Death's Daughter Part 25

"You're alive," a dreamy voice said. I turned my head to find Marcel sitting up, rubbing the back of his skull, a pained expression on his handsome face. "I didn't kill you, after all."

Intellectually, I knew I should've been scared of the guy. The fact that he'd tried to kill me normally would've had me putting, like, a hundred million miles between us, but now somehow I couldn't get all that excited about him.

"Nope," I said. "You didn't kill me."

"d.a.m.n, you drank the water, didn't you," he said, shaking his head sadly. It wasn't really a question, but more of a statement . . . or maybe a judgment. judgment.

"I drank the water," I said calmly. "I'm Death now, not you." Death now, not you."

He gave me a funny look, but didn't say anything. We sat like that, each lost in their own thoughts for quite a while, before I finally said: "Who are you anyway?"

He gave me a crooked grin-his teeth were still s.h.i.+ny white-and said: "You really don't know, do you?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, the irony . . ." he said, his words trailing off into a humorless laugh.

His tone kind of p.i.s.sed me off. Jeez, it wasn't like I got an e-mail every time they added a new addition to The Encyclopedia of Supernatural Beings. The Encyclopedia of Supernatural Beings. How the heck was I supposed to know How the heck was I supposed to know anything anything about nonhuman existence when I'd been living out in the human world for, like, practically about nonhuman existence when I'd been living out in the human world for, like, practically ever ever?

"I am the two hundred and fifth incarnation of Yamatanka," Marcel said, interrupting my thoughts as he offered me his hand. I just looked at it. There was no way jose I I was gonna touch was gonna touch him him because I could literally taste all the bad vibes he was shooting in my direction. Marcel snorted, dropping his hand . . . and any pretense of being a "new friend." because I could literally taste all the bad vibes he was shooting in my direction. Marcel snorted, dropping his hand . . . and any pretense of being a "new friend."

"But you, Calliope Reaper-Jones? You can call me by my lesser-known t.i.tle . . . the Ender of Death the Ender of Death."

"No way? The Ender of Death? The Ender of Death?" I said loudly. "You're joking, right?"

Marcel shook his head firmly.

"I a.s.sure you that I am not not joking. I joking. I am am the two hundred and fifth incarnation of Yamatanka, the Ender of Death." the two hundred and fifth incarnation of Yamatanka, the Ender of Death."

I giggled, and Marcel looked offended.

"Excuse me, do you have any idea who you're talking to-" he began, but I cut him off.

"That's so terrible." I giggled, finally understanding what he'd meant about the "irony" of the situation. Here I was face-to-face with the one being that could destroy me, and he had been the one to make my ascension to Death actually happen-what a riot!

Something suddenly occurred to me: "Hey, you drank the water, too! How can the Ender of Death be allowed to do that? Wouldn't that make you you, like, Death, and the total opposite opposite of yourself?" I demanded. of yourself?" I demanded.

He shook his head.

"It doesn't work that way. I was under an enchantment that only my mortal enemy could break. You You had to give me-of your own free will-the water that brought you to your power in order for my curse to be ended," Marcel said wearily. had to give me-of your own free will-the water that brought you to your power in order for my curse to be ended," Marcel said wearily.

"But why me?" I demanded again.

"Death is your birthright." is your birthright."

"But what about him?" I said, gesturing to Daniel, who was snoring peacefully in the sand. "You kept telling me the water would cure him-and Death is his birthright, too, if what the Devil says is true about him being the next one in line for the job. So, why let kept telling me the water would cure him-and Death is his birthright, too, if what the Devil says is true about him being the next one in line for the job. So, why let either either of us near that stupid water?" of us near that stupid water?"

The crazy thing was, given half a chance, I really would've would've given the water to Daniel first, and then Marcel really would've been dealing with him instead of me. given the water to Daniel first, and then Marcel really would've been dealing with him instead of me.

Wait a minute, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. That's the answer. Marcel would be dealing with him, That's the answer. Marcel would be dealing with him, not not me. And he never meant to deal with me. And he never meant to deal with either either of us! of us!

"You didn't want me to give that water to Daniel at all," I snorted. "That was a trick to make me fill the cup and give it to you you! You knew he he would bleed to death and be out of the running. Plus, you thought would bleed to death and be out of the running. Plus, you thought I'd I'd be a much easier mark anyway. You figured you could kill me be a much easier mark anyway. You figured you could kill me before before I drank any of the water, and then there'd be no Death anymore, at least for a while. Presto, Endo-you could take a vacation!" I drank any of the water, and then there'd be no Death anymore, at least for a while. Presto, Endo-you could take a vacation!"

Marcel looked sheepish.

"Well, that turned out pretty badly for you," I said, giving him the evil eye. I wasn't just some stupid mortal girl wannabe anymore. I was Death Death-and I did not not like being trifled with. like being trifled with.

Without even realizing what I was doing, I found myself crouched right in front of Marcel, my hands around his his throat, squeezing for all I was worth-and my stock had gone up throat, squeezing for all I was worth-and my stock had gone up a lot a lot since I'd drunk that water and accepted my birthright. since I'd drunk that water and accepted my birthright.

"Pwease . . ." he gurgled. he gurgled. "I nee to tell you zomething . . ." "I nee to tell you zomething . . ."

I relaxed the pressure on his voice box. As much as I was enjoying revenge, I didn't want to be careless. If he had something important important to impart before his death . . . to impart before his death . . .

"Please," he stammered, he stammered, "let me go." "let me go."

"Why?" I said, not feeling the least bit in a forgiving mood.

"Because," he said as he gasped for air, he said as he gasped for air, "there's something you don't know." "there's something you don't know."

"I don't think there's anything anything I need to know from I need to know from you you. Once you're dead, I'll wait for the two hundredth and sixth incarnation of Yamatanka-and kill him, too," I replied happily. "Then the two hundredth and seventh, and the two hundredth and eighth . . ." "Then the two hundredth and seventh, and the two hundredth and eighth . . ."

This Death stuff was more fun than a shopping spree at Saks, or a full week's relaxation at the Golden Door. I didn't know why why I hadn't been more accepting of my heritage before. What the h.e.l.l was I thinking, wanting to be a mortal human being? I must've been crazy. I hadn't been more accepting of my heritage before. What the h.e.l.l was I thinking, wanting to be a mortal human being? I must've been crazy.

"Pwease," he gurgled, his face turning bright red as I increased the pressure on his trachea again. he gurgled, his face turning bright red as I increased the pressure on his trachea again. "Lizzen to me . . . if you eba want to zee your father again." "Lizzen to me . . . if you eba want to zee your father again."

d.a.m.n, he said the magic words.

I instantly released him, and he fell, coughing, to the ground. I watched as the blood flooded back into his face, wis.h.i.+ng that instead of him gasping like a codfish in the sand, he were lying as dead and cold as a doork.n.o.b.

"I will spare your life-but only for today-if you tell me where my father is," I said in a detached voice, not wanting him to know exactly how much I wanted to find my father and sister. I didn't want him to think he had any more leverage than he already did. you tell me where my father is," I said in a detached voice, not wanting him to know exactly how much I wanted to find my father and sister. I didn't want him to think he had any more leverage than he already did.

"I . . ." Marcel croaked just as he was consumed by a coughing fit and had to stop.

"Go on," I offered helpfully when he was done hacking. Crossing my arms across my chest, I gave him the most intense stare I could muster, and willed him to get on with his story without coughing up a lung.

Marcel-probably just to p.i.s.s me off and prolong my curiosity to the breaking point-coughed a few more times, then nodded, ready to save his neck with his tongue.

"You are the only one with a birthright," he stammered as the livid imprint of my fingertips emerged like a scarlet necklet around his throat. are the only one with a birthright," he stammered as the livid imprint of my fingertips emerged like a scarlet necklet around his throat.

"He," Marcel continued, pointing at Daniel's p.r.o.ne body, "and one other that you have not met yet have a claim to the job. But you you are the only one with the true birthright." are the only one with the true birthright."

"I don't understand. You told me you knew where my father was, and now you're just babbling on about 'birthrights' and 'claims to the job'? This is bulls.h.i.+t-" I said, advancing toward him angrily with my hands clasped into two hard fists.

But Marcel was much quicker than I'd expected, and he shot across the sand on his belly, sliding into the water like a seal. If the guy hadn't been my mortal enemy-one who had just tried to strangle me in cold blood-well, I might've might've been kind of impressed with the guy's prowess. been kind of impressed with the guy's prowess.

"Figure it out for yourself, if you're not too stupid!" he called back to me, a grimace on his face as he slipped under the water and, with one hard kick of his feet, was gone. Even with all my amazing new powers, I was helpless to do anything but stand there and watch the b.a.s.t.a.r.d disappear to parts unknown.

c.r.a.p, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. I'm not any closer to finding my father, I just let my mortal enemy escape, I'm not any closer to finding my father, I just let my mortal enemy escape, and and I'm still stuck in h.e.l.l! I'm still stuck in h.e.l.l!

The old-Callie part of me wanted to sit down and cry, but the other, newer part of my personality whispered something very very interesting into my brain. It told me that there interesting into my brain. It told me that there was was a way out of h.e.l.l . . . a way out of h.e.l.l . . .

And that was when I realized exactly exactly what the pool of water in front of me was: what the pool of water in front of me was: That sucker is a wormhole.

twenty-four.

The old me would've taken Daniel into the wormhole with me, gone back to New York, found a safe place to drop him off-preferably a hospital or an Urgent Care Clinic-and then hung around in the waiting room to make sure he wasn't the proud owner of a concussion, a laceration, or a slight decapitation.

Instead, the new me-the Death Death me-dragged his body under the palm tree, ostensibly for shade, and gave him a nice pat on the head by way of a good-bye. Thus with my guilt satisfied, I waded into the water without a second thought about his health-or lack thereof. me-dragged his body under the palm tree, ostensibly for shade, and gave him a nice pat on the head by way of a good-bye. Thus with my guilt satisfied, I waded into the water without a second thought about his health-or lack thereof.

I'd spent my whole life second-guessing, double-checking, and "just making sure" everything I did was done the "right" way, so it was kind of nice to let the new voice inside my brain tell me what to do.

And it is telling me to get my b.u.t.t in gear, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. So I better get a move on. So I better get a move on.

When I was waste deep in the pool, I pinched my nose with my fingers and shut my eyes tight against the oncoming influx of water. I took a deep breath, then let my whole body slide underneath the cool wetness. It took only a moment for the wormhole to swallow me up in its vortex, then shoot me out into the ether.

I had never been able to direct where I was going when I was in a wormhole before, but now I found that it was disgustingly easy to control my direction, and after a few seconds I was at my destination, my feet firmly on solid ground-without any of the crazy nausea or headaches that usually accompanied my wormhole-traveling experiences.

I had never been to this place before, but I hadn't had any trouble imagining what it would look like: The Psychical Bureau of Investigations is just as nondescript and boring as I figured it would be. The Psychical Bureau of Investigations is just as nondescript and boring as I figured it would be.

Trying to keep my initial appearance under the radar, I'd gotten the wormhole to drop me off near the revolving front door of the building, so that it looked like I was just any other poor sap who had trudged in off the street. The only guard on duty was quietly nursing a Styrofoam cup of coffee at the front desk. He gave me a curious glance as I spun around inside the revolving doorway one more time than was necessary before disembarking-I'd always had a penchant for the stupid things, and it had driven my parents crazy. I was the only kid in Newport known for causing revolving-door traffic jams.

Because it was so early in the morning, there was no one else waiting as I finally slipped out the door and stepped into the large, fluorescently lit lobby. There appeared to be no ceiling-just empty s.p.a.ce that seemed to go on indefinitely, but that was the only "magical"-feeling thing in the place. The rest of the lobby was decorated in a mix of taupe linoleum, eggsh.e.l.l paint, and brown beige furniture. The long panels of gla.s.s that made up the front wall let a little bit of natural light inside, but other than that, it was dim and unappealing. I bet whoever'd designed it was known known for their "inst.i.tutional" work. for their "inst.i.tutional" work.

The place was so so dreary that I found myself wanting to slit a couple of throats just to add a bit of color to all the brown on taupe on white- dreary that I found myself wanting to slit a couple of throats just to add a bit of color to all the brown on taupe on white-yuck!

Looking up at the large, gold-rimmed clock hanging on the wall above the lonely guard's head, I saw that the minute hand was pointed at three and the hour hand was firmly wedged in between the five and six.

So, it's only 5:15, I thought to myself happily. I thought to myself happily. I have the whole morning to find out where they're keeping Jarvis, I have the whole morning to find out where they're keeping Jarvis, and and to make the stupid detective who took him sorry that he ever drew a breath, period. to make the stupid detective who took him sorry that he ever drew a breath, period.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

Startled, I looked away from the clock and down into the warm eyes of the guard who had just spoken to me. I was immediately reminded of an old bloodhound. His face was a ma.s.s of wrinkles topped with a thatch of white hair. His eyes drooped kindly, so that you instantly felt he was your friend, and that he was more than ready to listen to whatever problems ailed you-and to try to help you fix them. to try to help you fix them.

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly why I was there, and what I wanted to do to that stupid Detective Davenport, but something inside my brain told me to hold my tongue, that the time for truth was not not upon us . . . so I decided to keep my big trap shut. upon us . . . so I decided to keep my big trap shut.

"I'm here to inquire about a prisoner that you're holding in Purgatory," I began, putting on my patented "innocent face."

"A prisoner?" he said, one eyebrow c.o.c.ked curiously at me.

"Yes, I was told that you had arrested a friend of mine. And that he was here. In Purgatory."

The old guard scratched his head.

"I don't rightly know what you're talking about, ma'am," he said finally. "We don't put put people in Purgatory. Not these days. And you can't even get there from here anymore. Not since the use of Purgatory was outlawed anyway." people in Purgatory. Not these days. And you can't even get there from here anymore. Not since the use of Purgatory was outlawed anyway."

Not liking what he was saying at all, I decided he was being all dodgy in order to put me off the scent. Obviously, the Psychical Bureau of Investigations held their prisoners in Purgatory, and this place reeked of magic, so the boring old lobby had had to be a front for all the covert things going on behind the bureau's "closed doors." Why else would they have chosen such a hideous color palette for their lobby if to be a front for all the covert things going on behind the bureau's "closed doors." Why else would they have chosen such a hideous color palette for their lobby if not not to bore the people waiting in it into comas? That way no one was awake enough to ask any penetrating questions! to bore the people waiting in it into comas? That way no one was awake enough to ask any penetrating questions!

"Look, buddy," I said, putting away my Miss Innocent Face and glaring at him, "I want you to go and fetch Detective Davenport. And I don't care what what kind of bulls.h.i.+t excuse you're cooking up in that bloodhound head of yours right now; just go get the waste of a human being out here so I don't eviscerate you where you stand." kind of bulls.h.i.+t excuse you're cooking up in that bloodhound head of yours right now; just go get the waste of a human being out here so I don't eviscerate you where you stand."

I smiled, revealing my s.h.i.+ny white teeth threateningly, the way a dog would when it was really p.i.s.sed off. It occurred to me that I could probably just flash the guard to death with all the pearly whiteness I was packing-I knew the Crest White Strips I used with religious precision would come in handy someday-but I supposed I needed the old guard alive, not dead . . . at least for now.

"Uhm, we don't have a detective named Davenport working here," the old guard said finally. "And we don't keep prisoners here-that's no lie. They go downtown now."

"This isn't downtown," I said, feeling like I was in a very warped version of The Twilight Zone The Twilight Zone.

"No, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. "This is uptown. uptown."

s.h.i.+t, I thought to myself, I thought to myself, I guess I I guess I haven't haven't mastered the art of the wormhole yet. mastered the art of the wormhole yet.

"Okay, fine. I may may be uptown, but that other part is a bald-faced lie. I know for a fact that you have a Detective Davenport working on my father's kidnapping case-so there!" be uptown, but that other part is a bald-faced lie. I know for a fact that you have a Detective Davenport working on my father's kidnapping case-so there!"

The old guard took out a pad of paper and pulled a pen from behind his ear. He licked his index finger with his tongue and used the wet tip to flip the cover on the pad.

"And your father is . . . ?"

"My father is Death . . . like, duh duh," I said, exasperated. Did I have to explain everything everything to the man? to the man?

The old guard started to write something down on his pad, but then he stopped and looked up at me quizzically.

"And your father has been kidnapped? Well, now."

"Days ago," I replied angrily. "Don't you keep up with current events? Or do you, like this lobby, live in circa 1984?"

"Look, ma'am, there's no need to be aggressive. Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there has been no no report of Death going missing in action. And since you seem like a nice young woman, I'm sure I can get someone from the Mind Bending Squad to come up and explain-" report of Death going missing in action. And since you seem like a nice young woman, I'm sure I can get someone from the Mind Bending Squad to come up and explain-"

I slammed my fists down hard on his desk, gouging two large craters into its wooden surface. The old guard stared at me, uncertain as to how to proceed. I doubted he'd ever dealt with something like me before-all nice and cute on the outside, but crunchy-mean on the inside but crunchy-mean on the inside . .

"Ma'am, you're going to force me to have to call for backup-"

"I don't care who who you call; just get me Detective Davenport so I can give him a piece of my mind," I nearly yelled at the guard. I bet you a dollar that if someone had checked my blood pressure right there and then, it would've burst the cuff-I was that on edge. After all, the old guard was you call; just get me Detective Davenport so I can give him a piece of my mind," I nearly yelled at the guard. I bet you a dollar that if someone had checked my blood pressure right there and then, it would've burst the cuff-I was that on edge. After all, the old guard was not not supposed to flout my authority like this. He was supposed to flout my authority like this. He was supposed supposed to do what I said, no questions asked. Instead, the guy was getting all uppity on me, threatening to call for backup or, even to do what I said, no questions asked. Instead, the guy was getting all uppity on me, threatening to call for backup or, even worse worse, sic the Mind Bending Squad on me!

I gave him one last chance to redeem himself-even though I was feeling about as charitable as the Grinch. In fact, I was starting to feel downright homicidal downright homicidal toward the old guy the longer I was in his company. toward the old guy the longer I was in his company.

"Go and get Detective Davenport, or I will not be responsible for what I am going to do to you."

"Ma'am, I can't can't get someone who doesn't work here-" get someone who doesn't work here-"

Without even realizing I was doing it, I lifted my arm and pointed my right index finger at his chest.

"Then you're dead."

He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out, just a loud hissing sound. I watched, disinterested, as his soul sailed out from between his lips and formed a cloud around his head. His eyes bulged in their sockets, and then he keeled over, his body draped across the desk, his arms splayed out like Jesus on the cross. The cup of coffee he'd been drinking fell forward with him, the thick, brackish liquid escaping its cup and cascading down the front of the desk and onto the floor near my feet.