Serpent's Storm (33 page)

I dreamed that the train was on a cloud, floating in the sky high above the earth. I could look out the window and see New York City, all swirls of gray and blue, far down below me. I felt untethered, like I was a million miles away from reality, even though I could still see the traces of my old life below.

“Callie?”

I woke up with a start. I was leaning against Jarvis’s shoulder, a thin trail of my saliva on his ratty jacket sleeve.

“Sorry about that,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“You were snoring so loudly I didn’t want to wake you,” Jarvis said. “Well, actually it was so loud I did want to wake you, but I took pity.”

The train had arrived at the 14th Street Station, and the doors were wide open, waiting for a few tentative people to climb aboard.

“I guess here is as good a place as any to do this,” I said, my jaw cracking as I yawned. The nap had just served to make me groggier and hadn’t refreshed me at all.

I stood up, leaning on Jarvis’s arm as a crutch, and together we left the safety of the subway car—and when I said “safety,” I meant safety. Standing outside on the platform, looking mightily pleased with himself, was Marcel, the Ender of Death. None of the people on the platform batted an eye at us, but they steered a wide berth around Marcel, as if they could sense the madness emanating from inside him.

“So, we meet again,” he murmured as we approached.

I could feel Jarvis’s arm stiffen around me, but I shook my head, letting him know he could relax because I had things well in hand.

“I guess that’s just our fate, Marcel,” I replied, only stopping when we were a few feet away from him, an easy enough space to breach if he chose to attack.

“I warned you that there were larger things at play here than you could understand,” he said.

“Duly noted,” I concurred.

“Have you figured it out yet?” he asked, grinning wickedly. It was nice that he hadn’t underestimated me. He was one of the few creatures out there that’d known I hadn’t been operating at my full potential.

“You’re working with Sumi and Hyacinth,” I said, letting the bombshell drop casually. “The Devil and my sister, they think you’re in cahoots with them, too, but you know they’ll just cage you once they get what they want.”

Marcel clapped his hands together happily.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? That I’m the big winner?” he purred. “No matter who comes out on top, I win.”

I could tell Jarvis was appalled by Marcel’s behavior, but I didn’t think he truly understood how mad the Ender of Death had become—and that the fault lay squarely at my father’s feet. He’d imprisoned Marcel—or Monsieur D, as he was called when I’d first met him—down in Hell as a way of keeping tabs on the creature that would eventually be the death of Death. The isolation had driven the poor thing crazy, had stripped him of his ability to do his intended duty.

It had left him a shell of his former self.

My father had done this to Marcel, not understanding the effects imprisonment and loneliness would have on the man, and because of that, fate had deemed that my dad’s destruction should come at his prisoner’s hand. It wasn’t fair that my dad had to die, but at least I finally understood why he hadn’t fought back:

He knew he couldn’t outrun his fate forever.

“What should my dad have done differently?” I asked Marcel. He seemed surprised, yet pleased, by the question and took his time to form an answer. As I stood there waiting, I wondered what God would make of what I was doing right then. He/she would probably be intrigued.

“If I were your father, I would not have imprisoned me,” he began, “but as I mull over the question, I finally understand why he did as he did.”

“He was trying to protect me and my sisters,” I said. “Actually, more
me
, but still he did it for all of us.”

Marcel nodded at the truth of my words.

“Death had never had a family before,” Marcel continued. “So it had never figured into the equation.”

“You’ve spent a long time sparring with Death, and then my dad took away your ability to perform, or try to perform, your job.”

“I am the balance to Death,” Marcel said. “Without me, Death becomes vulnerable, allowing others to try and fill the void I have left behind.”

“Like my sister Thalia and her demon lover, Vritra,” I added.

“Yes, it was your father’s fault,” Marcel said. “He loved you and your sisters so well that he caused his own demise.”

“That’s not true!” Jarvis said, wrenching his arm from mine and making a move to clobber Marcel.

“No, Jarvis!” I said as I grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward me. Jarvis turned on me then, his eyes full of fury.

“How can you allow him to say these things about your father? How can
you
say them? After all he did for you—”

I had expected Jarvis to react, but it was still painful to hear the anger and distress in his voice.

“Jarvis,” I said, drawing him closer to me while all he wanted to do was beat the crap out of Marcel. “My dad was fallible; he made a mistake. I know you know it’s the truth. You don’t want to believe it and neither do I, but it was Dad’s fault. He set all of this into motion when he chained the Ender of Death to a palm tree down in Hell.”

“He was the best of men—” Jarvis said, still unable to accept what he knew was true.

“Yes, he was,” I said. “He was the best dad in the world, and I wish I’d let him know that more.”

Jarvis’s eyes filled with tears and he started to sob.

“He loved you and your sisters so much. He only wanted what was best for you . . .”

“I know, Jarvi,” I said, his words ripping my heart to pieces. “I know.”

“You were marked from the beginning. It was foretold from your birth that you would follow your father, but he wanted to give you, more than anything, the freedom to choose,” Jarvis said, wiping the tears from his face. “It had been so hard for him to adjust to the job himself, and he wanted only that
you
make the decision, not be forced into it by him.”

All the years of acting out and fighting my fate and here I was, right back where I started. My dad had wanted to give me freedom, but instead, he’d wrapped the noose even more tightly around my neck.

Well, so be it,
I thought.

I returned my gaze to Marcel, knowing I had to do this now, or I might miss the chance entirely.

“Marcel, the Ender of Death, I ask you to take leave of me now. Allow me to assume all the rights of Death, and then, when I’m at my full power, we’ll meet at a place of your choosing and fight.”

Marcel’s eyes flared suspiciously as he listened to my offer.

“If I beat you fairly,” I continued, “we’ll revert back to the cat-and-mouse game that Death and the Ender of Death must always dance. If you dispatch me, then my job’ll fall to another and I’m out of it.”

“You swear it?” Marcel breathed, his whole body rigid with anticipation as he waited for my reply.

“I swear it.”

“Then you are a witness,” he said to Jarvis, who nodded stiffly.

Satisfied, Marcel proffered a low bow, which I returned with a curt nod.

“Thank you, Marcel,” I said softly.

“’Til we meet again, Death.”

And then the Ender of Death turned on his heel and silently disappeared into the midafternoon commuter crowd.

Jarvis sat on the ground, his back resting against one of the metal columns. He looked like a beaten man, his already pale face so drawn and pinched, one might think he was ill. Maybe he was. The body he now possessed was probably going through heroin withdrawal, but I doubted that was what was making him look so wan. I’d just laid my dad’s shortcomings bare before his mortal enemy and Jarvis could be nothing but terribly conflicted by the turn of events.

Who deserved his loyalty more: my father—his former master—or me, his possible new one?

I couldn’t answer that question for him, but I could shed a different-colored light on it.

“Jarvis,” I said, squatting down beside him, “listen to me.”

He opened his eyes, but he didn’t really see me. He was still lost in his own thoughts, wrestling the demons that lived there.

“Jarvis,” I said again. “You understand that my dad did what he did out of love. His humanity was what made him good at being Death, but it was his flaw, too.”

Slowly, Jarvis began to nod.

“It’s why God chose him, Jarvis—because he was human, because he could be
both
perfect and imperfect at the same time.”

“He was my friend,” Jarvis whispered, returning my gaze.

“And as his friend, wouldn’t he want you to protect the people he loved so dearly?” I asked.

Jarvis nodded again, finally understanding what I was driving at. I fluffed his hair.

“Will you help me?”

I reached out my hand and he took it, letting me help him to his feet. I guess all of this strangeness was par for the course down in the subway.

“It’s what your father would want,” he said softly.

“Yes, it is.”

“So we’re off to Hell, then?” Jarvis asked.

“I think now is as good a time as any,” I said, placing one hand on my belly, where I could feel the stomach juices simmering away in my gut, and taking hold of Jarvis’s arm with the other hand.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and said:

“I wanna go to Hell.”

When I opened them again, we were there.

 

 

i make no bones about the fact that I dislike Hell. It’s hot and miserable and I always lose like two pounds in water weight while I’m there. The desert part is all sandy and gross; the forested area is spooky and filled with odd creatures like the Bugbears. I get attacked, peed and slobbered on, or thrown down into a bottomless pit at least once every time I visit—and frankly, I’m getting pretty tired of the whole rigmarole.

Luckily, on this trip, the wish-fulfillment jewel was kind enough to avoid the desert
and
the spooky forest, setting us down, instead, right in front of the entrance to the North Gate of Hell.

“Callie!” a voice called from behind me, and I whirled around just in time to see my hellhound puppy, Runt, take a flying leap in my direction. We hit the ground hard, but I didn’t mind because I was just so damn happy to see that she was okay.

Jarvis, who was smart enough to get out of the way, snickered at the sight of me being molested by a sixty-pound hellhound pup.

“What are you doing here?” she said, licking my face—something she’d never done before—her tail thumping rhythmically against my leg in happiness. “I’m so glad to see you!”

As I gave her a good scratching behind the ears, I noticed she’d gained about ten pounds since I’d last seen her, and her dark coat had gotten so shiny that it glowed. She was still wearing the pink rhinestone collar I’d magicked up for her when we’d originally met—it was the first, and pretty much only, spell I’d ever really done on purpose—but I could see it was starting to get too tight for her, something we’d have to remedy soon so she didn’t choke herself on it.

“Okay now, enough slobber,” I said, sitting up on my elbows and pushing the big black puppy off my lap.

“We’ve been hearing all kinds of rumors about what’s happening in Purgatory,” Runt said as she sat back on her haunches thoughtfully. “They say your dad and Jarvis got killed and that Clio and your mom are missing, but I know that can’t really be true, because Jarvis is right here.”

Leave it to a puppy to use her nose to root out the truth.

“I was dead,” Jarvis said, “but Callie did such a bad job of it I was able to escape and secrete myself into this new body.”

Runt nodded. “Yeah, Callie has a hard time focusing,” she said sagely.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, climbing to my feet and brushing off the dog slobber. “Where’s your dad, Runt? I need to talk to him.”

Instead of an answer, the puppy gave three short yips in rapid succession and, a moment later, received an answering howl in return. The howl was so chilling that it would make a normal person’s blood run cold, but I was used to it, so I just grinned, happy to see Cerberus as he lumbered out of the forest, carrying a dead stag in his mouth.

“Dad was just showing me how to hunt,” she said as she padded over to where her father, the three-headed Guardian of the North Gate of Hell, had dropped the dead animal in the dirt. He was about three times bigger than Runt, but I’d learned not to be scared of him, because he was just a big old softie at heart.

Hellhounds were like sea horses; the women bore the babies while the men raised them, teaching the little tykes how to hunt and look after themselves. That left the women free to go out and bring home the bacon or, in their case, the giant stag. I’d never asked Cerberus about his mate, but I got the impression that he was a single dad because, as I’d just witnessed, he could do both jobs, and admirably.

Runt, being the baby, was the last of the kids to go out and seek her fortune, and I knew Cerberus was enjoying having her around, especially because she’d spent her formative months hanging out up at Sea Verge with Clio and my parents. I’d “borrowed” Runt to help save my dad when he was kidnapped by my sister and her nasty demon husband, Vritra, but I’d fallen in love with the pup and then had had a hard time returning her to her dad.

Like all male hellhounds, Cerberus possessed three heads—one smart head (his bore a giant, all-seeing Cyclops eye) and then two normal but not very smart heads. I’d nicknamed the dominant head “Snarly”—not that I ever called Cerberus that to his face—while I referred to the other two as the “Dumb” heads.

Not very clever, but it did the trick.

“I would like to offer our sincerest apologies on your loss,” Snarly head boomed, lowering all three heads in a low bow.