Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross (21 page)

Leveling her dark eyes on the subject of her
assignment, Brigit realized that Belinda was staring at her. Yet,
her bright blue eyes seemed to look through rather than at the
Reaper that had stepped onto the otherwise empty car. The heavy
black eyeliner around those bright blue eyes seemed to emphasize
the sense of apathy and boredom Belinda Yaris had succumbed to
during the years of waiting for something to happen. As she looked
deep into those bright blue -- yet bored -- eyes, Brigit had the
thought that Belinda Yaris had succumbed to that sense of apathetic
boredom long before she had ceased her existence as a mortal.
Almost everyone Brigit had ever known to be a participant of the
‘Goth’ culture seemed to be bored with life almost from the moment
they had finally confirmed their darker identities.

“Belinda Yaris,” Brigit addressed the young
woman out loud. She noted the sudden acknowledgement of her
presence by the young woman by the keen focus of those bright blue
eyes. They no longer looked through, but rather, at her.

“Hello,” the young woman replied. “You can
see me?”

“I can,” Brigit answered. She sensed a
feeling of relief pass through the young woman standing across from
her. “My name is Brigit.”

“I’m so happy to meet you,” Belinda gushed
before she rushed to cross the short width of the subway car.
Brigit barely had time to react when Belinda threw her arms around
the dark woman’s neck in a grateful hug. “Finally, someone who can
see and hear me! It’s been so long since I’ve had a real
conversation. Last week,” Brigit finally managed to push the young
woman off her, but their separation did not cease Belinda’s ramble.
“I tried to talk to this crazy, old homeless man, because I just
knew he could see me; but, he turned and ran out of here screaming.
It really made me sad. I almost cried,” Brigit watched the young
woman begin to pout with the memory of the episode. “But now, here
you are and you can see me and talk to me. Hey, that’s an awesome
coat,” Belinda said as she noticed the sequins on the lapels of
Brigit’s black coat.

“Thank you,” Brigit replied. “Belinda, I have
a proposal for you,”

“Where did you get it? I’ve been wanting a
pirate’s coat for forever,” Belinda cooed.

“It’s something I’ve had for years,” Brigit
explained before catching herself. “Belinda, you do realize you’re
no longer living, right?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’ve known for years now.
It’s too bad that I was wearing
this
, though,” she waved her
hand downward to indicated the ragged black knit shirt with slashed
long sleeves, the ankle length black skirt with overly large safety
pins as buttons on the pockets and the well worn military boots on
her feet. “Not exactly the outfit I would have picked for my last
moments on earth, you know? I definitely had better.”

“I can only imagine,” Brigit replied as she
eyed the young woman’s attire. “Anyway, I have a proposition for
you.”

“Oh yeah? Would it mean finally getting off
this stupid train for good?” Belinda asked, readjusting the weight
of the black leather bag that hand off her shoulder. In its swing,
Brigit recognized it to be in the shape of a coffin.

“It would,” Brigit answered.

“Then, I’m in,” Belinda immediately said.

“But you don’t even know what I’m about to
offer you,” Brigit pointed out in surprise.

“Doesn’t matter,” Belinda replied. “If it
gets me off this fucking train, I’ll do it. You have no idea what
it’s like to be trapped on this thing every day and night. It’s
disgusting most of the time. I see people puking or pissing in the
corner, shooting junk into their veins at three in the morning. Oh,
sure, it gets cleaned up before the early morning rush; but most of
the time, I simply can’t stand it. Especially when I see my friends
come on, or I see
him
, the bastard that knifed me for my
purse…”

Brigit watched as the other woman covered the
coffin purse protectively. Almost as soon as she did so, the train
lurched to signal its attempt to slow down in its approach of the
next station. Brigit glanced behind her and then returned her gaze
to the young woman before her.

“Brigit, please, you have to get me off this
train,” Belinda pleaded.

As the train came to a grinding halt beside
the platform, Brigit eyed the young woman one last moment. The
doors whooshed open behind her as she made a resolute decision.

“Very well, take my hand,” she instructed.
Without hesitation, Belinda grasped Brigit’s outstretched hand and
smiled a huge smile as Brigit guided her off the subway car. As
soon as they were both safely on the platform, the doors slammed
shut once more and the train hurtled back into motion.

“So, what do I have to do?” Belinda asked
when the noise from the departing train had finally died away.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like
to be a
Grim Reaper
?” Brigit asked. Belinda looked at her
savior in sudden surprise.

“No shit? You’re a …” the young woman was
suddenly at a loss for words. Brigit felt herself smiling in
acknowledgement of the Goth girl’s awe. “No fucking kidding?
Really? Holy shit,” Belinda finally managed to get out. “I’d love
to! What do I have to do?”

“For the time being, follow me and observe
closely. You’re training begins this second. Unfortunately,” Brigit
tucked Belinda’s file into her coat’s breast pocket to make sure it
would not end up back with the piles of assignments it had come
from. “I don’t have the time to train you by the book, so you’ll
have to go through on-the-job-training. Here,” she withdrew her
field guide from the hip pocket of her coat, “read this while we’re
between assignments. Ask questions as they come to mind. I’ll do my
best to answer them,” Brigit promised as she hooked her umbrella
over her arm and reached for a new assignment. Belinda, who had
been scanning the first page of the small book she had been handed,
suddenly looked up at her.

“Why me?”

“Because you said you would,” Brigit replied
with a slight smile. “Come, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“No, really, why did you pick me? Surely you
made some sort of decision before you even got onto the train.
Why?” Belinda asked as she fell in behind Brigit and followed her
up the stairs leading to the street level.

“I’m down two Reapers right now. You have a
solid mind and a calm sense about you. If I can train you quickly,
I won’t be too far behind on my work,” Brigit explained as she read
the file in her hand. Everything she had said was the truth. The
only admission was her hope that John wouldn’t come completely
unglued once he found out all that had happened during his
absence.

“Then, teach me, oh-great-Grim-Reaper,”
Belinda intoned. “I will be clay in your skilled hands,”

“Don’t get too enamored,” Brigit warned.
“It’s not as easy as you might think and it’s definitely not as
morbid.”

“Who cares? I’m off the train. Show me what
you got,” Belinda replied with an indifferent shrug.

“Okay, then. We’re off to the first
assignment,” Brigit explained as she turned away. “Read your field
guide.”

“Reading now, oh-great-one,” Belinda quipped
as she fell in beside Brigit.

“Stop that,” Brigit muttered.

“Yes, oh-great-one…”

His mouth was dry, as dry as any desert plain
he could ever imagine. Twice, he lolled his tongue across the top
palate of his mouth trying to form enough spit just so he could
swallow and ease the cracked walls of this throat, but nothing
came. He had even tried licking his lips to calm the dryness there,
but his tongue lacked the moisture to bring even that slight
respite.

His body was on fire, searing away any
moisture that might form within him to bring him any second of
relief. He could feel it flowing through his veins to burst from
his skin. When he could open his eyes, he could see the walls of
his office slowly wavering from the heat that he emitted from where
Brigit had dumped him on the couch. She had shown an ounce of mercy
in covering him with a blanket before she had abandoned him to burn
in the flames. Somewhere over the course of the infection, however,
he had inadvertently kicked it to the floor beside him. It would
have helped, he had the thought, to put out the flames that sprang
like lava plumes of an angry volcano from every pore of his mangled
body.

Seamus wondered how long it would be before
he had a moment’s peace from the inferno he was enduring. John
Blackwick had told him that the degree of a mauling determined the
degree of the infection. As he wondered which particular level of
Hell he was wandering through, Seamus came to the conclusion that
he must be badly damaged. He only wished he had the strength to
examine his wounds. Then, he’d have even more of an excuse to kill
the female Reaper once he was fully recovered.

He remembered uttering those words to her
before passing out. How she had managed to bring him back to the
main office, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. She had said her
presence during the assignment had been to provide back up; yet,
when the charge had been sounded, Brigit Malone had remained behind
in the shadows. Seamus had been left to deal with the Chupacabras
by himself, as he remembered it. Five to one had not been a fair
fight, especially after he had lost the shelaighley. Yet, being a
true warrior, the brave soldier with the blood of a fighting
Irishman borne from the direct descendents of the fearless Fiona of
legend, Seamus Flannery had fought hard in completing the
assignment. He had succeeded, he remembered it all clearly. Brigit
had only finally come to his aide after his collapse. Too little,
too late, Seamus thought.

A creak of the wood floor in the main hall
pulled Seamus from his fiery thoughts. Brigit had not been back to
the office since she had left him to roast with the vicious fever
of the infection. By his count, that had been a couple of days gone
by now. Had she finally returned?

“Oy!”

The call came out more a groan than a
coherent word. Seamus licked his lips and swallowed hard in the
attempt to dampen his vocal chords.

“Oy!” he called again.

It must have been more coherent this time, he
thought. The gentle creak of the wood ceased its quiet echo off the
walls of the main hall. Someone was there. Seamus could feel the
chill emanating from the soul that was standing just outside the
closed door to his office. Though he wanted to close his eyes in
the sudden relief from the burning of his body, he knew he couldn’t
allow himself to be so vulnerable to an unknown presence. Instead,
he kept his emerald daggers poised at the door, hoping that he
would be able to summon some amount of strength to try to save
himself if there were to be an attack.

“Who’s out there? Show yer bleedin’ self,” he
commanded, trying to sound stronger than he actually was. “C’mon!
Show yerself!”

Slowly, the door swung open and Seamus felt
his head jerk back with the sight of the figure before him. The
pale man (if it was a man, Seamus mused…) dressed in tattered black
robes stood just inside the door frame. His eyes were wide in fear
and bewilderment.

“Who the fook are you?” Seamus demanded.

“Bailey,” came the hoarse whisper of a
reply.

“Do ye work here too?” A silent nod was his
only answer. “What department?”

“Bailey,” the pale man said again. Seamus
closed his eyes finally. The chill reaching out from the pale man
was so soothing. It allowed Seamus to focus his thoughts a little
more clearly.

“I know yer bleedin’ name, man. What do you
do for the firm?” he asked, hoping to get an actual answer. “What
is yer job?”

“Bailey,” the word came a third time and
Seamus groaned in frustration rather than pain. An intelligent
conversation was obviously not going to happen. Seamus didn’t have
the patience to try to drag one out of the pale man either.

“Well, do me a favor, Mr. Bailey,” Seamus
instructed. “Find John Blackwick and bring him back. Tell him
things are sorely amiss at the office. Tell him Seamus said so. Do
ye understand me?”

“Where?” the Bailey asked. Seamus let his
eyes open and take in the pale figure that suddenly reminded him of
all the pictures he had ever seen representing the figure of Death
– the conjured image of what a Grim Reaper truly looked like.

“Italy,” Seamus finally said, drawing on the
infuriating memory of Brigit telling him that John had gone for a
few days. “Fetch him at once,” the Irishman instructed sternly. The
Bailey nodded in comprehension and began to back slowly from the
small office, taking with him the cool energy that Seamus had been
finding such comfort in.

When the Bailey had gone, Seamus closed his
eyes again. He could feel it returning, the fire of the infection
coursing through his veins. He only had a few minutes, he knew,
before he would be engulfed in the searing flames that threatened
to scar him for all eternity. He was lucid. He needed to gather his
wits quickly and begin to formulate his strategy for vengeance.
Calculations could be made on another day, when the fires were
finally gone from his being. At the moment, Seamus determined, he
had to begin the blue print to the end of days for Brigit
Malone.

“So, how do you know what weapon will be
right for you? I mean, how did you choose an umbrella over, say, a
bow and arrow? How about swords? Can we pick a sword?”

Brigit sighed as she tucked the last
completed assignment into the pocket that held all the others.
Belinda Yaris had not ceased with the questions since she had
completed reading
The Reaper’s Field Guide
. As the questions
rolled one after the other with barely a moment in between to
receive an answer, Brigit silently began to wish that the field
guide had been written with more consideration to the mentor and
their time. At some point during the barrage of inquiries, Brigit
had simply began offering an
‘I don’t know’
and
‘That’s a
good question’
as a reply to her new apprentice – especially
when a question had come in the middle of a scuffle with a dark
spirit that had no desire to cross over peacefully.