Read Online The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) by Amber Benson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amber Benson
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my fault,” I said. “One more Calliope Reaper-Jones cock-up.”
Jarvis snorted, eyes bright within the fur of the parka’s hood.
“You were well-intentioned,” Jarvis conceded, trying to make me feel better.
“That I was,” I concurred, stepping away from Jarvis and giving the scythe a few practice swings. “Shall we do this thing?”
Jarvis nodded.
“Yes, I believe we shall.”
I took a deep breath—wishing I was anywhere else—then I began to march toward what was a more than probable death, Jarvis trailing behind me, acting the part of my very reluctant “second.”
Wanna talk about freezing your balls off? Well, this was a place where that phrase actually carried a little weight. The air was calm, but so cold I could totally feel the snot crystallizing on my upper lip. The visibility was amazing; clear enough to see the powdery blanket of white coating every spare inch of the place.
I noticed the ice and snow wasn’t as slick as I’d expected. Of course, the special boots I was wearing added to my stability, but the ice pack would’ve been firm and maybe not too terribly hard to walk on even if I weren’t wearing them.
“I see him,” I said suddenly, pointing ahead of us to where Marcel and his second were standing out in the center of the ice, waiting for us.
Marcel’s second was wearing a parka similar to Jarvis’s so I couldn’t see who or what it was, but Marcel looked chipper, shifting his scythe back and forth between his hands. To my surprise, he was wearing only a leather singlet, which left his arms and legs totally exposed to the elements. I knew he was probably all spelled up to keep himself warm, but still, his lack of clothing was kind of intimidating…and distracting.
If I hadn’t known Marcel, hadn’t experienced his bad behavior personally, hadn’t seen him do terrible things—like behead my father in cold blood—then I might’ve found his slim body
very
attractive. To the uninitiated, he was heartbreakingly beautiful, with blond curly hair and a cherubic face, all angelic and pure looking—but to me he was a lowlife, the skankiest of skanks, and the less I had to interact with him, the better.
It made me ill just to look at his smarmy face.
“You made it,” Marcel purred when we reached the appointed spot and stopped.
“What were you expecting?” I asked. “A no-show?”
Marcel laughed, spinning the handle of his scythe between his fingers.
“Your predecessors have always been so humorless. You, at least are never at a loss for words.”
I decided to take that as a compliment.
“Thank you,” I said, giving a condescending little bow, which only made him laugh again.
“I must say you truly have proven to be more than a worthy opponent. When I first met you all those years ago, I would never have believed it.”
I’d met Marcel—he was calling himself “Monsieur D” back then—when, as a kid playing hide-and-seek at Sea Verge, I’d unwittingly stumbled across a doorway leading into the deserts of Hell. Unbeknownst to me, my father had trapped Marcel there in order to keep me safe—and little did he or I know that my childhood visit would have such serious repercussions, proving to be the catalyst that eventually destroyed my father and sealed my destiny forever.
Very heavy stuff, indeed.
“You were selfish, shallow, self-involved, vain—” Marcel continued. “Yet, you have survived and flourished as the new Death. Even now it amazes me.”
“Oh, shut up and let’s just do this thing,” I snarled, annoyed by Marcel and his condescending, backhanded compliments. “If I’m going to die, then I want to get it over with, okay?”
Marcel grinned, shifting his scythe into his right hand and giving it a playful swing.
“If you insist.”
“I insist.”
Marcel waved his hand at his second and the parka-covered thing backed away. As much as I wanted Jarvis close by in case things got really bad, I knew I had to follow the rules of the
Jarvis snorted, eyes bright within the fur of the parka’s hood.
“You were well-intentioned,” Jarvis conceded, trying to make me feel better.
“That I was,” I concurred, stepping away from Jarvis and giving the scythe a few practice swings. “Shall we do this thing?”
Jarvis nodded.
“Yes, I believe we shall.”
I took a deep breath—wishing I was anywhere else—then I began to march toward what was a more than probable death, Jarvis trailing behind me, acting the part of my very reluctant “second.”
Wanna talk about freezing your balls off? Well, this was a place where that phrase actually carried a little weight. The air was calm, but so cold I could totally feel the snot crystallizing on my upper lip. The visibility was amazing; clear enough to see the powdery blanket of white coating every spare inch of the place.
I noticed the ice and snow wasn’t as slick as I’d expected. Of course, the special boots I was wearing added to my stability, but the ice pack would’ve been firm and maybe not too terribly hard to walk on even if I weren’t wearing them.
“I see him,” I said suddenly, pointing ahead of us to where Marcel and his second were standing out in the center of the ice, waiting for us.
Marcel’s second was wearing a parka similar to Jarvis’s so I couldn’t see who or what it was, but Marcel looked chipper, shifting his scythe back and forth between his hands. To my surprise, he was wearing only a leather singlet, which left his arms and legs totally exposed to the elements. I knew he was probably all spelled up to keep himself warm, but still, his lack of clothing was kind of intimidating…and distracting.
If I hadn’t known Marcel, hadn’t experienced his bad behavior personally, hadn’t seen him do terrible things—like behead my father in cold blood—then I might’ve found his slim body
very
attractive. To the uninitiated, he was heartbreakingly beautiful, with blond curly hair and a cherubic face, all angelic and pure looking—but to me he was a lowlife, the skankiest of skanks, and the less I had to interact with him, the better.
It made me ill just to look at his smarmy face.
“You made it,” Marcel purred when we reached the appointed spot and stopped.
“What were you expecting?” I asked. “A no-show?”
Marcel laughed, spinning the handle of his scythe between his fingers.
“Your predecessors have always been so humorless. You, at least are never at a loss for words.”
I decided to take that as a compliment.
“Thank you,” I said, giving a condescending little bow, which only made him laugh again.
“I must say you truly have proven to be more than a worthy opponent. When I first met you all those years ago, I would never have believed it.”
I’d met Marcel—he was calling himself “Monsieur D” back then—when, as a kid playing hide-and-seek at Sea Verge, I’d unwittingly stumbled across a doorway leading into the deserts of Hell. Unbeknownst to me, my father had trapped Marcel there in order to keep me safe—and little did he or I know that my childhood visit would have such serious repercussions, proving to be the catalyst that eventually destroyed my father and sealed my destiny forever.
Very heavy stuff, indeed.
“You were selfish, shallow, self-involved, vain—” Marcel continued. “Yet, you have survived and flourished as the new Death. Even now it amazes me.”
“Oh, shut up and let’s just do this thing,” I snarled, annoyed by Marcel and his condescending, backhanded compliments. “If I’m going to die, then I want to get it over with, okay?”
Marcel grinned, shifting his scythe into his right hand and giving it a playful swing.
“If you insist.”
“I insist.”
Marcel waved his hand at his second and the parka-covered thing backed away. As much as I wanted Jarvis close by in case things got really bad, I knew I had to follow the rules of the
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