Death's Daughter Part 7

He closed his mouth, a pained expression on his face as we reached the door to my father's study.

"Yes, Callie Callie. Is that all you will be requiring of me?" he said, nearly spitting the words at me.

"Yep, I think that'll do it. Spit spot on the double now, Jarvi," I said, adding my perky little nickname to the end of the sentence before closing the door on Jarvis's shocked face.

seven.

I had never wanted immortality. It was not something that appealed to me in the least. I would've been perfectly happy to live a good eighty to ninety years in mortal obscurity, then croak in my big, old, four-poster bed surrounded by an adoring extended family-preferably my own.

I guess the gra.s.s is always greener on the other side. I was just going to have to accept the fact that I was immortal, and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing I could do about it.

When I was sixteen, I was in a car accident. I was on the way back from a trip to New York City with my Newport friends-Jessie and Davia-both townies that I'd hung out with every summer since I was nine.

We'd spent the past two days seeing every Broadway show we could get tickets for (my treat), and we were only fifty or so miles from home when some irresponsible idiot in a tractor-trailer fell asleep at the wheel and crossed over the gra.s.s divider into our lane.

We were in Davia's mother's burgundy Volvo station wagon-which we all know is, like, one of the safest cars on the road, hence the reason we were willing to be, quite literally, caught dead in it-but even the Volvo couldn't stop fate from taking its due.

The tractor-trailer hit us head-on, crunching the front of the station wagon like an accordion. At first, I couldn't believe it was happening, I was in total shock, but as the bright yellow headlights bore down on us like Devil's eyes, I knew it was real, and the outcome was not going to be a good one.

Having lost shotgun to Jessie, I'd been relegated to the backseat of the car. It was from this lofty vantage point that I sat, screaming my head off while I watched my two friends getting squished like human bugs in between a ton of steel and carbon fiber. I think it was the utter surrealness of the situation that brought on what some would call an epiphany, but what I just refer to as "the big wake-up call." I realized then and there that there're many things worse than death in this life, and what I saw that day rated as one of them. Being immortal had just as many drawbacks as being mortal.

The following week, I sat-completely unscathed by the accident-at the double memorial service for my two friends, and I knew then that being immortal was a curse, not a boon.

It was like I was somehow being punished for a crime that I didn't even know I had committed. And the sentence was for eternity.

After that, I pretty much gave up on the supernatural side of my life. I had never hated what I was before that day-in fact, I'd always thought what my father did for a living was kinda cool, actually-but after that, I found myself loathing anything to do with the family business.

Now, here I was, eight years later, working for the very "corporation" that I loathed. I knew the whole thing was a necessary evil, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

There was a knock on the study door, and I sat up, stretching my neck against the cool leather back of my father's desk chair. I looked down and saw that I had been absentmindedly doodling all over the desk set. He was so gonna kick my a.s.s when he came home and saw the half-drawn faces and swirling mandalas of pen ink everywhere.

"Come in," I said, grabbing a couple of thick tomes from the bookshelf behind the desk and artfully arranging them so that no one would see the mess I'd made.

The door opened, and Jarvis stepped inside, followed by a very tall man in an ill-fitting suit and tie. If my guess was correct, and I was pretty sure it was, he had pulled the suit right off the rack at The Men's Wearhouse.

He hadn't even had the good sense to let out the pants' hem so that it at least covered the tops of his shoes, hiding the mismatched brown argyle and black cotton socks he had put on that morning.

On the utter patheticness of the man's suit, Jarvis and I were in complete agreement. I raised an eyebrow in question, but Jarvis merely shuddered, then, remembering we were at war, glared haughtily back at me.

"Miss Reaper-Jones, this is Detective Davenport from the Psychical Bureau of Investigations. He's here to speak with you about the kidnappings."

I nodded, and gestured to the chair in front of my father's desk.

"Hi. I'm Callie Reaper-Jones. Please have a seat."

Detective Davenport walked across the threshold, his hand outstretched. As we shook, I found my small hand nearly engulfed in his larger one. He gave me a cool, formal nod, but you could tell by his stiffness that he thought being shunted off to one of Death's kids was some kind of joke. I didn't mind his snooty att.i.tude, though. I was quite enjoying the view his handsome, angular face presented. If I squinted just the teensiest bit, he kinda looked a little like a younger, less British version of Daniel Craig.

Not bad at all, I thought happily, imagining Daniel Jr. throwing himself across the desk and grabbing me in an erotic bear hug. I thought happily, imagining Daniel Jr. throwing himself across the desk and grabbing me in an erotic bear hug.

Yummy.

As my imagination took off, I found myself ignoring the bad clothing in favor of the longish lighter brown hair that curled a little around the nape of his neck, and the pale gold irises surrounded by thick fringes of dark brown lashes. I noted his slim, athletic build, and decided there were definitely muscles hidden underneath the ill-fitting cotton-polyester blend.

Jarvis turned to go, but not before mouthing the words, "You're not his type," under his breath.

I shot Jarvis a nasty look in return, but only managed to get his retreating back.

d.a.m.n, he is a little b.i.t.c.h.

The detective took a seat in one of the leather-upholstered armchairs in front of me, and took out one of those cute little leather police notebooks and a pen.

"How can I help you, Mr. Davenport?" I began, but he stopped me.

"It's Detective Detective, ma'am."

Ma'am? He has, like, ten years on me, and he is calling me ma'am? I steamed. I steamed.

"Okay, Detective Detective," I purred, but underneath the pleasantry, all I wanted to do was pinch him. He may have looked like Daniel Craig, but he was almost as smarmy as Jarvis.

"Yes, ma'am-"

"You know," I said, interrupting him now, "why don't you just call me Miss Reaper-Jones. The whole 'ma'am' thing is like nails on chalkboard, if you know what I mean."

He looked at me strangely, but nodded.

"All right, Miss Reaper-Jones."

We smiled tightly at each other, and even though he was cute, he was fast losing his appeal.

"The reason I'm here," he began, "is to gather as much information as I can from the family. Now, can you tell me where you were when the kidnapping occurred?"

"What am I? A suspect?' I said, nearly falling out of my chair.

"We just need the most complete picture of the family we can get-"

I glared at him. "So, you accuse me of kidnapping my own sister and father? That is so rude."

He looked taken aback. I'm not sure he'd ever come across a subject that was quite as combative as I was being.

"Please, Miss Reaper-Jones-"

"Don't 'Miss Reaper-Jones' me! You can just go back to the 'ma'am' thing, as far as I'm concerned," I said, continuing to glare at him.

He sighed, and put his notebook down on his thigh.

"Look, I'm not accusing you of anything-"

"You better not be," I said menacingly.

He closed his eyes, obviously counting to ten under his breath.

"I just need you to tell me where and what you've been doing during the past two days so that I can get a clearer picture of the time line. I promise I'm not accusing you, or your family, of any wrongdoing . . ." he added, holding up his hands in submission.

"Okay," I said after a minute. "I'll tell you what you want to know, then."

"Thank you," he said, picking up the notebook again. I was really exasperating him, and it was so much so much fun! fun!

I told him about House and Yard-embellis.h.i.+ng my job description only just the teensiest bit-and how I hadn't spent much quality family time family time at Sea Verge over the past few years because of school, and then the job. He took copious notes, looking up only when I told him about Jarvis, the bathroom, and the comatose granola boy. at Sea Verge over the past few years because of school, and then the job. He took copious notes, looking up only when I told him about Jarvis, the bathroom, and the comatose granola boy.

I found that I was enjoying the way Mr. Detective hung on my every word, listening to me in a way no other man had ever deigned to. It was kinda s.e.xy in a strange way. Who knew a good set of ears could be so enticing?

"So, your father's Executive a.s.sistant came to escort you home?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, and now he's my Executive a.s.sistant. Pretty crazy, huh?"

Detective Davenport gave me a sharp look.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry. Did you just say that he's your your a.s.sistant now?" a.s.sistant now?"

I nodded again.

"Yep, the faun's mine, all mine."

Detective Davenport's brow furrowed, and I could tell he had just figured out that yours truly yours truly was the new head honcho in charge. was the new head honcho in charge.

"Yep, I'm The Man."

He swallowed hard, and I noticed that he had begun to sweat, beads of perspiration sitting like pearls on his upper lip.

"You're . . . you're . . . Death Death?"

I gave him a cold smile, and for the first time I felt the power that went along with the t.i.tle surging through my veins. It was an unbelievable rush, one that was hard to ignore, no matter how much I tried.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry . . ." He swallowed hard again, then licked his lips nervously. "Please, forgive me. forgive me. Had I realized . . ." Davenport said, his voice high and squeaky inside his throat. Had I realized . . ." Davenport said, his voice high and squeaky inside his throat.

"Forget it," I said, waving a hand. "It's no biggie. You were were being a putz before, but you're nicer now." being a putz before, but you're nicer now."

I realized with a start that the detective was shaking. Not just a little hand quiver, but a full-fledged body tremor.

"A putz?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, a putz. You know, a jerk, an a.s.s, an . . . Hey, are you okay?" I said, realizing that he wasn't wasn't.

He tried to nod, but his body stiffened, belying the gesture.

"Detective?" I said again, kinda worried now.

He didn't answer, but as his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slid onto the floor, I did hear the faintest of gasps gasps.

Uh-oh.

"you can't just go around scaring people to Death," Jarvis said angrily. "You have to learn to control yourself, Callie."

The moment Davenport fainted, I'd screamed for Jarvis, who'd burst through the study door like an avenging angel. It took him only a second to realize what'd happened, and start working on the prostrate detective, checking his pulse, etc.

"Thank G.o.d you haven't received all your powers from the Board yet, or this man would be deader than dead. That's all I have to say about the matter."

I nodded mutely as I watched Jarvis waft some smelling salts he'd magically produced from his pocket under Detective Davenport's nose.

How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to know what I'm doing? I thought to myself. I thought to myself. It's not like there's a book on the subject. It's not like there's a book on the subject.

"Hey, you don't have to yell at me. It's not like anyone gave me an instruction manual-"

"Second desk drawer on the right," Jarvis said, pointing to my father's desk before returning to his ministrations.

d.a.m.n it.

"Oh," I said, getting up off the floor where I had been crouching beside the detective and going over to rummage through the desk. I found the book Jarvis was referring to almost immediately and opened it, reading the first words that my eyes fell upon.

"Death, An Annotated Rule Book," I read aloud. I put the book down, giving Jarvis a withering glare. "Gee, thanks for telling me sooner, Jarvi."

Jarvis ignored my bad att.i.tude in favor of his handsome patient's needs. Detective Davenport had started to stir, and Jarvis was helping him to sit up. I looked over and caught his golden eyes open, alert, and trained in my direction. I could instantly see the lingering edge of fear behind his gaze, but I also sensed a newfound respect.

I walked around the desk, coming to stand above him. I reached out a hand, and Davenport took it. With Jarvis's help, we were able to hoist him back onto his feet, where he swayed unsteadily for a few moments before finally regaining his equilibrium.

Jarvis inclined his head in the detective's direction as he telepathically imparted information in my direction. I knew what the little goat was thinking, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Under Jarvis's watchful gaze, I somehow felt compelled to apologize.

I looked down at my feet.

"I'msorryIalmostkilledyoubackthere."

The words came out in a jumbled flood, and I grimaced at how they felt on my tongue: slimy and gross. There was just something about the sound of my own stupidity that made me nauseous.

Davenport nodded, accepting my apology without question. He looked like he just wanted to get the h.e.l.l out of my way as soon as possible without offending me in the process.

"I should probably go and speak to your mother and sister before I head back to the office," he stammered, picking up his notebook and pen off the floor and shoving them into his coat pocket.