Raphael, his armor now blazing with a scarlet glow, mounted a black horse and charged in my direction. The not-too-distant hoofbeats of his horse were matched by the tic-tic sounds of his war demons’ nails against the asphalt.
In the sky above and to the left of the motel, a horrific swarm of sheydu made a black, furry cloud that descended towards the town. I spotted Uri riding atop one of the wolf-bat things.
Above and to the right, silhouetted against the coin-bright moon, came my husband. He wore his death-cloak form this time, and he rode astride his white stallion, Bane. A demonic light shone from Bane’s equine head, and translucent, wasp-like wings hummed as he conveyed his rider through the air.
Now how much would you want to be in this hopeless situation, therapy buddy? Ah, but don’t answer yet! Because we’ve got three brothers here now. Why not throw in the fourth, make it a matched set?
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I felt the air around me grow charged. As if an electrical storm had brewed up around me. The lamp at the end of the broken post sputtered and glowed for a moment as power surged through the air, making my skin tingle.
Smell of ozone, leaving a bitter, antiseptic taste in my mouth.
A palomino mare materialized out of the darkness before me. Three guesses who was riding her, and the first two don’t count. The sight sent a jagged chill through my heart.
Mitchel’s youngest brother wore a long, tattered cloak as black and shiny as freshly pressed celluloid film stock. He held a truly terrifying weapon: a long steel scythe blade balanced atop an intricately carved wooden staff.
The world went into super-duper-slo-mo for me at that point.
Sounds from all around me, distant but clear. The sounds of approaching police sirens. Screams and cries of dismay as some of this sleepy town’s residents began waking up to the horrifying creatures descending onto their main street. The clack of hooves, the grunt of approaching demons, the beat of leathery wings in the sky…
But all I could see, all I was fixated on, was the incarnation of the Grim Reaper as he looked down upon me from his pale horse. With his free hand, Death tugged back his pointed hood and to reveal his terrible face. He revealed a face with bulging eyes and a bone-white skull.
And then he did something so unexpected, so cliché, that I came dangerously close to busting out laughing and crying at the same time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn’t dare move.
I had War, Famine, Pestilence, and their backup band of The Demons coming up on one side.
And here was their younger brother on the opposite side. That would’ve sounded slightly comforting in any other circumstance. The man with the cloak and the scythe then did something completely out of left field.
He extended his free hand towards me, and calmly spoke one sentence.
“Come with me if you want to live.”
Get real now. I work in the Hollywood celluloid mill. I’ve labored alongside writers who couldn’t pick up a pen without an homage or cliché dripping out the end, and I didn’t see that one coming.
But I didn’t move. I just stared. Heart whamming up against the rib cage as if it had a sledgehammer and wanted out.
“Cassie,” he repeated, “We need to go now.”
I just stared at him. Fear still had me in an iron grip.
Look. I know how bad things were at this juncture. Car wrecked, ankle tweaked, bad guys closing in to chain me to a hellacious spouse for-ever.
But I need you to keep one thing in mind before you judge me on this one, therapy buddy. This was the friggin’ Grim Reaper, the guy who’s the only constant in the universe, except for taxes! And here he is, telling me ‘we need to go now’, just as I’ve crawled out of a car accident, and I’m fighting for my life and freedom.
What would you think? Am I dead? Already dead? Maybe I’ve been rotting in a grave for a while, and I’m trapped in some godawful remake of the movie where that kid sees dead people. And then Mitchel’s kid brother is going to take me down that long final passage to judgment. Where Saint Peter tallies up all the mai-tais I drank, all the people I screwed, and all the times I said ‘fuck’ to people who didn’t really deserve it, even if I was pretty sure they did at the time.
And then Saint Peter’s going to say, ‘Oh my, Cassie, you’ve been a naughty girl, please step this way into the hand basket. Dress for a warm climate.’
Oh, that’ll be just fine and dandy, because my only problem is I’m dead…
Wait a minute.
Wait! A! Minute!
The Sphinx’s regal voice echoed in my head. I stood inside Sound Stage Macbeth again, with her kind face beaming down at me.
“What is it that looks like a door to some, a passage to others, a message from those who seek to do evil, and yet solves all of life’s problems?”
The Sphinx placed one warm, soft paw upon my shoulder as she added, “There will come a time and a place where all seems lost, Cassie. Where darkness overwhelms the light of the Dancer of the Sun. And at that time, you must surrender yourself. Surrender yourself to the answer to that riddle. And in doing so, you will have a chance to yet triumph.”
And I knew.
The answer was standing right in front of me. Holding a hand out to me.
Death.
I held up one trembling hand, and grabbed onto Death’s wrist. He smiled, and his awful skull-like countenance morphed back into the pale, handsome face that I’d seen at the Thantos’ family ranch.
“Thank you for trusting me, Cassie,” Gabriel said, almost shyly. “Hang on. This will be slightly disorienting for you.”
His grip on my hand tightened. He made that same click-pop noise with his tongue that I’d heard before. The street, the buildings, the approaching demons…they swirled like images tossed into a blender. I felt myself falling.
A soft thump, and I found myself reclining in an automobile’s passenger seat. I looked around wildly, confused. The motor purred silently, and the wreck of my Porsche fell away in the distance as if we’d been aboard the Millennium Falcon and Han had just put his hunk-of-junk spaceship into hyperdrive.
I gasped, tried to make sense of things. Outside, trees and buildings flashed by or dematerialized as we went through them. But the dashboard looked like a normal car’s, right down to the expanses of tan leather. A delicate scripted logo had been emblazoned on the panel in front of me, followed by a name: Muerta.
“Easy, Cassie,” Gabriel said. I managed to release the death-grip I had on his wrist. “Muerta’s got to get us out of my siblings’ sight before they can track us. Just sit back.”
“Sit back. Okay. I got that.” I said. “So we’re…inside your horse right now?”
“She’s a good deal more versatile than a normal steed.” He patted the steering wheel kindly.
My eyes refused to keep up with the constantly shifting kaleidoscope of images outside, so I focused on the dash. The logo of a running horse next to Muerta’s name looked familiar to me, at least.
“Is Muerta…a Mustang?”
He shrugged. Unlike his brothers, the gesture didn’t make him look monstrous. In fact, it made him more human.
“It seemed…appropriate.” He gave me a critical, appraising look. “I’m afraid that you look more than a little frazzled. Understandable, given the circumstances. When did you last sleep? Or eat?”
I thought about it. “Slept for a few hours last night, at a rest stop. Maybe an hour or two at the motel, before Raphael came to take me under his wing. As for eating…I sort of had breakfast early this morning. No appetite since then.”
He grimaced. Again, the expression of emotion wasn’t horrifying on his face.
“She’s not going to like that.”
“Who? Dora? You didn’t tell me that I was supposed to do a photo shoot today,” I said, trying hard to tamp down on this giddiness I was feeling. “I don’t even have any clothes. They’re all back at the motel your brothers just wrecked.”
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“No, not Dora.” Gabriel pursed his lips and seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Can’t take care of the food issue yet. But the other…I need to put you to sleep.”
Fear surged back into my body.
Oh, come on. Imagine that Death is the guy telling you that you ‘need to be put to sleep.’
“Wait!” I cried, as he reached out towards me again. He touched my hand gently. “I don’t think–”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Okay, that was a new one.
Well, not new, but it had been a while since I’d blacked out mid-sentence. The last time had involved some wrap-up party in Cancun. Actually, come to think of it, it involved a wrap-up party, a drinking contest, and one-too-many Harvey Wallbangers.
I remember waking up with the guy I’d been dating on-and-off at that time. What’s more, I remember feeling how tender my lady parts were and thinking, ‘Whoa, the sex must’ve been awesome last night. If only I could remember what the hell we did…’
At least my lady parts weren’t tender this time. I soon as I swam to consciousness, became aware that I was swaddled in a nice set of sheets, I did a quick check. What’s more, these sheets were definitely silk. I’d slept on high-thread count cotton stuff before, but only silk made that whisper-soft zip sound when you moved around on it.
I opened my eyes. It took a while for them to adjust to the dim light. In a far corner of the fair-sized room, the tiniest crack between a pair of curtains let a sliver of sunlight in. So it was daytime, at least.
What time was it, anyway?
Quick check of my wrist. It was bare. I lifted the sheets and felt around, confirmed that aside from my bra and panties, I was bare all over as well. Not sure how I felt about that. I hadn’t been exaggerating to Raphael – my clothes really did have that oh-so-fashionable campfire smell – but I didn’t exactly appreciate his younger brother undressing me as I slept.
Gingerly, I reached down to touch my ankle. It didn’t hurt. That was nice, in any case. Then I looked around some more. I’d spent the night lying in a nice four-poster bed. Nice, but a little odd.
As my eyes continued to adjust, I squinted and confirmed that the fabric of the bed’s canopy was black, trimmed with black lace. The quartet of ornately carved posts were also black. As were the silk pillowcases, top sheet, and comforter.
A familiar floral scent perfumed the air, but I ignored it for the moment. I spotted a nightstand and chair to the right of the bed. A light jacket, a pair of blue jeans, and a cream colored blouse lay across the chair, along with a pair of socks and athletic shoes. It was easy to spot them, as they were silhouetted against the mass of the black wood that made up the chair and nightstand.
One yawn and stretch later, I sat up. Pulled the clothes on, and slipped into the socks and shoes. To my amazement, they fit perfectly. My remaining possessions, such that they were, lay on the nightstand. Circe’s silver tube, my Italian leather wallet, car keys (lots of good those would do me now), and my watch. Too dark in the room to read the time, though. I put the watch on and stuffed the rest of my things in various pockets.
There was a little black clock radio on the nightstand as well. Of course, the buttons were black, and so were the labels. And when I did press something, it didn’t really help. A little black light on the face of the device lit up in black, so still I couldn’t see what time it was.
“This is getting ridiculous,” I said out loud. Either I was being hosted by the world’s most depressed interior decorator, or…
I stood up and sniffed the air. It took me a moment, but I finally recognized the floral scent.
Lilacs.
Yep, I was in Gabriel’s home, wherever that was. I suppressed a giggle as I considered that I was, quite literally, at Death’s door.
The sound of a turning knob and the tinny squeak of wheels broke the silence. Gabriel entered the far side of the room, pushing a dining cart laden with covered silver platters and a steaming carafe of coffee. To his credit, Mitchel’s younger brother was dressed normally at the moment. I liked him, but his cloak and scythe outfit still did a number to my jangled nerves.
He stopped by the window and smiled as he saw that I was up and dressed.
“Good morning, Cassie,” he said. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to wake you.”
“Ah, thanks,” I replied intelligently. “I guess that it is morning, isn’t it?”
“Late morning, in any case. We felt it best that you got some shuteye. I trust that you slept well?”
“Like the dead,” I said, and bit my tongue. “I mean…like a baby. A new-born baby.”
Gabriel smiled to himself, and beckoned me to join him. He went to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains, followed by a set of Venetian blinds (both black, of course). Once the light level increased, I saw why he’d stopped at the far side of the room.
A black marble café table gleamed softly in the sunshine. One by one, Gabriel set out the platters, a stack of plates, cups, and sets of silverware. He pulled a seat out for me, which I took. Tantalizing aromas of waffles, maple syrup, blueberries, and coffee rose from the table.
My mouth watered. And, lo-and-behold, Her Majesty of My Tummy reappeared, alongside her consort, the Duke of Appetite.
“I’m afraid that I don’t have any servants at this estate, at least at present,” he said. “It’s self-serve today.”
“Oh, I think I can manage,” I said, fighting the urge to drool.
I spread out my black cloth napkin, poured myself a steaming cup of coffee, and then began unveiling the delights hidden under each silver lid. In no time, I had heaped and then emptied my plate not once, but twice. Luckily today was one of those days that calories…
Oh, who was I kidding? Calories counted today. But I did need them.
And were they ever so good. Freshly made waffles, slathered with butter, maple syrup, and powdered sugar. Followed by a warm cinnamon-pecan muffin. Then a couple of heavenly blintzes, stuffed with mascarpone cheese and topped with blueberries and cream.
It took me a while to figure out what was bothering me about this breakfast. I polished off my second serving, and right as I was about to tip over into a calorie coma, my brain finally started working again. Figured out what was…well, ‘wrong’ wasn’t it, exactly. But it was unnerving.
“I’m glad you like the food,” Gabriel said, as he took a seat himself.
“It’s marvelous,” I pronounced, between slurps of just-the-right-temperature coffee. “But that leads me to a pair of questions that I have to ask you.”
“Ask away, then.”
I nearly led with the question that had come up during the stuffing of my face like a little blonde piggy. Nearly. But I had a much more urgent question that needed answering.
“Gabriel, I guess that I owe you. For getting me out of a real pickle last night,” I began. I set down my coffee and looked him in the eye. “But…why? Why save me, when Mitchel had me just where he wanted?”
Gabriel looked away for a moment. His voice took on a melancholy tone as he spoke. “Because I couldn’t let him take you back. Not when you didn’t want to be with him anymore. You see, all that has happened to you, everything that is happening right now? It’s all my fault.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
My mind played that one over again.
“All that has happened to you, everything that is happening right now?” Gabriel said, in his ever-so-polite manner, “It’s all my fault.”
Freeze Frame.
Okay.
Ladies and gentlemen, please return your seats to the upright position for the remainder of this flight.
Looks like the screenwriter just dropped the other shoe of this story’s plot.
Now, back to the action…
I put my fork down on the table with an angry clack.
“Explain,” My voice took on an edge. “Now.”
“Cassie, you now know what my brothers and I do. What tasks we perform, in the g
reater pantheon of the universe.”
“Yes. You provide varied and colorful ways for us to slaughter each other.”
That made him pause for a moment. He didn’t seem angry about my interruption, not exactly. My guess was that he never really got confronted about things all that directly. I mean, if you’re rather newly deceased, are you going to mouth off to the guy who could put in a good word for you with Saint Peter or whomever’s at the gates?
“All right. I probably deserved that comment, in part. But here’s what I’m getting at: War, Famine, and Pestilence inevitably lead to one inescapable ending.”
“Death,” I agreed, finished his sentence for him.
“Exactly. That’s what I meant when I said that I had to clean up after everyone else is done with their work.” He leaned forward in his chair, an intense look on his face. “And because of my work…I see humans a lot more than my brothers do. I see them at one particular point: at the very end. When, in some cases, it’s the only time they’re true to themselves. Showing whether they are cowards or heroes, beings to hold in contempt or admire like the sun.”
This was news to me. I kept quiet as he went on, in the voice of a man who absolutely, positively, loves his job.
“I collect their souls, and then convey each and every one to judgment. Yes, there is a weighing of good and evil, and no, I don’t think it’s done by a saintly old man with a halo and a copy of the Good Book in hand.” He stopped to pour himself a cup of coffee. Of course, he took it black. “Even though I’d come to appreciate humanity, I still remained rather sanguine about my function. It’s what I was born to do, after all. Until I met one particular person...and fell in love with her.”
“Well, congratulations. Let me know where to send the flowers and the wedding gifts. But what the frig does this have to do with what happened to me?”
I Married the Third Horseman (Paranormal Romance and Divorce) Page 10
