Death's Daughter Part 15

"I installed them three months ago after I noticed someone had broken into my room," she said with a sigh. I looked around her room, at all the computer gadgetry strewn across the floor, taking up s.p.a.ce on her desk, and probably even sp.a.w.ning baby computer gadgetry under her bed, and couldn't fathom in the least how she'd been able to guess someone had gone through her stuff.

"I know it looks like a mess to you, but to me . . . not even a little bit. I know where everything is, and I know when someone has been in here," she continued.

"Okay," I said, "I believe you. But why would anyone want to go through your room?"

If I hadn't been watching Clio so intently, I'd have totally missed it. That spark of fear in her eyes that caught fire for only the briefest of moments, then was gone . . . completely extinguished like it had never existed at all.

"That's the weird part," she said carefully. "I don't know know why." why."

fourteen.

My little sister, Clio, had an incredibly high IQ-which was why I'd decided that securing her help was paramount to my getting through the tasks and rescuing Father, Thalia, and Jarvis-so if she she was freaked-out about someone tossing her room, well, then I should pay the event special attention. was freaked-out about someone tossing her room, well, then I should pay the event special attention.

"They weren't looking for drugs or anything?" I asked suddenly, the idea springing fully formed into my brain. Better to be thorough than PC when all you have are suspicions, Better to be thorough than PC when all you have are suspicions, I thought to myself, knowing full well that Clio was totally gonna take offense at the question. I thought to myself, knowing full well that Clio was totally gonna take offense at the question.

It was was a long shot, but my mother could be a little hysterical at times, and Drugs-with a capital a long shot, but my mother could be a little hysterical at times, and Drugs-with a capital D D-were a well-known Caroline Reaper-Jones hysteria catalyst. When I was a soph.o.m.ore in high school, she'd once made me pee on a stick to prove I wasn't smoking pot, and another time she'd accused me of drinking all the vodka in the living room liquor cabinet and replacing it with water. Even though the idea would've never occurred to me, I still felt as guilty as if I'd been the one who'd done it. It was just terrible.

Clio glared at me, the peeved look on her face more than sufficient to make me want to retract what I'd said.

"It was just a thought . . ." I began.

"I don't need drugs, Cal. I have my computer. That and the Internet is enough of an addiction for any any person, don't you think?" person, don't you think?"

I had no idea. I didn't own a computer, but but the one at work did have me slightly addicted to solitaire, so I guess she had a point. We all had our own addictions, no matter how weird they seemed to everyone else. the one at work did have me slightly addicted to solitaire, so I guess she had a point. We all had our own addictions, no matter how weird they seemed to everyone else.

Does anyone want to talk about her shopping addiction? a little voice in the back of my head said, and I started to feel a bit guilty about my love-hate relations.h.i.+p with clothing. The hate part coming from my inability to afford all the scrumptious designer stuff I coveted. a little voice in the back of my head said, and I started to feel a bit guilty about my love-hate relations.h.i.+p with clothing. The hate part coming from my inability to afford all the scrumptious designer stuff I coveted.

"Did you ask anyone about it?"

Clio groaned. "You mean Mom?"

I nodded.

"She told me I was being ridiculous," Clio said. "Even Thalia thought I was 'blowing things out of proportion. ' "

"You told Thalia?" I asked, curious now. I hadn't realized that Clio and Thalia were that close. Actually, I'd thought Clio and I I were the tight ones, but I guess when you're not around to listen to your baby sister's problems, she finds someone else to talk to. were the tight ones, but I guess when you're not around to listen to your baby sister's problems, she finds someone else to talk to.

"Yeah, she was here, helping Dad with some meeting thing, and I wouldn't have said anything to her because she gets that know-it-all tone in her voice which just p.i.s.ses me off, but Mom thought my complaint was a ploy for attention and decided to tell Dad and Thalia about it," Clio said angrily. "Like embarra.s.sing me was going to discourage me from being a pain in her b.u.t.t or something. Yeah, right."

For some reason, the fact that Clio thought Thalia was as snooty as I did made me feel extremely pleased.

"Well, I don't blame you for getting the locks, then. I hate it when anyone even looks looks at my stuff," I said helpfully. at my stuff," I said helpfully.

Clio gave me a big smile, and Runt thumped her tail on the carpet.

"So, on to more pressing business," I said. "How do we do this TV thing you're talking about?"

I still didn't quite see how we were going to travel through a television set, but I was willing to give it a shot if Clio said it would work.

"I thought you'd never ask," she said with an impish gleam in her eye.

where my sister got the forty-two-inch plasma-screen TV was beyond me. I had a d.i.n.ky old twenty-one-inch picture tube that cast a green pallor over all the shows I watched on it, so that everything just ended up looking like an Incredible Hulk Incredible Hulk rerun. Clio's, on the other hand, was a crisp, HD-ready baby, the kind I'd seen proudly displayed in every electronics store window over the past few months. rerun. Clio's, on the other hand, was a crisp, HD-ready baby, the kind I'd seen proudly displayed in every electronics store window over the past few months.

"Nice," I said as I ran a finger down the s.h.i.+ny black edge of the TV. It hung on the wall across from her bed, but I would've never even known it was there if Clio hadn't shown it to me. For some unknown-to-me reason, she had decided to hide her little plasma baby behind a long black drape that hung from the ceiling. True, all she had to do was move the fabric aside to watch the television, but I still found the whole thing odd, regardless.

There was a lot more to Clio than met the eye. I was definitely glad she was on my side, or I'd have long since been caught and thrown into Purgatory with Jarvis.

"Explain the whole thing to me one more time," I said as Clio slid a DVD into the DVD player and turned on the TV.

"It's really quite simple, Cal. Although I don't think me explaining it twenty times is gonna make you understand the concept any better."

"Just hit me again," I said, annoyed. She reached back her hand to slap me, but I took three steps back.

"Not literally, G.o.d, Clio!"

"Just kidding," she said, pressing the play b.u.t.ton. "You're so so gullible." gullible."

Immediately, the screen was filled with that really annoying FBI warning that says YOU'RE GOING TO JAIL in huge block letters, but then only explains why why in a really tiny font that you can't read unless you're standing an inch from the screen. in a really tiny font that you can't read unless you're standing an inch from the screen.

"Basically, Cal, it all comes down to quantum physics," Clio said as the FBI warning seemed to go on into perpetuity. "Magic and all that stuff is really very scientific, although, if you read all the big science journals, they're still trying to agree on whether or not quantum physics is even real."

I must've looked like I was drawing a blank, because Clio instantly clammed up.

"Go on," I said. "Physics is fake. I get it. Whatever."

Clio rolled her eyes and looked down at Runt.

"Hard to believe we're related, huh?"

Runt flicked her eyes in my direction, then back at Clio before giving a short bark, which I could only take as an affirmation.

Fair-weather friend, I thought bitterly, but then Runt padded over to me and nuzzled my hand, and all was forgiven. I thought bitterly, but then Runt padded over to me and nuzzled my hand, and all was forgiven.

"Don't worry, Runt. We all know Clio's the genius in the family," I said, patting her head.

The DVD menu finally came up on the screen, but Clio ignored it, still trying to find a way to make me understand all the science stuff she loved so much.

"In layman's terms, Cal, quantum physics is all about the tiniest particles in the universe and how they interact. For some reason, some beings can tap into these tiny particles and manipulate them, basically bending matter to their will. That's what magic magic really is. And that's how we're gonna take a trip into the TV." really is. And that's how we're gonna take a trip into the TV."

"So, I'm a matter bender?" I said, confused.

Clio took a deep breath. She must've thought I was a complete idiot, but it wasn't my fault that math and science had just never come as easily to me as art and English had.

Although, if any of my science teachers had been as cool as Clio, I thought to myself, I thought to myself, I might've liked science a whole lot better. I might've liked science a whole lot better.

"Okay, Cal, let's just say quantum physics is a lot like baking."

Now baking wasn't exactly my strong suit, but I did did know how to boil an egg, make mac and cheese, and heat up a can of soup, so this was at least a good jumping-off point. know how to boil an egg, make mac and cheese, and heat up a can of soup, so this was at least a good jumping-off point.

"When you bake a cake, you have lots of different ingredients that you use, right?" Clio said, and I nodded. "So, you could say that a cook was a 'matter bender' because they could take lots of little things and magically make them into something else."

"Like a cake," I said, and Clio nodded.

"Like a cake. Exactly. And to someone who'd never seen anyone bake a cake, it would seem like magic-"

"Because they'd never experienced anything like it before!"

"You got it!" Clio said, pleased with herself.

"I do. I totally get it now," I said, and for the first time in my life I understood what it felt like to be a science geek or a mathlete.

Smiling, Clio picked up Runt's leash, then pressed the play b.u.t.ton on the remote control.

Suddenly, the room was filled with the melancholy strains of a lone sitar, and on the screen, a neon-colored Palace scene burst into life with what appeared to be bundles of brightly colored fabric writhing all over the place. The music picked up purposefully-and, like, ten other instruments joined the fray-as the camera zoomed in closer, revealing that the writhing bundles of fabric were actually a bevy of gorgeous Indian women in pink and orange neon saris lip-syncing their little lips off like Ashlee Simpson.

d.a.m.n, this is crazy stuff on the TV!

I took a deep breath.

"Let's go bake a cake," I said, taking Clio's hand and closing my eyes.

my nose was instantly a.s.sailed by a mouthwatering bouquet of cardamom and cinnamon wafting in on the tail end of a dry, hot wind. As the pungent scents and hot air encircled me, enveloping me in their heady embrace, the bottom suddenly dropped out of my stomach, and I started to scream. It was like being on one of those horrible carnival rides where they send you fifty feet up into the air at a slow crawl, then drop you back to the earth in the s.p.a.ce of three seconds.

We hit the ground hard, and I found myself lying in a ball, my face pressed against the cold, hard cement floor. I almost gagged when I tasted blood, thick and salty, in my mouth. Somewhere, like a distant echo in the ether around me, I heard a muted knocking knocking, but I decided that it would have to wait since I was too busy trying not to pa.s.s out right then.

After a few seconds of deep breathing, I opened my eyes and sat up, letting the dizziness dissipate before feeling for the place where I'd cut my lip. It wasn't bad, but I was definitely going to have the "Lisa Rinna on a Restalyn binge" smile for a while. She paid good money for the fat-lip look so I probably shouldn't complain since mine came tres tres cheap. cheap.

The place was poorly lit, but I could see that I was in a janitor's supply closet, totally not not the place I'd intended to find myself in. the place I'd intended to find myself in.

"You okay?" Clio said from somewhere behind me. I turned around and nodded, pointing like a triumphant child to my war wound.

"Fat lip," I mumbled, nauseated as a fresh flow of blood dribbled into my mouth. Yuck! Yuck!

"Why are we in a broom closet?" Clio said, looking around, her pretty face scrunched thoughtfully.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out," I said, crawling over on my hands and knees to the doorway. I motioned for Clio and Runt to stay back as I turned the doork.n.o.b, easing the door open half an inch.

"Oh my G.o.d!" I squeaked, scuttling backward like a crab, my ears ringing from the loud music and the rush of Day-Glo orange and rhinestone-covered fabric that had almost blinded me. I'd processed enough in those few seconds of voyeurism to realize that the sari-wearing women we'd been watching on television were now whirling like dervishes right outside our janitor's closet.

"Stay back," I said as Clio crawled up behind me to look over my shoulder through the crack in the doorway.

"Wow, it's like a Skittles commercial out there."

She was right. The colors were so intense they were almost unnatural.

Runt whined, hoping we'd take pity on her and let her climb up next to us. I figured she deserved to see as much as we did, so I picked up her leash and guided her toward my lap.

Bad idea.

Something about the colors, or the way the rhinestones reflected in the bright klieg lights, freaked Runt out. She crawled right up to the doorway, barking like a maniac, and nosed the door open. I pulled on her leash, trying to drag her back, but it was like playing tug-of-war with a very strong, very obstinate baby elephant.

Suddenly, the leash went taut, and Runt was off like a shot. In the s.p.a.ce of two seconds, I found myself flat on my stomach-my lungs compressed to the size of empty Ziploc freezer bags-being dragged out of the closet through the doorway and into the melee of swirling saris.

Even though the idea of breaking my face on some h.e.l.lish version of the doggie Slip 'n Slide terrified me, I refused to let go of the leash. Runt had saved my life, and even if she did insist on behaving like a dog, I wasn't gonna let her get run over by all those dancing girls.

"Callie!" I heard Clio say in a high, reedy voice that was totally unlike her own. For the first time in my remembrance, my little sister sounded scared. If I hadn't been so busy trying not to get my teeth knocked out of my head by the onrus.h.i.+ng ground, I might've been moved by the idea that she cared enough about me to be so worried.

For the second time that day, I was literally saved from serious injury by an ankle.

I felt a hard, teeth-jarring tug on my leg, and then I was airborne, my body hovering three inches off the ground, a human suspension bridge between an ecstatic h.e.l.l-born pup and my techno-geek teenage sister.

"Ow!" I yelped, my body twisting painfully with Runt's every bark. "Shut up, Runt!" I yelped, my body twisting painfully with Runt's every bark. "Shut up, Runt!"

I looked behind me to see Clio gripping my ankle like it was going out of style.

"Hold on," she said through clenched teeth, her face bright red from the exertion of keeping Runt and me from running headlong into the sea of Bollywood dancers. As it was, a few of the buxom Indian women had already noticed our, ahem ahem, "strange appearance," and had stopped whirling in order to gape and point at us with their long, orange and pink lacquered nails. I had to hand it to whoever was running this show, because their "attention to detail" was impeccable.

Suddenly, the music came to a grinding halt, and the dancers ceased their lyrical movements so that, as if by telepathy, they could all turn their heads in unison to stare at us. In the silence that followed, I realized that Runt had stopped barking.

"Oh, c.r.a.p," I said, my body slamming face-first into the cement as Runt sat back on her haunches, slackening her hold on me. The pain was intense. It actually kind of reminded me of the time when I was ten, and we were on a family vacation at this sw.a.n.ky resort in South Carolina, and I decided to dive off the superhigh dive at the resort pool.

I thought I was just the coolest in my sleek hot pink one-piece Speedo, standing thirty feet up in the air, waving at my sisters, who were chickening it out in the shallow end. I took the board at a run, my body sailing out into the nothingness like I was some kind of seabird G.o.ddess. Then, out of nowhere, the whole thing took a turn for the dark side. I just couldn't get my body to twist the way I wanted, and suddenly, without warning, the ride was over, and I had belly flopped, my nerve endings screaming with the searing hot pain of delicate skin on still water.

Soooo embarra.s.sing.

I was pulled out of my reverie by the sound of sharp heels clicking on cement. My mind still reeling from my three-inch cement belly flop, I looked up, expecting to see a pair of high heels making their way toward me, but instead, I found myself greeted by the sight of two s.h.i.+ny black patent leather men's loafers. They were polished to such a mirrored s.h.i.+ne that I could literally see my face reflected back at me, fat lip and all.

When they were no more than five inches away from my face, they stopped, the wearer tapping his left toe with impatience.

Tap shoes? I thought, surprised. I thought, surprised. What kind of guy-outside of Gene Kelly, who as far as I was concerned could do no wrong-wears tap shoes in public? What kind of guy-outside of Gene Kelly, who as far as I was concerned could do no wrong-wears tap shoes in public?

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" a male voice said, its East Indian accent clipped by anger. "I do not care for your prostrations before me. Please get up and explain yourself, or I will find myself more upset than usual."

"Ow," I said in response, rubbing my chin where it was throbbing angrily-it was probably as sc.r.a.ped and battered as the rest of me. I closed my eyes, pain drumming itself into my head with every heartbeat. If I kept going at this pace, I was gonna have an ulcer sooner sooner rather than rather than never never. This was really getting to be way way more trouble than it was worth. Maybe the Devil's protege more trouble than it was worth. Maybe the Devil's protege should should just take over Death, Inc., and be done with it. just take over Death, Inc., and be done with it.