by D. C. Gomez
“I guess.” I was making my rounds around all the pots, trying to avoid looking directly at Abuelita.
“Well, that’s convincing. Let me hear it, child.” Her crazy mixing had stopped, and she now had a giant ball of dough in her bowl. She washed her hands and cleaned her counter before dropping the dough.
“Agh. Constantine says I have no life and set me up on a blind date.” I let the words spill as quickly as possible. Abuelita stopped kneading and looked at me. She raised an eyebrow in response.
“Did he? How do you feel about it?” She slowly started kneading the dough while paying close attention to me.
“I have a life, just not a social one. Do you know how hard it is to go out when you’re chasing souls all over North America? What happened to the whole light thing?”
Abuelita looked at me, confused. Obviously my quick changed in topic lost her.
“You know, the light or tunnel people are supposed to see when they die. It seems nobody notices it. Maybe we need a marching band or some fireworks to tell people they are dead. That way I don’t spend all my time chasing ghosts. How was I supposed to have a so-called life?”
“Is that really what’s bothering you?” At least this time she pretended not to be so curious about my weird meltdown. “While you are on that side, please start a couple of bowls of salad. We got deliveries shortly.” I walked over to the industrial size fridge and pulled out my ingredients. At least my hands would be busy chopping veggies.
“Honestly, what kind of small talk am I supposed to have? How am I supposed to answer when some poor human asks me what I do for a living? I can’t tell them I work for Death, even if it wasn’t one of the rules. I don’t have a nice side job, like Eric, who can claim to be a cop and is dating.” At least when I was a waitress, I could use that as an excuse. I was pouting.
“Eric is dating?” That was all Abuelita got from my whole speech. I turned my face to look at her. She had moved the pot with the sweet concoction over. I guessed that was the guava.
“Yeah, according to Bart he is dating some ‘hot blonde’ that was a former Miss Texarkana.” I even did the air quotations over the “hot blonde” part. Eric was Reapers’ designated martial arts expert and trainer. I had to admit Eric was one sexy man—or should I say, witch. The boy made his uniform look good.
“Texarkana has lots of hot blondes, dear. But are you OK?” She gave me a very odd look. I wasn’t sure what it meant.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I don’t get the obsession for me to start dating. It’s like I have the plague or something. It’s just not fair.” Everyone had a semi-normal life—even Bob, who looked like a stylish Daniel Craig.
“Isis, it has nothing to do with your dating status and more to do with your interactions. You are spending too much time with the dead. That’s not healthy.”
I was in the middle of destroying a tomato when her words hit me.
“What do you mean?” I glanced at Abuelita after analyzing the ruins of my tomato. I needed to stop taking out my anger on veggies, or my salad was going to become soup.
“Isis, even if you are Death’s intern, you are still human, like the rest of us. If you spend too much time with the supernatural world, it’s easy to lose sight of humanity. Constantine just wants some balance for you. Besides, they probably did a full background check and a financial analysis on that poor boy already. He’s probably safe.” She gave me a devious smile.
“You seem pretty sure about that.” I was wondering what Abuelita wasn’t telling me. She looked around the kitchen nervously.
“You can’t be too careful these days. After last fall, I had Bartholomew run the same checks on Angelito’s new girl. I’m not taking any chances.” My mouth dropped. Angelito was Abuelita’s only grandson. A beautiful twenty-two-year-old, over six feet tall and very muscular. He fancied himself a ladies’ man, but he couldn’t pick a good girl to save his life. Last fall he’d met a crazy witch who’d tried to kill him and me. Her coven of evil witches were the ones I had to thank for motivating me to take this job, since they kidnapped Bob to sacrifice him for eternal youth.
“Are you serious?” I was choking on my words. I started laughing. “That is definitely an invasion of privacy.”
“Do you want another killer coven in town? They’re spending the week in Florida.”
That was a very sobering thought.
“OK, that’s an excellent point. I agree with that one.” I couldn’t argue the logic. I glanced over at her, and she was smiling wildly.
“Isis, go on a date. Be a girl for once. Look at you; you’ve lost tons of weight. You’re shrinking.”
I looked down at myself at her comments. I wasn’t that small. “It’s called training sessions. Did I mention I do lots of running? I did like four miles this morning.”
Abuelita was not buying my defense. I had moved to the lettuce and was almost done with those as well. “By the way, have you heard of anything weird happening at Spring Lake Park?”
“Honey, you need to be more specific. All sorts of weird things happen at that park. Have I told you the story of the guys they found in the bathrooms with their things in a hole?” I had no idea what Abuelita was talking about, and my eyes were wide open in shock. I shook my head quickly.
“I don’t think I want to hear the rest of that story.” I was saved from details when the back door opened. Two of my favorite people walked in, Ana and Gabe. More accurately, one person and one angel stepped in. Gabe was our resident angel, and he was absolutely gorgeous. He admitted once that he had been the inspiration for many works of art—not hard to guess that one. Ana was a cute brunette in her late twenties.
I met Ana last fall during our witch crisis. Ana and her boyfriend, Joel, were both kidnapped by the coven. At the time the pair was living on the streets, jumping from one shelter to another. You’d be surprised how an encounter with evil tends to change people’s lives. I got them both a job at Abuelita’s, and Reapers helped cosign for an apartment for them. It was a blessing they were working here, since Abuelita’s other employees, aka her family, were totally unreliable. Ana stepped up and took over my hours. Joel worked in the restaurant and was learning to cook. He had also taken over Bob’s old role of security.
“Hi, beautiful. You’re in early.” That was my usual greeting for Ana. Ana was indeed one of the sweetest girls in town.
“Why thank you, Isis. I miss you too,” Gabe responded instead, giving me an angelic grin.
“You are looking amazing as well, Gabe. What are you doing here?” Gabe was a regular client, but generally came in with the evening crowd.
“I’m in charge of the staff meeting tomorrow, so I need to place an order. Last month Rafael brought Italian from Little Italy, in New York. I’m going to show him up.” With that statement, he patted my cheeks and walked over to Abuelita. She gave him a huge hug, and the two of them started working on the menu. Ana and I looked at them in awe. Even angels had office politics. He was spending way too much time with humans.
“That’s a new one. I hope I’m not the one making that delivery,” Ana whispered in my ear. The two of us giggled as quietly as possible. “So what were you two talking about? You looked worried.”
“Have you heard of anything weird going on around town?” Ana was no longer homeless, but like Bob, she still had a connection to the underground.
“Downtown is quiet. Nothing unusual is going on, not even any new faces. I can’t say the same for the rest of the town.” Ana popped a piece of cucumber in her mouth. She walked around me and grabbed her apron. “How many lunches are we making today?”
“Today?” I was so busy whining I forgot to check the order list Abuelita kept up front.
“You are in your world today. Let me grab the list.” Ana made her way to the kitchen toward the counter/ bar that divided the kitchen and restaurant area. “Hey, Gabe. Any
new people around town?” She asked the angel on her way. I stopped to listen.
“More than usual,” Gabe told us over his shoulder as he was pointing at items to Abuelita. “The cities and colleges have done a great job promoting the College Bowl. They’re expecting five to ten thousand people. So needless to say, you have a lot of activity in town. Isis, try to stay out of trouble.”
“What? Come on, Gabe. That’s not fair. What is that supposed to mean?” I was pretty sure angels couldn’t read your mind, but Gabe always had a way of figuring me out.
“Isis, if strange things are happening, you have a way of being in the middle of them. Behave this week.”
It was hard to get mad at angels when their smiles could melt icebergs.
“I second Gabe. You’re a magnet for trouble and car explosions.” Ana gave me a little bump on her hip on her way back.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side, remember?” I tried to look intimidating, holding the knife at her, but she wasn’t buying it. Ana had spent so much time on the streets that she was a tough cookie.
“Always, but we got work now, so focus, Machete.” Ana had nicknamed me Machete since I have one strapped to the inside roof of Ladybug. She thought that was the funniest thing she had ever seen. No support from her on that one. I glanced at her list and realized she was right. I had wasted too much time whining, and we had at least thirty meals to make for delivery.
Chapter 4
The day had turned out to be beautiful. The temperature had not reached crazy numbers, and by five p.m. it was perfect. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t have anything to do. After finishing at Abuelita’s, I went back to Reapers and spent a couple of hours practicing the bass. I had started teaching myself how to play the instrument. Constantine had my room soundproofed last Christmas, after several of my compositions kept making Bob and Bartholomew cry. Every intern channeled Death’s gifts differently. My gifts came across as music. Whatever emotions I created, humans would react to it. That meant joining the local symphony was out of the question.
I loved music, but after hours of practicing, I was tired and bored. Before my new career, I was an avid reader. I loved fantasy novels and comic books. Lately, I hated even looking at the covers. My usual distractions now looked too much like real work now. I tried history books, but Constantine explained those were watered down to keep humanity safe from the real truth. Basically, books were out of the equation. Bob suggested meditation as a way to focus my energy. The only thing I accomplished was falling asleep in the lotus position. Bartholomew joked that I even drooled during my sessions.
My newfound financial freedom was slowly killing me. I made over five grand a month without counting my clothing allowance and had nothing to spend it on. The mall was scary, and Bartholomew canceled my Amazon account after I bought a flock of plastic pink flamingos for the grass area. Maybe I didn’t have a life, but I was not that excited to go on a blind date with some creepy stranger. At least they didn’t suggest online dating. Granted, with Bartholomew being a hacker, anything online was out of the question, since he would be able to see behind the smoke screen.
During the days I usually volunteered at one of the nonprofits in town. Of course, those were all closed after five, except Randy Sam’s, the homeless shelter. Bob refused to let me volunteer at night there. According to him and Ana, the underground committee loved me for helping them out last fall. They were afraid if I ever got attacked there, many would die protecting me. That sounded like a huge exaggeration, but I wasn’t going to argue. Fortunately one of the volunteers I met in my many wanderings recommended golf. I always thought of golf as something old fat guys did, not even a real sport. I swallowed those words quickly. Golf was a precise sport with a specific form, physically demanding on muscles I never used, and calming.
That’s how I found myself at five o’clock at the Texarkana Golf Ranch. The golf ranch was an eighteen-hole club on University Avenue, across from Texas A&M University and by Bringle Lake. For such a small town, Texarkana had some impressive locations. Rumors around town claimed the lake had alligators, and somebody had let loose a huge snake. Fortunately I had never seen either one of those. I pulled Ladybug up to the parking lot near the clubhouse. I wasn’t surprised to see all the cars in the area. It was a perfect day for golf.
Mini Coopers looked little, but they were deceiving. They could hold a lot of stuff. I pulled my clubs from the back seat and set the alarm. After a few months of my coming here, Constantine decided it would be a good idea to invest in clubs. So the boys surprised me with a new set of clubs and a membership in the Ranch. It was a blessing. I had no idea how much the set cost or I would never have dared to leave the house with them. If I was amazed how much money I made, I couldn’t even imagine how much Constantine was worth, being Death’s five thousand-year-old Guardian. He probably has so much money that he didn’t even consider how extravagant it was to purchase a custom-made, five-star set of Honmas. I could buy a house in Texas for what he paid for the set.
Needless to say, I was very protective of my clubs. At least Constantine didn’t pick the gold-plated set, thank the Lord. I entered the clubhouse, and Pete was at the desk. He was a middle-age man with a balding spot who knew way too much about golf. Pete was friendly and very helpful. Pete also gave me a weird look, like he was expecting my “sugar-daddy” to show up any minute. I didn’t blame him. I had no skills to be carrying around this bag of clubs.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Pete. How are you today?” The military had taught me it was always safer to be extra respectful regardless of the person. That way they could find very little fault with your behavior. I gave Pete my most charming smile and waited patiently.
“I’m doing great, Isis, thank you for asking. Can’t wait for the College Bowl to be over.”
Maybe it was the small-town custom or I had been here too often, but Pete knew me by name. I wasn’t sure what he was staring at, so I looked over toward the door for a possible culprit. Nobody was there. He just had a weird look on his face.
“I didn’t know they were having a golf event during the bowl.” I needed to pay more attention to this insane event. Everyone in town was going crazy over it.
“They are not, but the kids across the street are going crazy. I’m not sure if they have a marching band or what, but the noise level is insane.” For a golfer, the noise was a significant inconvenience.
“Well good news, at least they’re quiet now.” Or as quiet as they could be, considering their actual campus was removed from the main road.
“That’s a relief. So what will it be tonight?” Pete took a calming breath, and his chipper disposition returned.
“May I have a bucket of balls and a cart? Planning to do the practice range and then hit nine holes.” I wasn’t in any rush, but sunset was at eight. I doubted I could finish all eighteen holes and enjoy myself.
An older gentleman walked in, and Pete quickly finished my transaction. The faster he could get us out of the clubhouse, the faster his clients could hit the green. I learned that golfers speak their own language, and most of the times I was lost. Nobody ever complained, and everyone was amicable as long as you obeyed golfing etiquette. I quickly walked the short distance toward the practice area and waved at several gentlemen already practicing. Golf clubs were a little like gyms. Eventually, you started recognizing the regulars. Since I had plenty of time and money, I was here all the time. So basically, I was familiar with most of the staff and clients.
“Beautiful day, Ms. Isis. I was worried you were going to miss it.”
I wasn’t sure why Mikey called me miss. Mikey was at least in his late sixties, with platinum white hair and a fabulous Jersey accent. He was Italian to the core and one of the funniest men alive.
Constantine encouraged my golf addiction, and it was becoming a full obsession. According to Constantine, most supernatural beings didn’t golf, and they
stuck out too much. He was highly disappointed when he found out most of the people I met were over sixty. He was afraid I was just making friends with our future customers. It wasn’t my fault most people my age were busy having a family instead of golfing.
“I had to work this morning, Mr. Mikey. What did I miss?” I took the empty lane to the left of Mikey. Somehow we all had our designated spots, even on the practice range.
“You will never believe it. George hit an eagle on the eighth.”
I was warming up and stopped short. That was almost impossible. George was over eighty years old and a worse player than me, probably because he took too many sips of vodka while he played. So for George to make his shot with two under par was unheard of.
“I’m officially jealous. That was a huge accomplishment. How did he do it?”
“Easy. The poor thing was sitting on a branch, and George nailed him.” Mikey started laughing furiously at this point. I stared at him in confusion.
“You lost me. What did he hit?” Maybe Mikey was sharing George’s flask this week.
“He hit an eagle, except it was a real one.” I shook my head in disbelief, which only made him laugh even harder. “Isis, you didn’t think George would ever land an eagle? That old fool is so drunk he sees double. But your face was priceless.”
At this point it was all over. Mikey was rolling in laughter. I wasn’t sure who to feel sorry for—the eagle or George having Mikey as a friend.
“You’re a nut, Mr. Mikey. Let me get started before I hit a bird myself.” I took my stand and started my swings. I always felt stiff every time I came out.
“Just remember, we’re aiming for birdies.”
More laughter from Mikey followed that. I couldn’t help but smile. I felt welcome in this group. I warmed up for about twenty minutes then hit the course. Mikey was planning to have dinner at the clubhouse, so I was expecting to see him before I left. Golf days for some of us were an all-day affair at times.
