His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) (7 page)

We spent nearly thirty minutes shopping together. The store wasn’t large, but it was tightly packed with many narrow aisles. Elliott deftly managed to stay out of view while pointing out a few items he’d be willing to eat—none of which came from the pet food aisle.

I wasn’t particularly surprised.

Carrying an armload of groceries, I returned to the front counter. Elliott managed to disappear somewhere along the way.

“You find good everything?” the clerk asked in broken English.

“Yes, thanks.”

At least, that’s what I intended to say.

I opened my mouth and everything.

A bright white flash filled my vision without warning; the accompanying chorus of bells shook my entire skull. The light quickly vanished, but the blinding pain from the bells went on for several minutes.

When I could finally open my eyes and blink away the tears, I found myself down on one knee. I’d somehow, at least, managed to hold on to our groceries.

The glass door to the street was flashing red.

The clerk stood above me, looking down worriedly. “You now okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” I responded a little breathily. “I was just praying. Very religious, you know.”

He nodded, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted me gone. He bagged my groceries quickly, in silence.

I left a few bills on the counter and left.

The walk home was long, slow, and quiet. Elliott could clearly sense my mood, and left me to my thoughts.

Well, less thoughts, per se, than abject terror.

I’d only been trying to ignore my assignments for a couple of hours now, and the effort was already nearly more than I could handle.

Just how bad was it going to get?

Would I, at some point, finally just collapse dead on the ground?

And, to make matters even worse, the red light bounced merrily through the streets before me, like some sort of deranged puppy.

We parted ways at 928 South Lane Street. The beacon bounced about a block beyond the doorway, just as it had before. I hesitated a moment, but ultimately turned inside.

This time the hiss as the light vanished sounded more like an angry growl.

Elliott and I walked up the stairs in silence. I didn’t even worry about crossing paths with Emma. I’d never expected to live a life where the demon living across the hall—the one who might want to kill me—would be the least of my problems.

But such was the life I now lived.

Not that it mattered. We reached our apartment without seeing any sign of another living being. The door swung open quietly at my request.

A white light flashed within my eyes, bright enough, it seemed, to sear them right out of their sockets.

The bells were no longer inside my head, they
were
my head. My entire skull rang like a church bell, the pain indescribable. Balance, and all sense of direction, fled. I stumbled about violently, certain I’d be thrown down the stairs and tumble to my death, but unable to stop myself.

Finally, my head struck something hard with a very loud crack.

And the world went black.

VIII

The Commute

Sudden cold shocked me awake.

The first thing I saw was Elliott, soaked fur plastered to his sides. He looked barely half his usual size as he stood there, hissing.

My own clothes were also soaked, dripping on the hallway floor.

Emma loomed above us both, holding an empty bucket. Her body was rigid, but the phantom tail swished angrily behind her. She stared at me with narrow, menacing eyes. Absent were all traces of the friendly neighbor I’d briefly met the night before.

Behind her, the stairway flashed with my red beacon, but that direction was completely blocked.

So, this is it
, I thought.

I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t want to live the hell my world was becoming. Maybe there was an escape, and maybe there wasn’t; I was no longer sure I could find it before this new life managed to kill me.

So I turned to face Emma, and prepared for the worst.

“I know this isn’t the greatest neighborhood,” she began, her tone furious, “but it’s the only one I’ve got. I’d kindly thank you,
Reaper
, to stagger all the way into your apartment before you decide to sleep one off.”

“Wait,” I stammered, shocked. “No wait, what? It’s not like that.”

Emma crossed her arms, unconvinced, looking judgmentally down her nose at me. “Oh really? Why don’t you tell me what it
is
like, then.”

I touched my forehead experimentally, wincing when I found the tender spot. “I hit my head.”

“Uh huh.” She tossed the bucket into her apartment before turning back to me. “I expected better from a Reaper.”

My words lashed out angrily. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be a Reaper, damn it.” The anger evaporated as quickly as it came, leaving my voice sounding suddenly hollow. “I
never
wanted to be a Reaper.”

“Oh, is that it?” Emma squatted down beside me, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her eyes filled with an emotion that, while not quite compassion, was certainly more than simple understanding.

“Look at me, Reaper. Demonic slut isn’t exactly what little Midwestern girls dream about growing up. We all have a past, we all come from…” she trailed off for a moment, the emotion in her eyes unreadable, “…somewhere.”

“But I didn’t have a choice,” I argued weakly.

Emma laughed a short, humorless laugh. “Nobody gives up their immortal soul without a really good reason, Reaper. One way or another, we were all forced into this life.” She stood, offering me her hand.

I realized it wasn’t yet my time to die, and the relief that washed over me was a surprise. Despite everything that was happening, it seemed I wasn’t ready to give up.

I took Emma’s hand and let her help me back to my feet. The remains of my groceries lay in scattered ruins around us. It didn’t matter; I was no longer hungry.

Emma examined the aftermath, her smile hard. “Now that you’re here, you just have one decision to make.”

“And what’s that?”

“Will you own your new life, or will you let it own you?”

I looked at the flashing red stairwell. A lukewarm sensation, somewhere between resignation and determination, started to build in my chest. She was right, of course. I understood exactly what she meant.

There are times when the best way to escape your problems is to run at them head on. I wasn’t giving in…not exactly. I was going to find a way out, but first I needed to live long enough to find it.

“I have to go,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve got a job to do.”

And then I hesitated, surveying the mess I’d made of the hallway.

Emma slipped an arm through mine, smiling her cute and friendly neighbor smile once again. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up, but you’ll owe me one.”

Elliott hissed behind us.

I immediately understood the sentiment; no matter how cute and friendly, Emma was still a demon…an Agent of Evil. Owing her a favor sounded like a very risky proposition.

No matter how trivial.

“Don’t go to any trouble,” I somehow managed without stammering. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Nonsense.” Her smile stretched wide, almost beyond what seemed humanly possible.

Though, to be honest, that might have been my overactive imagination.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

I swallowed hard.

We walked down the stairs in silence—if you ignored the constant growls from Elliott at our heels. Emma peeled away as we reached the second story. She walked up to suite 2E, the one marked “Massage,” and unlocked the door with a key from her pocket.

“This is me.”

Of course it was.

At the far end of the hall, the next set of stairs began to pulse red.

“Thank you, Emma.”

She smiled, and it was the kind of warm and genuine smile that lights up an entire room. “It was my pleasure.”

I started to turn away, but she reached out to grab my arm.

I only flinched a little, I swear.

“Hey, I still don’t know your name.”

“Yeah…that makes two of us.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay, well, let me know.”

With a final smile, Emma disappeared into the suite.

Elliott’s growls slowly subsided as we descended toward the first floor, though his hackles remained slightly raised. Of course, Emma had just dumped a bucket of water on him.

And me.

Now that we were alone, the robe swirled around me once again, drying me completely.

Elliott, still soaking wet, silently glared.

The pulsing red light flared up around the door out to the street. I took a long, slow breath and held it until my lungs began to ache. Exhaling, I stepped back into the dark Seattle evening.

The red light no longer bounced, but rather slid sullenly to the left. It stopped, waiting for my next move.

My first step was the hardest. The weight of a mountain was chained to my ankle, holding me back. I shoved both hands into the pockets of my trench coat as I struggled through the second step, and then the third, the mountain shrinking as I advanced.

The red light perked up at my approach. By my fourth step, it started to hop happily in place. As we neared the intersection, it jumped exuberantly and bounced on down the street ahead of Elliott and me, leading the way.

It led a few blocks north, where a cab idled in front of an art gallery. The cab driver read his newspaper in the front seat, finishing the last few bites of a sandwich. He made an obvious point of ignoring me.

My bright red guide bounced into the gallery window, where it briefly vanished. The gallery was closed, and its window was dark. On display were several caricatures of celebrities and famous people from history. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name. I’ve never been into art, but I didn’t think it would have mattered; the faces were recognizable, but just barely.

One, in particular, began to strobe slowly with a red glow.

I turned back to the cab. The driver sighed, nodding to me over the top of his paper.

I nodded back.

He folded the paper, taking exaggerated time and care in laying it on the front seat as the remaining sandwich vanished in two bites. Finally, with a smug smile, he rolled down the passenger window.

“Need a ride?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

The back door clicked, unlocking. I slipped in, holding the door open long enough for Elliott to sneak quietly onto the floorboard at my feet, out of the driver’s sight. He curled up on my shoes, soaking them again.

I doubt that was accidental.

“Where to?”

I sighed in resignation. The flashing caricature was Martin Luther King, Jr.

“M.L.K. Way.”

Elliott mewed softly as we looked up and down the street. It was a little after midnight, and the area was largely deserted.

“You sure you gonna be all right, buddy?” The driver was only willing to roll the window a quarter of the way down to ask the question.

Elliott’s soft mews sounded suspiciously like the word “no,” but I nodded…not quite trusting myself to speak.

The cab wasted no time driving away.

As a general rule, the Seattle area doesn’t have slums or projects like most major US cities. Sure, certain areas are considered more or less desirable, but those are spread throughout the city and surrounding neighborhoods.

Rainier Valley is the closest thing to an exception.

The Valley, one of Seattle’s most “ethnically diverse” neighborhoods, is southeast of downtown. It roughly follows Rainier Avenue South and Martin Luther King Jr. Way. It’s the kind of place that’s constantly being cleaned up, revitalized, improved, and “taken back.” When you hear about gang trouble in Seattle, it’s typically in Rainier Valley.

A lot of people will tell you the Valley is perfectly safe now, for anybody, any time, day or night…that the gangs are under control, or have been driven out entirely. Of course, none of those
people were around as I stood there alone at midnight.

We’d passed a lot of run-down, empty storefronts on our way here. The residential street to which my red guide had led the cab, two blocks east of Rainier Avenue, was filled with cheap, dilapidated housing. Graffiti covered every street sign, as well as most of the homes. A few cars sat on blocks, separated from their tires.

One window in four was either busted out or covered with duct-taped cardboard. Many doorways, like dark yawning mouths, stood open—the houses abandoned long ago. Nearly every yard was shaggy and overgrown with weeds.

My pulse raced, my mind frantically flitting back and forth between what would happen when I reached my destination, and what might happen on the way there.

Elliott whimpered at my feet.

The bouncing red light blazed suddenly to life beside me, launching eagerly down the street and around the corner.

I hurried to keep up.

I was terrified of reaching my destination, but I was far less interested in being left behind. My companion stayed at my side, head constantly swiveling as if trying to watch all directions at once.

It was eerily quiet and deserted, even for the middle of the night, which ratcheted my nerves even tighter. The bouncing red light led us at just short of a jog for almost thirty minutes, constantly changing direction, ducking down different streets. I wasn’t even sure how far we’d gone.

In that whole time, we didn’t see one other person.

I didn’t know if my guide was avoiding people, or if the people who lived here didn’t feel comfortable being out in the dark.

And I wasn’t sure which was worse.

The pulsing light vanished suddenly and I stumbled to a halt, breathing hard. Elliott collapsed at my side.

I growled angrily. “Why the hell couldn’t the cab just take us wherever we’re going?”

Elliott stood, still softly wheezing as he responded. “No one must see you near an assignment, Reaper—no one should remember your presence. The guide does what it must to ensure your anonymity. You do not want mortals to associate you with death. It can lead to…problems.”

I shivered, imagining what kinds of problems Elliott might mean.

The pulsing light flared up suddenly, taking shape. A glowing red, ghostly figure stood before me, facing ahead. Its cape was clearly visible, rustling lightly in a nonexistent breeze. The cowl was drawn to obscure its features—not that I needed to see them. In its right hand, it held a scythe which towered over its head.

A red Reaper.

The quintessential Angel of Death.

My heart leaped into my throat; I tried, and failed, to swallow it down. Emma’s words had struck an emotional chord, had spurred me into action.

I hadn’t stopped to think.

The very thing I feared, that I’d vowed to avoid, was here.

If there was any other way, I’d take it; tonight had cruelly taught me there was no other option.