Serpent's Storm Part 2

I could sense the coiled energy seething inside the beast, compressing its physical form into a ball of tightly muscled fury as it bided its time, waiting to pounce. All it needed was a reason to attack and it was gonna be exhaling that nasty breath all up in my face.

And I am that reason, I realized grimly as the beast suddenly leapt into the air, its body a missile with canines, making a beeline straight for my Prada-clad throat. I realized grimly as the beast suddenly leapt into the air, its body a missile with canines, making a beeline straight for my Prada-clad throat.

three.

Let's pause a minute for a little station identification.

I mean, it's not every day you see a Vargr throat-ripping scenario play out on a New York City Subway car, so let me just give you a little background info on myself, which will, hopefully, clarify things a bit.

My name is Calliope Reaper-Jones and I used used to be a normal girl-okay, scratch that last part. In truth, I was to be a normal girl-okay, scratch that last part. In truth, I was never never a normal girl. But in my own defense, I always wanted to be normal, and I really thought wanting to be like everyone else actually got you halfway to being there. a normal girl. But in my own defense, I always wanted to be normal, and I really thought wanting to be like everyone else actually got you halfway to being there.

You see, I was born into a family of immortals-with my father being one of the chief immortals in all of the Afterlife. Call him what you would-Death, the Grim Reaper, the Man with the Golden Scythe, he pretty much answers to any any of the above-his supernatural pedigree seriously put a dent in my attempts at normalcy. of the above-his supernatural pedigree seriously put a dent in my attempts at normalcy.

Growing up, I desperately held on to the fact I was half-human on my mother's side (i.e., the Reaper-Jones hyphenation) with all the tenacity I could muster, but whether I liked it or not, it was the nonhuman part of my heritage that would forever a.s.sert itself in my life . . . no matter how hard I tried to keep it hidden away from prying eyes. hyphenation) with all the tenacity I could muster, but whether I liked it or not, it was the nonhuman part of my heritage that would forever a.s.sert itself in my life . . . no matter how hard I tried to keep it hidden away from prying eyes.

My own immortality-bestowed upon me at my birth-was something I despised. It made it impossible for me to do anything but outlive all my friends, and frankly, that also kind of killed my ability to a.s.similate: a.s.similation being the key to a normal existence, as far as I was concerned.

Being the denial-loving creature I am, I decided the best thing I could do in the situation was to pretend I wasn't Death's Daughter. That, in fact, I was really the offspring of some businessman who just happened to be extraordinarily gifted with money. That would explain the huge mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, called Sea Verge, which my family called home, and the funds necessary to send my sisters and me to the best private schools on the East Coast.

And so went the first decade and a half of my life: me taking all of my familial weirdness and shoving it way down deep into the darkest recesses of my mind, where it stayed, unwanted and ignored, for a very long time.

But then a few months ago my dad had to go and get himself kidnapped, and suddenly, all of the supernatural craziness I'd been suppressing came back to bite me on the a.s.s. I was thrust headfirst into the family business, forced to complete three nearly impossible tasks by the Board of Death in order to take over my dad's position as President and CEO of Death, Inc. Plus, I had to figure out who'd kidnapped him and and get him back before all h.e.l.l broke loose. get him back before all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Piece of cake, right?

I don't think so.

Finally, after ensuring order was restored to the Afterlife, I'd taken pity on my estranged family and-against my better judgment-agreed to try and get reacquainted with them, for better or worse.

So far things had been leaning toward worse, which was how I now found myself sitting on an uptown subway train trying not to get my throat ripped out by a Vargr.

"stop!" i screamed, my mouth overriding my brain as I stood up, shutting my eyes against the oncoming attack (two very disparate acts, but my body has never seemed to understand the word contradiction). I gritted my teeth and covered my face with my arms, waiting for the onslaught of violence to begin, but before any Vargr teeth could rip into the reasonably smooth flesh of my throat, my entire body was enveloped in a pulsing white-hot heat. I tried to scream-the pain being pretty d.a.m.n intense-but only strangled gurgling bloomed from between my lips. i screamed, my mouth overriding my brain as I stood up, shutting my eyes against the oncoming attack (two very disparate acts, but my body has never seemed to understand the word contradiction). I gritted my teeth and covered my face with my arms, waiting for the onslaught of violence to begin, but before any Vargr teeth could rip into the reasonably smooth flesh of my throat, my entire body was enveloped in a pulsing white-hot heat. I tried to scream-the pain being pretty d.a.m.n intense-but only strangled gurgling bloomed from between my lips.

As if the subway car were moving in tandem with whatever strange energy had hold of me, it began to shudder, bouncing on the track like some irate five-year-old was playing demolition derby with it. Still hunched over, arms covering my face, awaiting my imminent dismemberment (something that would really hurt and would also make my immortality not very much fun for the foreseeable future), I swallowed hard, my nerves on fire. Pins and needles shot up my arms and legs as an intense burning sensation numbed me from the inside out. It felt as if I'd fallen into a vat of Icy Hot and was now experiencing the afteraffects of a menthol overdose.

As abruptly as it had started, the white-hot heat dissipated, leaving me with a chill that wracked every cell in my body and made me s.h.i.+ver uncontrollably, my teeth cracking together like nunchakus. I figured it would be a miracle if I didn't bite my tongue off before this crazy ride was over.

Trying to ignore the weird s.h.i.+vering that had overtaken my person, I unhunched and slowly opened my eyes to find out what was going on with the Vargr attack already in progress. But before I could get a fix on what was happening, the lights flickered then went out, sending the car into a fathomless darkness punctuated only by the occasional flash of blue light marking the places where emergency phones were hidden inside the subway tunnel-something that was of absolutely no help to me.

With the disappearance of the light, a sense of foreboding filled the car, and the people around me started to panic, terrified by the supernatural weirdness they'd just been thrust into the thick of. Most people had no idea the supernatural world even existed, nor were they prepared for some of its (heretofore imaginary) minions to make a surprise appearance on their lunchtime subway commute.

High-pitched voices, underlined by a tremolo of fear, intermixed until the cacophony of words was unintelligible. One thing I've learned about human beings is that whenever they're in the middle of a crisis, they are certain that the louder and more insistent they become, the more chance of surviving they have. I'm pretty sure this tack doesn't really work, but they hold on to the idea regardless.

Ignoring the squawking of the people around me, I reached up and felt for my face, my shaking fingers hooking into the weave of my Prada scarf and almost choking me in the process. I a.s.sessed the rest of my limbs, finding, happily, that whatever energy had overtaken me hadn't done any outward damage-even though my body continued to vibrate like a plucked string. Still, my joy at being physically A-okay receded sharply as I realized that by all intents and purposes I shouldn't be standing upright.

As great as it was to find myself all in one working piece, the Vargr had been gunning for my throat, so why the h.e.l.l wasn't I lying in a pool of my own blood on the nasty-looking subway floor?

I pictured my physical body, lying in b.l.o.o.d.y pieces on the dirt-and-germ-laden fire-r.e.t.a.r.dant flooring of the subway train-and then I pictured myself trying to Purell said b.l.o.o.d.y mess as it lay strewn across the floor.

Ah, the joys of being immortal.

The fact that my body had been used as some kind of magical superconductor and I was still functioning, with no teeth marks anywhere I could feel, meant that a little supernatural a.s.sistance had been thrown my way. And the only person I could think of with any magical ability within a fifty-foot radius was- Jarvis!

I'd totally forgotten about my dad's Executive a.s.sistant during all the craziness. Apparently, I turned into a complete and selfish b.i.t.c.h when I got caught up in a monster attack-not that this was any kind of a shocker. Being less self-involved was something I'd been working on as of late, but since I'd spent the last few years on my own, it was still hard for me to remember to play well with others.

"Jarvis!" I hissed, but my voice was lost in the panicked chatter of the other human beings trapped in the subway car with us. They sounded like a pack of royally p.i.s.sed-off parakeets, annoyed someone had walked past their cages at the arboretum.

"SHUT UP OR DIE, PEOPLE!" I screamed and felt another pulse of energy slam into my body. s.h.i.+vering, I reached out a hand, searching for the faun, but I only came away with empty air. Somewhere in the darkness I heard the tolling of a bell, thirteen times in quick succession, and I hoped that meant someone was working on getting the lights back on soon.

"Jarvis?"

Oh, G.o.d, I totally let the Vargr beastie eat Jarvis, I thought miserably, my head starting to pound. I should have put a kibosh on the whole cowardly lion act and protected my friend, whether I got turned into immortal beef jerky or not. I was immortal, for G.o.d's sake. I could live without a chunk of my intestines-and besides, who says an all-liquid diet is such a bad thing anyway? I thought miserably, my head starting to pound. I should have put a kibosh on the whole cowardly lion act and protected my friend, whether I got turned into immortal beef jerky or not. I was immortal, for G.o.d's sake. I could live without a chunk of my intestines-and besides, who says an all-liquid diet is such a bad thing anyway?

"Jarvis, where are you? Are you here? Oh my G.o.d, did you get eaten eaten?" I whispered, terrified I wasn't gonna get a response. "Jarvis?! Did I let you get eaten? Please don't be in someone's stomach-" Did I let you get eaten? Please don't be in someone's stomach-"

Suddenly, I felt a cold, clammy hand grasp my wrist, and I went rigid, fear turning me to stone where I stood, my feet frozen to the plastic flooring. It seemed the Vargr wasn't gonna let me off so easily. I was about to become the main course in a Vargr brunch.

I kicked myself for coming downtown in the first place. If I'd stayed in my cubicle at work, none of this would be happening. Jarvis wouldn't be the goat kebab appetizer on a wolf-man's lunch buffet . . . I wouldn't be the dessert.

"Oh my G.o.d, please don't eat me . . ." I began, trying to sound as meek and pathetic as possible. If I was going to be Vargr fodder, then I at least wanted the creature to feel cruddy about it.

"I taste like c.r.a.p . . . I swear, if you eat me, you're talking like major league indigestion-"

"Hush now, Miss Calliope."

Even though I couldn't exactly see him in all the darkness, we'd been through enough Callie-induced sc.r.a.pes for me to recognize Jarvis's snooty British accent whenever I heard it. Instantly I relaxed, letting the fear slide down my back and disappear into the pitch-black ether surrounding us. I squeezed Jarvis's bony hand, exceedingly relieved to find my friend hadn't been turned into a goat kebab, after all.

Sadly, my guilt-induced headache was less easy to get rid of: it'd sunk its teeth into my brain and had obviously liked what it'd found there. It wasn't going anywhere until I got my hands on a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol and downed its contents.

"What's going on?" I whispered, squeezing Jarvis's hand again, very happy he was alive and well, standing beside me. The darkness made it impossible to see what was happening around us, so I hoped Jarvis was more clued in to the supernatural 411 than I was.

"I'm not certain," he began, "but I believe the spell you used incapacitated the Vargr-"

"Hey, I didn't do a spell," I said, protesting my innocence. "And I'm pretty sure I would know if I had had done one, don't you think?" done one, don't you think?"

"Miss Calliope, I was sitting beside you and you definitely used a spell."

Jarvis might think I was capable of doing the kind of magic that would subdue a savage Vargr, but when he actually stopped to think about it, he would realize how highly unlikely it would be for me to pull off something so advanced all by myself. I mean, I knew me pretty well-I'd only been kicking around in this body for twenty-some odd years-and I knew there was no way I could successfully subdue a Vargr without help. I couldn't even call up a wormhole, and that was one of the most basic magic spells around.

If I was going for full disclosure here, I'd say the only advanced magic I'd ever been capable of producing revolved around me being stuck in a tight spot and magic just "popping" out of me in order to save me from sudden dismemberment.

Maybe this was what had happened with the Vargr, but I doubted it. Every other time I'd been saved by magic, there'd been no ill effects-being dipped in a vat of Icy Hot, anyone?-so I was pretty certain the magic hadn't come from me.

Pretty pathetic, huh? I could create an Excel spreadsheet, beat the bejesus out of any living creature that got between me and the sale rack at Bloomingdale's, but I couldn't pull a rabbit out of my hat without a pair of training wheels and a copy of Magic for Dummies Magic for Dummies clutched in my hand. clutched in my hand.

I vehemently shook my head in disagreement because I knew I hadn't done a spell, but then I remembered we were in the dark and Jarvis couldn't see me.

"I didn't do a spell. I don't know how to do spells," I said. "You know know this about me. I'm totally magic defective." this about me. I'm totally magic defective."

There was a pause as Jarvis thought that one over.

"I suppose someone else could've been working the spell through you," Jarvis conceded finally. "If you're sure the magic didn't come from you." you're sure the magic didn't come from you."

"Absolutely, positively certain," I said.

As I waited for him to reply, I noticed the subway car had gone deathly silent. I'd been so busy arguing with Jarvis I'd completely missed the changeover. Part of me a.s.sumed we'd scared the c.r.a.p out of our fellow riders with all our magic talk and that they were being good little church mice, recording our conversation on their iPhones to hand over to the Bellevue commitment crew who were waiting for us at the next stop. Yet deep inside I knew I was being naive. I mean, these people had been chattering like drunkards, and now you could hear a pin drop. The whole situation gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach-and I was doing everything within my power to ignore it.

"Uhm, Jarvis?" I said. "Do you hear anything funny in here? Actually, I mean, do you hear a lack lack of anything funny in here . . . ?" of anything funny in here . . . ?"

The lights flickered back on just as the words left my mouth. I blinked a few times, my eyes stinging as they tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of fluorescent light. Jarvis's hand found mine again, and this time the crunch he gave my fingers was anything but rea.s.suring.

"Miss Calliope . . . ?"

Jarvis's words trailed off into a very definitive question mark. I looked around the car, reaffirming that the silence I'd just registered had not been brought about by our magic-centric conversation. Nope, something a lot more insidious was responsible for the lack of human chatter on this particular subway car . . . and that insidious thing was Death.

While Jarvis and I'd been babbling our heads off, someone or something had laid waste to every single living creature in our subway car. I did a silent head count, my eyes roving over the dead bodies draped over plastic seats, faces pressed against windows, hands hanging limply in the aisles. In front of Jarvis lay the Vargr, who in death had returned to his original form, that of a tall, gaunt man. I reached out my foot and poked the man's shoulder with the tip of my shoe, hoping against hope this was all just a prank, but the man was deadweight, his body immovable. I wanted to squat down and touch his face, move his lips back to see if those nasty-looking Vargr teeth were still in residence, but something held me back. I wouldn't call it fear, per se, but more like a healthy respect for the dead.

I looked around at the other dead folks, but I couldn't tell what had killed them. From where I was standing, there appeared to be no blood on the bodies, no sense that any kind of violence had overtaken them. Their faces were peaceful, and if I chose to step into the world of denial, I could almost believe they were sleeping. There were no lines of terror etched into their skin, no glazed and sightless eyes staring reproachfully up at me, laying the blame at the dainty feet of the itinerant Daughter of Death.

I observed the thirteen corpses-men and women who up until a few moments ago I'd shared oxygen with-and tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I knew it wasn't my fault, yet I couldn't help but feel responsible for the loss of life. If Jarvis and I hadn't been on this train, would these people still be alive? I had absolutely no idea, and to dwell on the question too long might bring answers I couldn't-and didn't-want to deal with.

Who was I kidding? The time to not not deal with this stuff had pa.s.sed me by about ten minutes earlier when I was walking down Ca.n.a.l Street chowing down on my chicken shawarma. Suddenly, a really horrible thought came unbidden into my mind and wouldn't go away. It sat there like a whiny baby, demanding I pay attention to it. deal with this stuff had pa.s.sed me by about ten minutes earlier when I was walking down Ca.n.a.l Street chowing down on my chicken shawarma. Suddenly, a really horrible thought came unbidden into my mind and wouldn't go away. It sat there like a whiny baby, demanding I pay attention to it.

What if these Deaths had nothing to do with the situation and everything everything to do with me? I'd been set up before and I knew the hallmarks pretty well. Maybe whoever had killed these people had done it to place the blame squarely at my feet? to do with me? I'd been set up before and I knew the hallmarks pretty well. Maybe whoever had killed these people had done it to place the blame squarely at my feet?

"Jarvis, we have to get out of here before we get to the next stop," I said, looking over at the sh.e.l.l-shocked faun, who only nodded. "Otherwise, you and I are going to end up locked away in a human prison for the next thousand years."

"These poor people," Jarvis said, his voice trembling with emotion.

"I know," I said, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, "but right now I need you to ignore everything in this subway car and open a wormhole so we can get out of here before the police lay their hands on us."

Jarvis nodded, but his eyes were still locked on the motionless human bodies. "Please, Jarvis," I said, feeling the brakes of the subway car engage as the train began its imminent stop at the next station.

"We have to go now."

The meaning of my words finally seemed to penetrate, and he sighed, tearing his eyes away from the grisly sight that surrounded us. The car began to jerk, wheels grinding against the track as we neared our final destination.

"I'm sorry, shall I do it now?" he asked, distracted.

I nodded my head. "Yes. Now would definitely definitely be a good time." be a good time."

I held on to the little faun, as much for my support as his own, while he began the preparations for the spell. He mumbled a few words under his breath and then the air around us split, revealing a gaping hole in the ether in front of us. Pulses of staticky, amber-colored lightning cascaded out of the wormhole, coursing down the metal carriage of the subway car and slithering like electrically charged worms as they shot across the floor toward us.

Jarvis let out a low moan as the light converged around his hooves and then shot up his haunches. Instinctively, I took a step back as the fierce amber light consumed Jarvis's whole body and he moaned again, painfully. The light flared and then began to burn out, its gold tones fading into Jarvis's skin. As soon as he looked reasonably normal again, I reached out for him, steadying his body as he fainted into unconsciousness.

I gasped, never having seen a wormhole behave in quite this manner before. Usually they were more like swirling ma.s.ses of black nothingness that you stepped through in order to quickly get to a new location in time and/or s.p.a.ce. Sure, it beat the h.e.l.l out of traditional traveling methods as far as efficiency was concerned, but I wasn't really a fan. The whole experience always left me feeling like a load of wash that'd been tossed around too long in an overenergetic dryer.

The train jerked twice as it screeched to a stop, the doors sliding open to admit the next wave of commuters. There was a bloodcurdling scream as the people on the platform discovered the carnage awaiting them inside. As much as instinct prevailed upon me to see what was happening back on the platform, I didn't dare turn my head. I was afraid if I wasted any more time, Jarvis and I were going to get lynched by the angry mob. With as much strength as I could muster, I looped my arm around Jarvis's waist and, straining under our combined weight, dragged the two of us into the gaping wormhole.

It was only much later, as I stood on the brink of losing everything and everyone I loved, that I truly understood the omnipotence of fate. It didn't matter what choice I'd made that day-to stay or to go was irrelevant-the hands of fate had been set into motion by a chain of events I had absolutely no control over. Of course, I had no idea then that fate was actually leading us out of the frying pan . . . and into the searing heat of the fire. and into the searing heat of the fire.

four.

The wormhole took me back to work on time-actually with two two minutes to spare-and in a relatively economical manner. I usually likened travel by wormhole to riding a Tilt-a-Whirl on the "spin your head off setting," but on this trip there'd been only minimal trauma to my person via the wormhole's pummeling effects and I'd even managed, unbelievably, to keep my chicken shawarma pita down in my stomach where it belonged. minutes to spare-and in a relatively economical manner. I usually likened travel by wormhole to riding a Tilt-a-Whirl on the "spin your head off setting," but on this trip there'd been only minimal trauma to my person via the wormhole's pummeling effects and I'd even managed, unbelievably, to keep my chicken shawarma pita down in my stomach where it belonged.

As glad as I was not to be on the subway car anymore, I had to say going back to work was not exactly what I'd imagined when I'd initially stepped into the wormhole. Personally, I didn't want to return to my cubicle and stare at my eyestrainingly bright computer screen while trying not to worry about whether or not the NYPD was hot on my trail, patiently waiting to take me out back and firing-squad me with a pack of Uzi machine guns. Ostensibly, my arrest would be for masterminding a full-scale terrorist ma.s.sacre on the New York City Subway System-something I did not not do and had do and had no no intention of taking any false credit for-but G.o.d knows what other trumped-up charges they might decide to add to the warrant. intention of taking any false credit for-but G.o.d knows what other trumped-up charges they might decide to add to the warrant.

My fear of the NYPD was then compounded by the terror that my boss, Hyacinth, would stride out of her office to ask me where her dry cleaning was and, instead, would find me nervously biting my nails as I stood over my sh.e.l.l-shocked and "not so imaginary" faun friend who was sitting catatonically in my rolling black office chair.

Loverly.

Lucky for us, the wormhole hadn't dropped us off at my cubicle, but had had the decency to deposit us into an empty stall in one of the office unis.e.x bathrooms. That meant there were at least a hallway and the office kitchen between me and the end of normal life as I knew it.

"Jarvis? Are you okay?" I asked, crawling over to where he lay on the cold, tiled floor. He shrugged, his face turned away so I couldn't read his expression, but I had a feeling Jarvis was not feeling okay, regardless of what the shrug implied.

I crawled over to the bathroom door and slid the lock into place. There was another bathroom at the other end of the hall, so if someone had to pee they could just go there. I sighed, easing myself against the wall facing a bank of sinks and the long rectangular-and unforgiving-mirror that hung above them. I could finally see Jarvis's face reflected back at me and was surprised to discover he wasn't as badly off as I'd first thought.

"I really need your help," I said lamely.

He caught me looking over at him and gave me a wink, shaking off the traumatized look he'd worn ever since we'd wormholed out of the subway. He sighed and sat up, shakily brus.h.i.+ng the dirt and debris from the subway car off his suit jacket.

"I have been racking my brain, trying to understand what happened," Jarvis said. He stood up and walked over to the bank of sinks, turning one on and vigorously was.h.i.+ng his hands with the tropical-scented hand soap from the dispenser.

My dad's Executive a.s.sistant was a bit of a clean freak, but then I was, too, so at least we had that in common.

"Any ideas yet?" I asked. "Because, honestly, I feel like there's some jerkoid out there trying to set me up. It's the only thing that makes any sense."

Jarvis nodded, drying his hands with a paper towel.