by D. C. Gomez
We were dancing Salsa. I didn’t have time to process Eugene’s change completely. Growing up we moved around a lot, but my godmother always made it back to NYC. I grew up dancing Merengue, Bachata, and Salsa with my Dominican and Puerto Rican friends. I was amazed how well Eugene danced; he was a natural. Salsa was an eight-count dance and he was terrific. He owned the floor and he was aware of everything. That was a blessing, since he dipped me just in time as one of Jake’s sword-carrying ninjas passed us. I was grateful Eugene made sure I didn’t lose my head.
The song mixed right into Bachata and I was hoping Eugene could follow Romeo Santos’s sexy beat. “Propuesta Indecente” was one of my favorite Bachata, a little controversial. Unlike the structure dance of Salsa, Bachata had a lot more hip and arm movement. With a primary three-step and a hop, the music made you move. Eugene was comfortable in a Latin club; he moved like a pro.
“Watch out for the sandpits,” I told Eugene as I pointed to the new additions to the floor. He danced us across the floor without sending us to hell. Eugene was having too much fun. He was getting ready to start the Merengue when I pulled him off the dance floor.
“Remember, this is a business trip, not pleasure. We got work to do, so focus.” I dragged him along. “I’m leading now, so let’s go.” Eugene looked over at the dance floor with longing.
I was grateful Jake was standing by a tall bar table not too far away. He was wearing a white suit that made his blond hair looked almost platinum. His deep blue eyes were brilliant. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but Jake always looked smoldering hot, no pun intended.
“Well, look who decided to show up and you brought a guest. How nice.” Jake’s voice was like silk running down your spine. I always pity the people that were lost in his charm. With that thought, I did a quick look at Eugene to make sure he was still in one piece.
“Your entrance was a little out of the way, but we made it. Eugene, meet Jake, the devil. Jake, meet Eugene, Pestilence’s Intern.” I didn’t want to be there, but he was still our client, and I couldn’t be rude.
“Wow, I feel honored. How did you manage to get out?” Jake was asking Eugene.
“Special assignment. I got a pass.” Eugene replied, a little shy.
“I’m confused. What are you two talking about?” I was not following the conversation at all.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t tell me you don’t know. Pestilence’s Interns are forbidden to leave the lab. They’re almost like monks or hermits.”
Was that in my manual? Maybe I really should read that thing. Jake gave me a wicked grin. “With those moves, Eugene, I would offer you a lifetime membership, but you’ll never come. What a waste. Aren’t you glad you work for Death instead, Isis?”
For having a customer’s complaint, Jake was in a chatty mood.
“Believe me, I do. But I’m sure we’re not here to discuss my work conditions. Constantine said you had a complaint. What is it?” We needed to get out of there soon. Eugene kept looking around like a kid in a candy store. Now that I knew he never left that lab, he might trade his soul to stay here.
“Fine, if you insist. Business, it is.” Jake’s tone became very serious as he faced me. “You have lost three of my souls, which is not acceptable.”
“Three? We only know of one dying.” How many others had died that we didn’t know about?
“Do you expect everyone to die in front of you?” Jake had a valid point there. “I recommend you fix this as soon as possible or I’ll have my pets start recruiting for new candidates a lot harder.”
Was that a threat and how did that apply to me?
“You do know we just deliver souls, right? We’re not responsible for the actions of the souls.” This was getting complicated.
“True. But my souls were not delivered so I see no problem taking some earlier.” Jake said that like it made sense. “I’m sure your favorite angel might get a little disturbed if he finds out his souls were coming to me because you failed to stop a disgruntled employee.” Jake was officially mocking me.
“If you know about the accountant, why don’t you stop her?” I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.
“Do I look like an Intern to you? Stop losing my souls or else.” Jake replied. We were staring each other down when Eugene pulled me over.
“I don’t think it’s safe that you are yelling at the devil in his house.” I followed Eugene’s gaze and realized half of the room was staring at us.
“Thanks, Eugene.” I needed to calm down if we wanted to get out of here alive. “Is that all you have to tell me?” I asked Jake in a softer voice.
“Pretty much,” Jake said, extremely sweetly.
“Why didn’t you just tell that to Constantine?” He made me come all the way over here just for this?
“The Guardian does not take complaints. That’s an Intern’s job. I tried it once and I had scratches on my legs that lasted weeks. Not a good look. Besides, I wanted to see you. It’s been forever. You only visit me when you want something.”
I wasn’t sure if Jake could tell, but I wanted to scratch his eyes out myself. I took a deep breath and shook my head.
“Of course, only Interns take the complaints. Great. Next time send me an email. We’re leaving.” Damn the devil to hell; he was a pain in my neck.
“Do come by more often, sweetie. By the way, I heard you should avoid sugars; they’re more addicting than cocaine.” Jake winked at me. I resisted the urge to flip him off; after all, he is still a customer.
“I’ll make a note of that. Good night, Jake.” I dragged Eugene around the pool away from the dance floor. I feared we would never leave if he stepped on it again.
“Don’t we have to dance our way back?” Eugene asked, extremely hopeful.
“No, darling. You only paid to see the prince. Going home is always free if you have enough consciousness left to walk out. Hence the reason we’re leaving now. I would hate to carry you.” I gave Eugene an evil glare and he stopped staring at the dance floor.
“Thanks, Isis. As terrifying as it was, I had a blast.” Eugene took my arm and kissed my cheek. I guessed it was kiss-Isis night. He looked so happy all I could do was smile. I squeezed his arm one more time as we headed toward the curtains.
CHAPTER 25
Time functions differently in the Cave compared to the rest of the world. What felt like twenty minutes turned out to be hours. It was midnight by the time we made it back to Ladybug. Eugene and I were exhausted but hungry. I felt like I had been clubbing all night long. We made a quick stop at Whataburger on our way home. Eugene had a bacon cheeseburger. He almost inhaled the sandwich. Working for Pestilence meant he gave up a lot of the things I took for granted like fast food. I was starting to appreciate my Horseman more every day.
Unfortunately, a late night did not translate into a late morning. Bartholomew woke me up at six thirty and I was pretty sure he was having a panic attack. He needed to get to A&M by eight to confirm his registration. Bob and Constantine were out inspecting zombie patients and he needed a ride. I had never seen him so nervous, so I dragged myself out of bed. He was smart enough to give me plenty of time to get ready and to wake up slowly. I needed it because my hair was a giant knot and I forgot to take my mascara off the night before. I looked like an electrocuted raccoon.
We were out of Reapers by seven-thirty. Bartholomew made for a great copilot. The child thought of everything. He handed me a protein shake to wake me up. Pulled up the GPS to get us the fastest directions. Not sure why since all we had to do was get on Kings Highway and head north. It was one curvy road that let directly to Richmond Road and then the college. I wasn’t going to point it out since he was stressing. I was looking forward to it. I had never actually been inside the campus. I’d been across the street at the Golf Ranch.
“Bart, are you OK?” He hadn’t said a word since we turned on Kings Highway and that was very unusual.
“What happens if I lose tomorrow?” he asked without looking at me
.
“What do you mean? Nothing is going to happen.” I was wondering if I was still asleep because I wasn’t following him.
“Isis, I’m a freak.” Bartholomew had huge tears in his eyes. My heart broke.
“Bart, honey, what are you talking about? You are not a freak.” I wanted to hug him, but I was driving. I pulled into the lot across from the Roadrunner. I needed to focus and not drive.
“You didn’t see the way those guys looked at me when I signed up. Like I was a weirdo. I’m the orphan kid. I’m the kid who’s homeschooled. I’m afraid of crowds. I can’t eat gluten. I don’t have any friends.” Bartholomew started crying and I cried with him. Oh God, he was in so much pain.
“I’m a freak.”
“Bart, you are not a freak.” I tried to make him look at me, but he wouldn’t. “Bartholomew, look at me.” He eventually looked me in the eyes and I could read the fear and self-doubt in them. “The world is made up of lots of lost souls and some of those are dead. There is nothing wrong with you. You are a brilliant, funny, talented, incredible human being. At times, the world will call us names. It’s never what they call us that matters but what we answer.”
Bartholomew’s lips were quivering.
“Have people called you names?” he asked, almost pleading.
“Honey, I was also the orphan kid. For most of my life, I was a loner. We moved too much for me to make real friends. I only felt like I belonged in the Army. There nobody knew my past. I could be whatever I wanted to be each day.” I smiled, wondering if I was making a difference. “Then I met you guys and realized families comes in all shapes and styles. I spent years letting people who care very little for me rule a lot of my emotions. No more.” I wasn’t sure if I was counseling Bartholomew or myself. “You’re not alone. You have a family. You are home-schooled because you are a genius and regular school will never be challenging enough. You take college classes, for the love of God.”
“But what if I fail and my robot sucks?”
I was starting to hate this contest.
“Bartholomew, your self-worth is not measured by what you do. Who you are is never going to change. How we feel about you is not going to be diminished because of any contest. We’re proud you want to do this and take a chance.” Thank the Lord his tears were stopping. I wiped his face and smiled at him. “You have unlimited funding and you are twelve. Whatever you make is already going to put people to shame. Stop stressing and have fun. If this is not fun, you should not do it.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. Before I could say anything, he hugged me.
“I love you, Isis.” Bartholomew squeezed me tighter. Now I was crying again.
“I love you, too, Bartholomew. I couldn’t have asked for a better brother.”
Death had a sense of humor. Only she could have found two orphans and made them a family, against all the odds.
“Now, can we go and give all those little college students hell?”
I pulled back so I could look into his eyes. He was still shaking, but a little sparkle was returning. He gave me a nod and I winked back.
After our little breakdown, the drive down was pretty smooth. Bartholomew was going over his application forms. According to Death and Constantine, Bartholomew was never allowed to use his real last name. That explained why he was so nervous about turning in the application. That was a simple problem. From now on he would be Bartholomew Black and I would sign as his legal guardian. Who was going to argue that he wasn’t my little brother? Bartholomew was smiling from ear to ear; I felt like I had solved all the problems of the world. Then again, for a twelve-year-old, I had.
We pulled up to the parking lot of the college. The campus was beautiful and I was impressed Texarkana had such excellent facilities. I was always impressed with Texarkana College as well. How was it possible that a community college had a campus that big? If I decided to go back to school, I had great options. We got out and Bartholomew pointed the way. I was not impressed with the long walk from the parking lot to the front of the building. That was a horrible design flaw or maybe they were preventing suicide bombers. Either way, the walk felt like a little hike with the summer heat kicking in.
“Isis, are you sure you want to be my sister?” Bartholomew whispered to me.
“Bartholomew, I am your sister. I don’t have to be sure. I learned very early on with my godmother that family is more than blood. Some are forged out of steel and will last lifetimes.” Those words finally made sense to me. How right was my godmother? I played with Bartholomew’s hair. He put his shoulder back and nodded. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but he looked more settled, more grounded.
We made it to the main student building. Of course, it had to be the farthest one of the two. Just to make us walk a bit more. The place was packed. I glanced at Bartholomew, afraid he might bolt. Somehow I was the one feeling scared of crowds today. He was moving with a holy determination I had never seen. I followed behind, trying to dodge the kids. They all had food containers that smelled delicious. My stomach was grumbling. I needed real food and not just a shake. Fortunately, we made it to the center of the building. The first floor was an open atrium with stairs going up and a reception desk right in front of them. Bartholomew walked directly in that direction.
“Hi. Where is the registration table for the robotics competition?”
I was proud of him; he sounded very professional and calm.
“If you go right behind us in that hall, the registration tables A&M are in charge of are inside.” A young lady maybe in her late teens told us. She had spiky, pink hair and her face was painted. She was all about this College Bowl.
“Are there other registrations areas in the city?” Was I missing something?
“Oh yes, TC has half of the events, so they’re managing that registration. It was easier to split the work so nobody would get burned out,” a young man with blue hair replied over his shoulder. He was helping another group but decided to join in. It was nice to see both schools working together to pull this off.
“Good to know. Thanks.” Bartholomew and I waved at the couple and headed toward the registration area. The place was organized chaos. Students were in every corner, directing traffic. Bartholomew found his table quickly and headed straight for it. I wasn’t sure if it was his excitement or his height, but he was able to move around the crowd a lot quicker than me. By the time I got to the table, he was almost done.
“This must be your sister.” A girl with brown hair said to me. She had an A&M shirt on with a nametag that read Julie. Mercifully, her face and hair were not painted.
“Yes. I don’t move as fast as Bart.” I smiled back.
She glanced at the crowd and smiled. “It’s only going to get worse. I’m happy my shift is only three hours.”
I felt sorry for Julie. Three hours in this mess was too long.
“Question, do you have a restaurant around here? The food smells delicious.”
“We do, but that’s not the cafeteria food you’re smelling. We recently have local vendors that come to the dorms and campus, and the food is amazing.” Our little friend Julie was probably hungrier than I was, because her face took on a very dreamy look.
“What kind of food?” I couldn’t help it; the curiosity was killing me. I wanted to know what could make someone smile like that.
“Well, we have the tamales lady and a local food truck that serves only breakfast food.” Julie was almost bouncing with excitement. “And just recently we have a fried pie lady.”
Bartholomew and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Once you give up gluten, fried pies were a horrible temptation. I wondered if Jake had stock in them. “Oh no, you don’t understand. These are not just any fried pies. These babies are flaky and gooey and just addicting. You can’t have just one. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.”
“Wow, those sound great.” A terrible thought hit me. “Are we done here? We need to get going and get his robot finished.” I sta
rted pulling Bartholomew away.
“Yes, here are your numbers. Make sure to wear them and good luck. I hope you do great.”
I had to admit, Julie was a sweetheart. We waved at her and made it back to the central atrium where the crowd of kids was increasing.
“What’s going on? We both know my robot is done.” Bartholomew asked me once we stopped outside the doors. I was looking at all the college students with the food containers.
“What’s more addicting than cocaine?” I asked without looking at him.
“Heroin,” Bartholomew replied in less than half a second.
“Not that one. Sugar,” I told him.
“You do know that claim has not been scientifically proven yet.”
I almost forgot that Bartholomew was a genius.
“No, that’s what Jake said last night.” Was that crazy devil trying to help?
“Oh, in that case, that might be true. He is the Prince of Darkness; he should know his deadly substances. But what does that have to do with anything?” Bartholomew looked around.
“Bart, what if the note you found was supposed to say flaky and not Flakka? What if we were supposed to be looking for a fried-pie lady and not a drug dealer?”
“First of all, fried pies are not flaky. If she was planning to leave a note, the least she could do was be accurate. How were we supposed to guess pie? That’s crazy.” Bartholomew threw his hands in the air in pure disgust.
“Add that one to the lists of complaints we have against her. Right now we need to find out if I’m right. We need to find T.J. Let’s go.” I was not planning to lose Bartholomew again, so I grabbed his arm and dragged him away.
CHAPTER 26
“Why exactly are we going to Big Jake’s at nine a.m.?” Bartholomew asked me as I parked in front of the door. “Don’t get me wrong. I could get BBQ all day long, but I don’t think they open till ten.”
Everyone at Reapers loved Big Jake’s. It was our Friday lunch place so we knew the schedule by heart.
“The restaurant is not open, but T.J. should be smoking the meat.” T.J. was my favorite on Big Jake’s staff and one of the nicest guys in town. He was at least six feet tall with gorgeous hazel eyes, brown hair, and a great mocha complexion He was the poster child for the phrase tall, dark, and handsome. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he kept getting better looking each day. “We need to talk to him before they open.”
