peach and hoped she hadn’t made a total fool out of herself in front of him. In the space of a few hours, he’d seen all of her insecurities, all of her powers, had been a party to the murder of a bunch of bad werewolf people—and he still seemed to like her.

  If something like that doesn’t bond you with someone, Jennice thought, then I don’t know what does.

  “Henry says more people are here now,” Noh called back to Jennice and Jarvis, waiting for them before she left the stairwell and headed for the laundry room. “He says we need to hurry.”

  Jennice walked faster, Jarvis at her heel as they passed the broken-down washing machines and dryers, then headed out the side door. Once they were outside, Jarvis took the lead, calling back to Jennice over his shoulder:

  “Stay behind me and let me do what needs doing. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, just took off after Noh, who was already running across the grass like a two-legged pony. Jennice didn’t want either of them to get too far ahead of her, so she fast-walked, making sure to keep Jarvis’s retreating back within her line of sight.

  She was too far away to see what was going on when she heard Noh scream:

  “Get off of her!”

  Jennice didn’t think this sounded too good, so she slowed her pace, wanting to do as Jarvis asked and stay out of the way.

  Then she heard Noh yell:

  “Kick him in the gnards, Clio!”

  She hadn’t heard someone say the word “gnards” in forever. Now she kind of wanted to see what was happening up ahead. She started fast-walking again, finally catching up with Noh, who was standing at the gate, waving her fists in the air like a boxer.

  On the other side, Jennice could see Clio and a man she didn’t know wrestling on the ground. The man was trying to push Clio’s face into the gravel, but Clio was stronger than she looked, elbowing him in the gut then rolling out of his grip as he grabbed his stomach and doubled over in pain.

  “Kick his ass, Clio!” Noh yelled, jumping up and down, arms swinging wildly. “Beat the shit outta him!”

  Jennice looked around for Jarvis, but he was nowhere to be seen. When she turned back to the action, the man was on his feet again and gunning for Clio. He was quite a bit taller than her, and not a physically bad-looking guy, but the nasty expression he wore on his face made him seem mean and unattractive to Jennice.

  “So, it was all some kind of sick game, huh?” Clio said, her words coming out in an angry burst. “One minute you’re all sick and dying, and the next you’re attacking me?”

  The man was only half listening to Clio, too busy plotting his next attack strategy to really take in what she was saying—and then suddenly Jarvis was there, coming out of the darkness at a run, heading straight for Clio’s attacker. The guy didn’t see Jarvis coming, and when her friend slammed into him with the power and speed of a small locomotive, the bad guy went down—and stayed down.

  “Go, Jarvis!” Noh screamed, still jumping up and down like a cheerleader. “You nailed him.”

  Jarvis had managed to climb back onto his feet, but now he was bent over at the waist, trying to catch his breath. He waved Noh’s odd compliment away with a trembling hand.

  “No, I did not nail him, but thank you for the support.”

  Jennice giggled. She knew it wasn’t really funny, but, actually, it kinda was. Her giggles started Noh giggling and then the two of them fell into each other’s arms as hysterical laughter poured out of them. Even Jarvis, who’d often been accused of being humorless, cracked a smile.

  “Yes, that’s what she said,” he added. “The nailing bit. That’s a ‘that’s what she said’ joke I just made, you know.”

  Clio snorted then ran over and grabbed Jarvis in a bear hug.

  “That’s not really how you do that—” she started to say, but then stopped herself, not wanting to rain on his parade. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

  “That’s what she said…?” Jarvis inquired—his grasp of the “that’s what she said” joke less than tenuous.

  Jennice and Noh had finally started to calm down, but this put them over the edge again. Now Jennice was laughing so hard, she was crying.

  “We need to get the two of you back over the gate,” she heard Jarvis telling Clio as she and Noh finally stopped laughing.

  “Let us come help,” Jennice said, feeling better now she’d almost laughed herself silly.

  There was just something about laughter that sent all of your worries packing. At least that was what Jennice’s mom had always said�
�and Jennice had to agree.

  “Come around then—” Jarvis started to say, but his words were lost as one of those crazy wormhole things appeared in front of him, the energy it released so powerful, it knocked both Jennice and Noh off their feet.

  “Look out!” Noh screamed, using the gate to claw herself back to her feet.

  Jarvis and Clio turned around just as a thin guy with ginger hair and a weasel-like face emerged from the wormhole, followed by two much larger companions, both of whom came to stand menacingly behind him.

  “Get ’em!” Weasely Face cried—and then the two larger men took off, running straight toward Jarvis.

  “No!” Jennice screamed, raising her hands into the air in her panic.

  But there was nothing she could do.

  She was on the wrong side of the gate.

  * * *

  noh watched, horrified, as the two giant men went in for the kill. They were going to turn Jarvis into a pile of pulp if someone didn’t do something and fast—but she was trapped on the other side of the gate, and short of magically pulling a tommy gun out of her pocket, she was screwed.

  “No!” Jennice screamed, raising her arms in the air in front of her.

  Noh watched, fascinated, as the two large men, both the size of small mountains, suddenly stopped in their tracks, as though someone had yanked them back by unseen strings.

  “Is she doing that?” Noh asked Henry, who was floating beside her. “I can’t see anything.”

  The ghostly boy nodded. He was about thirteen, with short brown hair and a pair of dark brown eyes trained right on Jennice.

  “Yes, I believe she is. I can see this funny green light coming out of her hands and going into those men.”

  A girl in a riding habit and boots, her long hair plaited in two braids hanging down her back, nodded her head in agreement.

  “Yes, definitely,” the girl said. “I can see it and Henry can see it. How about you, Nelly?”

  Nelly had short, dark hair that made her look more like a boy than a girl. She had floated away from Trina—the girl with the braids—and toward the gate, and now she was running her ghostly hands through the green light, trying to figure out what it was made of.