Read Online The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) by Amber Benson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amber Benson
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would meet him in one-on-one combat. The promise was given so he would back off and give her the space she needed in order to stop the Devil and Thalia from staging their coup on Death, Inc., and Heaven—”
Jarvis suddenly found his mouth was dry as a bone, and he paused here to take a mug of tea from Clio.
“And then, later, at the annual Death Dinner and Masquerade Ball, Marcel called her out on her promise. Obviously, she was scared of meeting him in battle—we all know she’s an incompetent fighter—but she knew she had to keep her promise,” Jarvis said, sipping on his tea as his mind wandered back to that fateful day. “But it was the only way to keep Marcel in his place…”
five
CALLIOPE
“But it’s the only way to keep Marcel in his place,” I said as I slid the body armor Jarvis had given me around my midsection and fastened it in place. “At least for a little while.”
Jarvis nodded, his gangling frame wrapped in a heavy fur parka so thick I had a hard time seeing his face because of all the fluff. I shivered in my own lightweight wool-lined Zero-Loft jumpsuit, wishing I were wearing a similar ginormous parka. But since I needed to be free to fight, a parka of any kind was not in my future. Jarvis had kindly created a special warming spell for both of us so we wouldn’t freeze—add to that the molded titanium body armor I was now fastening myself into—and I was as warm as I was gonna be, given the situation.
The situation being a battle to the death with Marcel, the Ender of Death.
Lovely.
We were meeting in a location of his choosing, but only because he’d been “kind” enough to let me push the date a little. Originally, we were supposed to do our “battle to the death” the day after the annual Death Dinner and Masquerade Ball, but Jarvis had felt this was a tad hasty and wanted me to postpone. The only way Marcel would agree to the postponement was for him to get to choose the duel’s location. Neither Jarvis,nor I was pleased about this, but what could we do? I’d been impulsive and now I was going to pay for it.
In Antarctica.
Why the wily Frenchman had chosen this desolate spot—Ridge A, it was officially called—I had no idea, but it would definitely not have been my duel spot of choice. If I’d had
my
druthers, I’d have staged the thing at Barney’s, so at least I could die amongst the designer clothes I loved. But, alas, the choice of venue was not mine and I’d ended up in “cold town” instead of “clothes town.”
Jarvis, ever the fastidious Executive Assistant, had done his research on Ridge A and had gleefully told me the average temperature hovered around negative ninety-four degrees Fahrenheit—well below the point a normal human body could withstand without some supernatural help.
That was how I’d ended up in the crazy-ass jumpsuit, really wishing I’d peed before we’d wormholed it out of Sea Verge. Of course I would never give Jarvis the satisfaction of letting him know he’d been right (as usual) and, yes, I should’ve hit the head before we trekked out to the middle of nowhere. So, I was just going to have to be a good girl and hold it.
“Well, I believe you are as ready as you ever will be,” Jarvis said, handing me a titanium scythe that bore a razor-sharp diamond blade.
“Do I really have to use this?” I said, taking the scythe and feeling its heft. “I think this choice of weaponry is a little too on the nose, even for my taste.”
“It was Marcel’s choice,” Jarvis sighed—and I knew what he was thinking: Once again Calliope’s impetuousness had backed her into a corner.
Of course Jarvis was right. If I hadn’t let Marcel rush me into setting a date for the duel, then I’d have had a lot more leverage.
Instead, I was forced to cater to Marcel’s weird flights of fancy…like this stupid scythe. A scythe being the predominate weapon of choice in pretty much every artist’s rendering of Death.
“I know. It’s all
Jarvis suddenly found his mouth was dry as a bone, and he paused here to take a mug of tea from Clio.
“And then, later, at the annual Death Dinner and Masquerade Ball, Marcel called her out on her promise. Obviously, she was scared of meeting him in battle—we all know she’s an incompetent fighter—but she knew she had to keep her promise,” Jarvis said, sipping on his tea as his mind wandered back to that fateful day. “But it was the only way to keep Marcel in his place…”
five
CALLIOPE
“But it’s the only way to keep Marcel in his place,” I said as I slid the body armor Jarvis had given me around my midsection and fastened it in place. “At least for a little while.”
Jarvis nodded, his gangling frame wrapped in a heavy fur parka so thick I had a hard time seeing his face because of all the fluff. I shivered in my own lightweight wool-lined Zero-Loft jumpsuit, wishing I were wearing a similar ginormous parka. But since I needed to be free to fight, a parka of any kind was not in my future. Jarvis had kindly created a special warming spell for both of us so we wouldn’t freeze—add to that the molded titanium body armor I was now fastening myself into—and I was as warm as I was gonna be, given the situation.
The situation being a battle to the death with Marcel, the Ender of Death.
Lovely.
We were meeting in a location of his choosing, but only because he’d been “kind” enough to let me push the date a little. Originally, we were supposed to do our “battle to the death” the day after the annual Death Dinner and Masquerade Ball, but Jarvis had felt this was a tad hasty and wanted me to postpone. The only way Marcel would agree to the postponement was for him to get to choose the duel’s location. Neither Jarvis,nor I was pleased about this, but what could we do? I’d been impulsive and now I was going to pay for it.
In Antarctica.
Why the wily Frenchman had chosen this desolate spot—Ridge A, it was officially called—I had no idea, but it would definitely not have been my duel spot of choice. If I’d had
my
druthers, I’d have staged the thing at Barney’s, so at least I could die amongst the designer clothes I loved. But, alas, the choice of venue was not mine and I’d ended up in “cold town” instead of “clothes town.”
Jarvis, ever the fastidious Executive Assistant, had done his research on Ridge A and had gleefully told me the average temperature hovered around negative ninety-four degrees Fahrenheit—well below the point a normal human body could withstand without some supernatural help.
That was how I’d ended up in the crazy-ass jumpsuit, really wishing I’d peed before we’d wormholed it out of Sea Verge. Of course I would never give Jarvis the satisfaction of letting him know he’d been right (as usual) and, yes, I should’ve hit the head before we trekked out to the middle of nowhere. So, I was just going to have to be a good girl and hold it.
“Well, I believe you are as ready as you ever will be,” Jarvis said, handing me a titanium scythe that bore a razor-sharp diamond blade.
“Do I really have to use this?” I said, taking the scythe and feeling its heft. “I think this choice of weaponry is a little too on the nose, even for my taste.”
“It was Marcel’s choice,” Jarvis sighed—and I knew what he was thinking: Once again Calliope’s impetuousness had backed her into a corner.
Of course Jarvis was right. If I hadn’t let Marcel rush me into setting a date for the duel, then I’d have had a lot more leverage.
Instead, I was forced to cater to Marcel’s weird flights of fancy…like this stupid scythe. A scythe being the predominate weapon of choice in pretty much every artist’s rendering of Death.
“I know. It’s all
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