Cat's Claw (15 page)

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Authors: Amber Benson

Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy fiction, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - Contemporary

BOOK: Cat's Claw
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“Okay, security’s tight. I get it, Clio,” I said, gathering more confidence as a plan began to form in my mind. “I’m not just gonna go in there and improvise. I’ve got a plan and it’s great. So, everything’s gonna be just fine and dandy.”
Clio didn’t look at all reassured by my little speech.
“You promise,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
“I’ve got the whole thing figured out,” I said, the words just flowing out of my mouth without my brain paying the least little bit of attention to them.
“
Trust
me.”
nine
 
 
“Hey, Jarvis,” I said, the smile fixed so securely on my face that I just
knew
he was going to suspect something. “I have a
huuuuuge
favor to ask you.”
Clio, Runt, and I had scoured the house for an hour looking for the faun, only to find him sorting manuscripts in Dad’s library. He looked up briefly from his work when we first entered the room, but didn’t for one minute stop what he was doing. Usually I’d have been annoyed by his lack of attention, but since a “distracted” Jarvis meant a less “suspicious” Jarvis, it made my job of pulling the wool over his eyes that much easier.
“Yes?”
Jarvis said as his eyes flicked in my direction, then quickly returned to the ancient, calfskin-bound manuscript he was holding in his manicured hands.
Realizing it was now-or-never time, I moved farther into the large, well-appointed room and sat down in one of the stately brown leather wingback chairs that were flanking the matching brown leather couch that was the centerpiece of the room. Clio and Runt stayed firmly in the doorway (for moral support), but I was essentially on my own for this one.
I guess it serves me right,
I thought to myself.
Any girl who makes a dumb deal with a full-grown hellhound deserves all the trouble she gets.
“Well . . .” I began, then instantly started worrying about getting dog saliva all over the buttery leather upholstery. With the time crunch, I hadn’t had two seconds to change my clothes, so I hopped back up onto my feet again and moseyed over to the other side of the room, taking up residence beside the huge, inlaid mahogany fireplace.
I could just see the look on my dad’s face if he came home and found dog drool on one of his prized wingback chairs. It would
not
be a pretty sight. Already there’d been Hell to pay when I’d sort of trashed his study a few months ago.
In
that
room, I’d unconsciously doodled all over his desk set, turning the brown leather binding into a wannabe Rorschach test. Granted, it was a dumb thing to do, but I
had
been under a lot of stress at the time. Stickler for accepting personal responsibility that he is, my dad totally made me replace it—and no matter what anyone tells you, leather-embossed desk sets are not cheap!
“Yes . . . ?”
Jarvis intoned again, looking up at me over the lenses of his pince-nez like he was channeling some kind of uptight schoolmarm.
The more time I spent in Jarvis’s company, the more feminine I judged his behavior to be. I didn’t know if this was because of the clipped British accent and European sensibility, or if it just meant that Death’s Executive Assistant, Jarvis De Poupsy, was batting for the “other team.”
I was about as unhomophobic as they came, so it didn’t really matter either way to me, but I was
definitely
curious about Jarvis’s sexual orientation. Leaving thoughts of Jarvis and his choice of “bat” for another time, I cleared my throat.
“Well, like I said before, I need a huge a favor.”
Jarvis gave me a piercing stare that was not at all deadened by the half inch of pince-nez glass that it was filtered through. I swallowed hard, my mouth so dry and prickly I might as well have been back in Hell.
“Go on,” Jarvis said as his fingers slid through the pages of the manuscript he was holding.
“Well, my boss at work—”
“The zaftig woman with the incredible sense of style?” Jarvis said, interrupting me.
“Yes, the zaft-whatever woman with the incredible style,” I answered, nodding.
“She’s quite attractive.”
Boy, after Jarvis said that, you could’ve heard a pin drop. I looked over at Clio, who raised an eyebrow. Only Runt seemed unfazed by Jarvis’s statement.
“You think so?” I asked curiously, and immediately a deep scarlet blush began to creep up the back of Jarvis’s neck, across his cheeks, and into the roots of his meticulously maintained sideburns. His face was so flushed that I was surprised the pomade in his hair didn’t start melting down his neck.
“Do you have a crush on Callie’s boss?” Clio said from her spot by the doorway. She had a devilish smile on her face, making her look even more adorable than she already was. I had a feeling she was never gonna let Jarvis live this one down.
“I will not even honor that absurd question with a response,” Jarvis said hotly as the manuscript he had been holding slipped through his fingers and landed with a soft
thud
on the dark parquet floor.
Clio snorted, which only made Jarvis turn redder. Trying to escape our scrutiny, he knelt down and picked up the book, taking longer than he should have so he could collect himself. When he stood back up, the blush was fading, but I could still see annoyance festering in his eyes.
“She makes your palms sweat, huh?” Clio said, sidestepping the pince-nez that Jarvis immediately threw in her direction.
This kind of adolescent display from my dad’s Executive Assistant was highly amusing, but definitely not something I wanted to extend if I was going to get Jarvis’s help. I needed him happy, not ready to throw something at Clio’s head.
“Sorry, Jarvis,” I said, retracing my steps back to a more normal state of play. “We shouldn’t tease you like that. My bad.”
Jarvis scowled at me.
“Clio, apologize to Jarvis.”
Clio opened her mouth to protest, but I gave her a warning glance. If she didn’t apologize, I was never gonna get Jarvis to do what I needed him to do. He’d say no just to spite us.
Runt seemed to know exactly what was at stake here—her future, of course—because she stuck her muzzle into Clio’s backside, pushing her forward as if to say, “Apologize.” Surprised by the friendly shove, Clio shut her mouth and looked down at Runt. Our adorable hellhound puppy looked back up at her with large, pleading pink eyes, and Clio sighed.
“All right,” she said under her breath and then to Jarvis, “I’m sorry I made fun of you.”
Jarvis gave her a smug look.
“You made me lose my place in the manuscript,” he said.
Clio looked at me and I nodded.
“I’m
sorry
I made you lose your place in your manuscript.”
Jarvis smiled at Clio’s discomfort, but still looked moderately peeved; definitely not a good time to try anything underhanded on him. I ran my finger across my throat, indicating that I was going to abort the mission, but Clio shook her head forcefully, indicating that I should continue.
Jarvis’s eyelids lowered to slits as his stare slid from my face to Clio’s. Obviously he had sensed that there was something untoward brewing between us, but before he could ask either of us what was going on, Runt—of her own initiative—padded over to Jarvis and gently placed the pince-nez she’d retrieved from the floor into his hand. He wiped the dog saliva off the tiny glasses with a handkerchief he retrieved from his coat pocket, then gave Runt a gentle rub behind the ears. She closed her eyes, enjoying the attention.
Situation diffused by a hyperintelligent hellhound,
I mused happily.
Score two for the Calliope Reaper-Jones team!
“Attention hog,” Clio muttered under her breath. As grateful as I was to Runt, my sister
did
have a point; our pup was shameless when it came to getting her ears scratched.
“So, as you were saying?” Jarvis murmured, dropping his sharpened gaze from my face and returning his attention back to his manuscript.
If he was willing to forgive and forget so easily,
I decided,
who was I to argue with him?
This thought gave me the wherewithal to muddle forward with my half-baked plan.
“Uhm, yes, you see, my boss—the well-dressed one—wants me to do some research on a new product line we’re developing . . .” I began, the words I’d initially planned to say slipping right out of my mind as my mouth continued to move of its own volition. It was becoming blatantly obvious that Clio was right. I relied
way
too much on my improv skills to get by in this life. Sometimes I could talk out of my ass and everything would just make sense, you know? But other times . . . well, my “seat of the pants” attitude didn’t exactly fly.
This was one of those times.
“Uh-huh?” Jarvis said, setting the manuscript down on an Empire-style wooden side table and returning his scowl to my face. “And what kind of line might that be?”
I didn’t know what to say. My brain literally froze inside my skull so that I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk . . . I could hardly breathe.
“Uhm, yes, what kind of line is it?” I said loud enough for everyone else to hear even though it had been said primarily to get my brain out of “blank” mode. “It’s a new series of filing accessories!”
Jarvis stared at me blankly, then a sly smile stretched across his lips.
“Liar.”
I opened my mouth, shocked.
“I am not,” I replied defensively.
Jarvis looked heavenward, the sly smile still turning up the corners of his mouth. “You are lying, Mistress Calliope. Through your teeth.”
I started to protest, but Jarvis held out his hand Fran Drescher-style.
“Talk to the hand.”
“Jarvis,” I began, “we’ve already spoken about the Fran Drescher hand so I’m very surprised you’d still want to use it anymore.”
I turned to Clio so that I could better explain.
“Jarvis used ‘the hand’ on me when he told me Dad had been kidnapped. I explained to him that the gesture was very dated and should be listed as a ‘do not use,’ right along with the catchphrases ‘snap’ and ‘all that and a bag of chips.’”
Clio looked befuddled.
“Who’s Fran Drescher?”
I sighed and returned my attention back to Jarvis, whose face was the color of a clown’s nose.
“And there you have it. Out of the mouths of babes.”
Jarvis glared at me.
“Point taken, but that still does not mean that I accept your story.”
“Okay, fine,” I said, throwing up my hands in frustration. “
Don’t
believe me.”
“I think you are lying and I will not be a party to whatever crazy scheme the two of you have dreamed up,” Jarvis countered with a sniff.
Clio raised her hand.
“I’m just here for moral support.”
“Both of you suck,” I said, plopping down into one of the wingback chairs, this time not caring one whit whether I got dog saliva on it or not.
Clio came into the room and perched on the arm of my chair.
“Jarvis,” Clio began, “Callie really needs your help.”
Jarvis studied the glass in his pince-nez, looking for streaks and finding none.
“Continue,” he said, sliding the handkerchief into his pocket and setting the pince-nez back on the bridge of his hawkish nose.
“My dumb-butt sister made a deal with Cerberus. If she can get her hands on the Death Record of one of his errant souls, we can keep Runt out of Hell and up here with us,” Clio said, reaching out her hand. Runt was immediately on the alert, padding back to Clio for more patting.
Jarvis took a deep breath, then slowly let it out through pursed lips.
“That is a tall order, indeed.”
Clio nodded.
“So, now you see why we need your help?”
Jarvis nodded, looking over at me with concern. I knew I was being a baby, sitting in the wingback chair and sulking, but I just didn’t have the energy to do anything more constructive.
“Why didn’t you just ask me for my help, Mistress Calliope?” Jarvis said, the tone of his voice not hostile like I’d expected, but soft and probing as it effortlessly pulled me out of my black mood.
“I, uh, just thought you’d say no,” I offered meekly.
If I’d really taken the time to think about it, I would’ve realized that I always expected to have to manipulate a situation to get people to do what I wanted them to do. I didn’t know why my brain was wired that way, but it was. The truth was when it came to just being honest and asking someone for help when I needed it, I was a complete and utter coward about the whole thing.
“Mistress Calliope, I am your friend. All you have to do is ask for my help and it is yours,” Jarvis said as he sat down in the other wingback chair and reached out, patting my shoulder.

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