Death's Daughter Part 2

"Leave me alone!" I almost shrieked, dragging myself to my feet and stumbling out of the stall toward the bank of sinks on the far wall. I caught sight of my reflection in the long wall mirror and nearly choked. I looked like Death warmed over. My light brown hair was in disarray, and there were dark circles underneath my large brown eyes. I even had this weird pinched look on my normally reasonably attractive face.

Without warning, more images-memories really-streamed into my brain, and I ran back to the stall to throw up bile, the only thing left in my stomach.

"It's hard-core food poisoning. That's all it is," I said to myself as I sat back on my heels and held the toilet seat for support. Yet even before the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were wrong. It wasn't food poisoning; it was something far worse than getting a minor dose of salmonella and upchucking organic, gluten-free baked goods all over the place.

I was in full possession of my memory again, and that was why my insides had tried to run away screaming. The Forgetting Charm I'd placed on myself three years before so that I could lead a normal existence for the first time in twenty-four years had been reversed.

And it was all because of a G.o.dd.a.m.ned enchanted cupcake G.o.dd.a.m.ned enchanted cupcake!

I plucked up my courage and said the name that had instantly come into my head when I had finally acknowledged the truth of the situation to myself.

"Jarvis . . . ?" I said, letting the name float in the ether. When no one responded immediately, I looked around, hoping I had gotten lucky, that maybe I had really only imagined this whole thing after all.

But I knew it wasn't the case. All the weird experiences I'd been having recently finally made sense now. It sucked because I actually found myself wis.h.i.+ng I were losing my mind instead of the alternative.

"Show yourself!" I said without hesitation. If this was what I thought thought it was, then I was going to nip it right in the bud before Jarvis could even get started. it was, then I was going to nip it right in the bud before Jarvis could even get started.

I guess he must have gotten held up somewhere along the line because it took him thirty more seconds before he finally materialized in the room.

"Oh my G.o.d . . . it is is you!" I squealed as I tried not to faint from shock. Leaning against the wall for support, I took lots of deep, calming breaths to stave off the faintness, so I could take a good look at the man staring at me from across the bank of sinks. you!" I squealed as I tried not to faint from shock. Leaning against the wall for support, I took lots of deep, calming breaths to stave off the faintness, so I could take a good look at the man staring at me from across the bank of sinks.

Jarvis was small-no more than four-eleven on a good day-and now, as he appeared in the corner of the unis.e.x bathroom, he was exactly as I remembered him: miniature miniature. Still, he looked impeccable in a dark double-breasted jacket that matched perfectly with his cream-colored dress s.h.i.+rt and cravat.

"In the flesh," he said as he took a careful bow, bending as low to the ground as his goat-shaped haunches would allow. You see, Jarvis was actually, by birth, a faun. And one of the proudest I've ever met. The word "goat" was anathema to him. If you ever want your teeth knocked out for free, just call Jarvis a "goat-boy."

"s.h.i.+t! s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t," I said.

Lovely, I already have a great great start on the whole nipping it in the bud thing, start on the whole nipping it in the bud thing, I thought sarcastically to myself. I thought sarcastically to myself.

"What're you doing here?" I squeaked, trying to pull myself together but failing miserably. "Father and I had a rule! As long as I was under the Forgetting Charm, you guys had to leave me alone!"

Jarvis held up his hand warningly.

"Talk to the hand."

Well, that stopped me in my tracks. I mean, it had been more than a decade since someone pulled a Fran Drescher on me.

"Excuse me, Jarvis, but I'm gonna have to stop you right there," I said, my voice beginning to return to its normal pitch. "Because that is so so 1995." 1995."

He pursed his lips, his mouth pink and plump underneath the thick black mustache he always wore. Then he wiggled his large, hawkish nose unhappily at me. He obviously did not like me calling out his little faux pas like that, but I felt it was my duty as a member of the pop culture police to maintain the sanct.i.ty of twenty-first-century pop culture everywhere.

"That is neither here nor there, Mistress Calliope-"

"Nah-uh-uh!" I said, cutting him off midsentence and nearly poking him in the nose with an angrily pointed index finger. "There will be none of that 'mistress' stuff around here."

Jarvis sighed, running a well-manicured hand through the thick, pomaded black hair.

"Fine, Mistress-I mean, Miss Miss Calliope, but if you would just listen for a moment without taking exception . . ." Calliope, but if you would just listen for a moment without taking exception . . ."

But I didn't want want to hear what Jarvis had to say. It had taken years of work-and the use of a heavy-duty Forgetting Charm-to extricate myself from my family, and there was no way in h.e.l.l I was gonna let goat-boy drag me back into that to hear what Jarvis had to say. It had taken years of work-and the use of a heavy-duty Forgetting Charm-to extricate myself from my family, and there was no way in h.e.l.l I was gonna let goat-boy drag me back into that insanity insanity without a fight. without a fight.

"I think you should just disapparate back to wherever you came from, Jarvis Jarvis," I said, turning on my heel and storming toward the door.

"And you can tell my father that I have nothing to say to him that I haven't already said before!" I added, turning back around to glare. "So, there's no use calling in his Executive a.s.sistant or any other tricks of the trade to get me to change my mind!"

I put my hands on the bathroom door, and a wave of happiness flooded through my body as I felt the door begin to inch forward.

Behind me, I heard the sound of a small sniffle sniffle.

Well, that stopped me cold. It wasn't like my father's Executive a.s.sistant to lose his composure or, in fact, to show any emotion at all besides displeasure.

"I can't tell him," Jarvis said, his voice pinched and funny-sounding.

I turned back to face him, the blood running like liquid nitrogen in my veins.

"What do you mean . . . you can't tell him you can't tell him," I said quietly.

Jarvis, now having lost his stiff upper lip, was sniffling loudly into a pale cream hankie. He waved his hand at me, indicating that he was unable to talk.

"What do you mean, Jarvis?" I said again, this time grabbing the poor little man by the shoulders and giving him a good shake.

Whenever I'm truly, utterly terrified, my body goes all funny, and suddenly I find myself grabbing something or somebody and shaking 'em. Not a great fight-or-flight response, but it's just the way I was built. That day in the unis.e.x bathroom with Jarvis was no exception.

He shrieked like a little schoolgirl and tried to cover his head with his hankie. If I hadn't been so freaked-out, the image of my father's right-hand man cowering from me me-under a piece of flimsy cream silk, no less-would have made me wet myself with laughter.

Instead, I released the little faun and watched as he tried, in vain, to keep his balance. His small hooven feet were no match for gravity, and he tumbled into a heap on the tile floor.

He glared up at me, his eyes like two smoldering coals in his handsome face. I could almost see the steam trying to escape out his ears.

"I shouldn't have told your mother I'd do this. It was a waste, waste, waste of time," he whispered angrily under his breath as he tried to use a sink to pull himself back onto his hooves. I offered him my hand, but he snorted and refused to take it.

"My mother mother sent you?" I stammered. sent you?" I stammered.

This bit of information was almost unimaginable. My mother never spoke to Jarvis. Not because she didn't like him, or was mean-hearted or anything. It just wasn't done. done. Jarvis was my father's boy, taking his orders directly from the man on high himself. Jarvis was my father's boy, taking his orders directly from the man on high himself.

"Why would my mother mother send you?" send you?"

Jarvis ignored me, focusing instead on brus.h.i.+ng bits of lint from the bathroom floor off his suit coat. I began to pace, trying to work out what the h.e.l.l was going on.

This visit was highly abnormal. As much as I liked to think that I was still a thorn in my father's side, I had to admit that he'd pretty much left me alone since I'd decamped to Sarah Lawrence six years ago. There had been that dramatic plea from my mother to come home to Rhode Island for the holidays during my junior year, but after I'd finally confronted my father about not wanting to go into the family business, and used the Forgetting Charm, there'd been nothing . . . nada, zip, zero.

And now this.

"Look, I'm sorry I freaked out on you, Jarvis," I began.

He looked at me coldly.

"Yes . . . ? Go on."

It was obvious he wanted me to grovel.

"And I'm sorry that I was rude and that I shook you-"

"And that bit about the hand! Apologize for that, too."

I took a deep breath. This was gonna be a hard one.

"And I'm sorry I made fun of your Fran Drescher hand thing . . ."

This seemed to satisfy him, and he smiled, victory his for a fleeting moment. Then he shook his head, clearing the glee from his eyes. When he looked up again, there was something else there, something very much like fear fear.

"It's your father, Miss Calliope. He's been . . . He's been . . . kidnapped kidnapped."

I heard a sharp intake of breath and realized it had come from me.

"But that's impossible," I said, the words rus.h.i.+ng from my lips faster than I could think them into life. "It doesn't make any sense . . . Who in their right mind would want to kidnap Death?"

three.

Okay, so I lied. I'm not not just a regular girl with a mom, dad, siblings, and dog waving in front of a two-story suburban Colonial enclosed on all sides by a perfect little white picket fence. Nope, that's not my life at all. just a regular girl with a mom, dad, siblings, and dog waving in front of a two-story suburban Colonial enclosed on all sides by a perfect little white picket fence. Nope, that's not my life at all.

In counterpoint to all that, I was raised in Newport, Rhode Island, in a disgustingly large, old mansion called Sea Verge, which-even though it could have housed seven seven families to our families to our one one-I adored with all my heart. Commissioned in 1875 by the s.h.i.+pping heiress Sophia Miles-Stanton to be the jewel of Bellevue Avenue, Sea Verge had fourteen bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a ball-room, a formal dining room, a gourmet kitchen, a swimming pool, and a twelve-car garage. All of which were surrounded by the most stunning views of the Rhode Island Sound that ever existed.

Growing up, I spent my summers and school vacations at Sea Verge, while the rest of the year I attended the New Newbridge Academy, a prestigious boarding school in Connecticut. I didn't mind going back to New Newbridge at the start of every school year-it was as interesting a place as any to spend my childhood, full of eccentric teachers and even stranger students. It's also where I met my best friend, Noh, whom I still consider to be the greatest girl in all of New England.

From afar, my life seems privileged but relatively normal. My father is the President and CEO of a multinational conglomerate. My mom is a socialite who spends the majority of her time arranging fund-raisers for all manner of charitable organizations. My older sister, Thalia, is a Senior Vice President in my father's company. My younger sister, Clio, is still in high school, and I, as you know, am a peon in the home and garden industry.

What you don't know is that behind all this supposed normalcy is a deep, dark secret-a secret I had tried to erase with a Forgetting Charm. But I guess you can't ever really run away from your past no matter how many charms you put on yourself. It's a secret I discovered one hot summer afternoon while playing a game of hide-and-seek down in the cellar at Sea Verge with Clio.

We had chosen to play in the cellar-a place neither one of us had, up until that day, spent much time in-because the cellar, being firmly underground, was about ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the house. I don't have much memory of that day, just a vague recollection of spending the vast majority of the game pretending not to see five-year-old Clio hiding behind a heap of moldering coal left in the cellar since electricity had been brought to Newport.

The whole cellar thing had been my bright idea, so I guess it was only fitting that I would be the one to find the door. It was small, with a thick oak frame and a strange, rough-hewn wrought-iron handle in the shape of an evil eye stuck in the middle of its heavy wooden body.

What's so amazing about a door? I bet you're asking yourself. What could possibly be behind its wooden frame-short of a dozen dead bodies, and/or a herd of elephants-that would change my perception of the world forever? I bet you're asking yourself. What could possibly be behind its wooden frame-short of a dozen dead bodies, and/or a herd of elephants-that would change my perception of the world forever?

You see, what was behind this particular doorway was something very special. A magical wormhole, if you will, that led to a place that immediately topped anything my adolescent mind had ever imagined.

A place we'll call, for lack of a better name . . . h.e.l.l.

i think the door handle was hot when I touched it that first time, but I don't know for sure. I might only have imagined it, but I know the door did did give way easily as I turned the handle, opening inward, so I was able to see what lay behind it only after it had been opened all the way. At first, my mind couldn't grasp the idea of a wide, open desert lying just behind. I knew for a fact the cellar was underground, that the only thing the door should open onto was another room. Yet, there, right before my eyes, was a whole other world waiting for me to explore. give way easily as I turned the handle, opening inward, so I was able to see what lay behind it only after it had been opened all the way. At first, my mind couldn't grasp the idea of a wide, open desert lying just behind. I knew for a fact the cellar was underground, that the only thing the door should open onto was another room. Yet, there, right before my eyes, was a whole other world waiting for me to explore.

Confusion quickly gave way to wonder, and I found myself stepping over the threshold into the strange, new realm. A little voice inside my head told me to close the door, that this was something for my eyes only and it would be a mistake for Clio to follow me there.

Just like that, as soon as I felt the door shut, I knew I'd made a mistake. I swung back around, frantic to get back into the cellar, but of course, the door was gone, empty air filling the void where it had once been.

I don't think I'd ever really really been scared before that moment. My life had been pretty average. I'd had nightmares, and once when I was six, I'd been thrown headfirst off a pony I was riding, but that was it. Now fear, the real deal thing, began to creep up my spine, settle in my stomach, and fill my head with images of the family and friends I would never get to see ever again. been scared before that moment. My life had been pretty average. I'd had nightmares, and once when I was six, I'd been thrown headfirst off a pony I was riding, but that was it. Now fear, the real deal thing, began to creep up my spine, settle in my stomach, and fill my head with images of the family and friends I would never get to see ever again.

I'd like to say I was a tough little kid, who told fear where to shove it, but I can't. Instead, the truth is much more pathetic. I sat down right there on the ground and began to sob. Not just tears, but great heaving breaths that filled my aching lungs and made the veins in my head throb. I must have sat like that for a good twenty minutes before I was finally able to collect myself and stop crying. Wiping my eyes and nose on the back of my hand, I crawled onto my knees, determined to find my way home, even if it killed me.

As the fear receded, the first thing I noticed about my new environs was how hot it was. Not just "Newport in the summer hot," but, like, really, really, really really hot. I looked down at my bare arm and saw a strange sheen on my skin. It suddenly dawned on me that it was so hot the sweat was literally hot. I looked down at my bare arm and saw a strange sheen on my skin. It suddenly dawned on me that it was so hot the sweat was literally evaporating evaporating from my skin before it could form, leaving a thin coating of salt instead. Thank G.o.d I was only wearing a thin pink tank top and shorts, or I would've been roasting. from my skin before it could form, leaving a thin coating of salt instead. Thank G.o.d I was only wearing a thin pink tank top and shorts, or I would've been roasting.

The heat also made it harder to breathe, and I found myself wheezing a bit as I stood up and looked around. About five hundred feet in front of me there was what seemed to be a small oasis in the middle of the empty landscape. I hadn't noticed it before, which was strange, but I had had been pretty preoccupied. been pretty preoccupied.

I was too far away to make out anything other than a droopy palm tree shading the pool, and the gleam of water reflecting back the harsh desert sunlight, but I moved toward it anyway. There didn't seem to be much else for me to do, my options being to stay where I was and roast, or to head to the oasis and try to get a drink.

When I was a few feet from the water, I noticed a disheveled man in a ragged robe hiding behind the palm tree. He was just thin enough so that the only thing I saw of him at first was his beak of a nose, shoes, and a bit of dirty white robe.

As I reached the water, he stepped out from behind the tree and bowed. He had squinty gray eyes that looked like marbles in his sun-browned face and a greasy mop of dark-colored hair. He lifted himself out of the bow and smiled, revealing two rows of mismatched yellow teeth. All I could think about was what my dentist would say if he ever saw my teeth looking like that.

"h.e.l.lo, madame. What a fine day it is, no?"

His voice was high and squeaky with a trace of a French accent. His words surprised me, and I took a step backward, not wanting to get too close to him.

"I guess so . . ." I said, my tone uncertain. I mean, it was a sweltering day with no end to the heat in sight, but if he wanted to ignore that and stick to pleasantries, I wasn't going to argue with him.

"My name is Marcel, madame, but you may call me Monsieur D," he said, his lips snaking up to reveal pinched pink gums. It was a horrible rictus of a smile. He bowed again quickly, his head immediately snapping back up to stare at me.

"I'm Calliope."

He spoke my name quietly under his breath, letting the l l's trill in his mouth like a hiss. While he was committing my name to his memory, I was taking a closer look at him.

It was only upon this second inspection that I realized he was tethered to the palm tree by what looked like a sheer nylon string. It was almost invisible against the sand, but occasionally the line caught a bit of sunlight and reflected it. As soon as I noticed this, I was entranced.

Why was this strange man tied to the palm tree?

"Why are you tied to the palm tree?" I asked, blunt in my innocence. Monsieur D immediately blanched, the air expelling from his lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I do not know what you mean," he replied.

"That," I said. I pointed at the nylon string for extra emphasis.

"This?" he said, reaching down and tweaking the nylon string with his long fingers. he said, reaching down and tweaking the nylon string with his long fingers. "This "This is is nothing." nothing."

He tried to laugh-to show how in control in control of the situation he was, I guess-but the laughter came out like a bark, then the bark became a choked sob. I watched as the ragged-looking wretch threw himself down in the sand and cried. of the situation he was, I guess-but the laughter came out like a bark, then the bark became a choked sob. I watched as the ragged-looking wretch threw himself down in the sand and cried.

I didn't really want to touch him, but something inside of me-pity, I think-made me close the gap between us. I kneeled down beside him, noticing for the first time how much larger than me he was. He had seemed small, dwarfed by the palm tree, but now, in such close proximity, I noted the long, skinny arms and legs and the large, shapely head and hands.

"It's okay," I said, thumping him on the back with the palm of my right hand. It was the closest thing to consoling Monsieur D I could make myself do. I didn't know the guy, so I was not not going to give him a hug. going to give him a hug.

"You don't understand," he said, looking up at me with baleful but drying eyes. "And I am not allowed to talk about my situation situation, so I am afraid we find ourselves at an impa.s.se, Calliope."