Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Kiss Of Death

He wasn't alone, though it was hard to notice anyone but him. Towering in his darkness, his face a skull mask and body draped in shadows themselves, the fifty-foot tall presence of the Grim Reaper sat quietly on his massive throne, staring down at the angel of Death who spoke to him.

Nero was still here. Whatever he thought he had to say to Dad about me had taken a great deal of time. Either that or he'd dragged his feet coming home no matter what he'd said in the hospital. Dad's giant head lifted, skeletal hands settling on the wide, stone armrests of his hulking throne, the darkness swirling around his bony toes as he gestured for me to come forward with one long, stark finger.

Nero wouldn't meet my eyes, my brother's embarrassment obvious to me even without feeling his emotions through my empathy. I walked the black carpet past the arching gallery on either side of the throne room, knowing we were observed by my brothers hiding in the shadows behind the stone. Typical, really, of the sons of Death.

Corvus flapped heavily to Dad, settling on his gigantic knee as my father spoke.

"That will be all, my son." His voice boomed, hollow and empty of feeling, the skull showing no emotion. Nero bowed to Dad before turning away, his blue eyes flickering for just one instant to meet mine.

I smiled at him, to let him know I didn't blame him, but he frowned in return, almost angry by the feeling of him, and left without a word.

Dad waited until Nero had gone, Corvus muttering in his lap, before shooing the bird from the robes of darkness. He stood. The shadows of the gallery darkened, Death's command reaching all my brothers. As abruptly as the raven flew free my siblings scattered, leaving the throne room empty of all but me and my father, a small, handsome figure stepped out of the swirling black robe on the throne, smiling with his arms open. I stepped into that embrace as my father hugged me, his mortal form much more appealing than his official one.

"Eve." He kissed my temple before pushing me gently away from him. He appeared young, with the attractive face of my brothers, but older, kinder, softer around the edges. He could have been a supermodel if he were human with those perfect cheekbones and flawless black hair, the way his wide jaw joined in a cleft chin under a pink lipped mouth. Tall, narrow hipped and lean, my father didn't look a day over twenty-four. Didn't matter he was far older than that by about two millennia.

"Hi, Dad." I felt tension return, his kindness no help. Maybe if my father chose anger or blame over constant compassion I'd be able to stand against him. But this was always where I failed, where my resolve died, in the love and sweet loyalty of Samael, the master of Death.

He slipped one arm over my shoulder and sighed, kind smile sad. "Sweetie," he said. "I think it's time we had a long talk."

Dad didn't say another word while tension made my spine ache, leading me away from the dais of his throne, the form of his Grim Reaper persona silent and still on the stone perch, like a suit he wore though it was so much more than that. I was surprised when he cut off Corvus at the side exit.

"Just Eve," he said without malice or force, but the raven instantly backed off. Though I'm sure Dad caught his grumbling complaint as he went. Dad sighed while he opened the door to his private garden on the other side.

I loved it here, had since I was young, the winding paths of black stone, the towering rose bushes filled with lush, dark green leaves and heavy, black blossoms. So much more inviting than the mediaeval feel of the looming throne room and its dark quiet. Dad's flowers smelled like no roses a mortal would recognize, spicy and sweet at the same time without being overpowering or cloying. It was my favorite scent in the whole world.

Dad led me to a stone bench, sat me down next to him, crossing his denim clad legs and extending his arm over the back of the seat, smiling up at the gray sky. His black t-shirt tightened across his chest, showing muscles still taut and youthful. "I'll miss having you here, Eve. I think it's part of the reason I pushed you to take that last task. To be certain."

He had to remind me about Moving Day. The beginning of my exile from Undertown.

"I could stay here," I said as I'd planned, not ready to address the second part of his statement, though with less conviction than I'd intended. Partly because his statement carried information I wasn't sure I understood. Certain of what? I'd find out soon enough. Right now I needed to focus on standing up to him, especially his kindness.

Dad didn't even argue. We'd had this conversation too many times, I knew a fight would be weak and pathetic since neither of us seemed willing to carry the argument past sad acceptance of fate.

"Your mother's expecting you," he said before sighing softly. "I blame myself, you know."

For this ridiculous six month cycle of living with Life and Death? But no, he wasn't talking about my shared parenting arrangement that only made me feel more disconnected from my family, not less. Maybe if I'd been allowed to stay with him, or, despite how horrible it sounded, in Life's Garden, instead of being tossed back and forth between them, I could have found my own stability, made friends among my siblings. But neither my sisters in Life nor my brothers in Death could understand me. About as well as I understood myself. Being different, the only child of both, had only ever led me to hurt.

I'd had this talk with him before, if never my mother. Mom just didn't get it, wasn't willing to learn about my feelings. But since Dad agreed to the arrangement years ago, long before I had the chance to express my opinion about it, we continued on, year after year, six months of hell at a time.

Dad looked down at me, touched my cheek with one finger, cool skin pale and soft. "I've been trying so hard to help you find your way," he said, "and now that I've decided to stop being stubborn, I realize I've been forcing you to take on a role that's clearly not for you."

My jaw dropped, heart skipping impossible beats as excitement tried not to rise. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Was he finally going to stop sending me out on tasks with my brothers? Tears leaped into my eyes, hot and tingling, stinging me as I blinked them away.

Dad's face fell, his hand, too as he stared down into his lap with guilt crossing his aura. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Forgive me, Eve."

I hugged him hard, laughter and relief bubbling in my chest. "I understand," I said, felt his mood rise again when I smiled at him and let him see just how grateful I was he'd finally seen the light.

Dad's gentle smile returned. "I'm going to talk to your mother," he said, crushing all hope and destroying the joy he'd created with those frustrating words.

"You haven't yet." I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, tone flat and empty, but this was a wasted conversation. Because I knew my mother. Mom would never, ever let me stop. And she'd convince him to send me out again, because she was like that.

Life was a bitch sometimes.

His fingers forced my face around with a gentle touch on my chin, firm determination on his face. "I won't let her bully me on this, Eve," he said. "Isis is accustomed to getting her own way in most things, and I'm happy to acquiesce to keep the peace. But it's time we both faced facts." He tossed his head, long, shining bangs falling over his eyes. "We've done everything we can to help you fit into the mold your brothers and sisters fill. But, it's obvious and has been for a while, that isn't your path." I couldn't believe I was finally hearing this from him. Even knowing he hadn't talked to Mom yet, hope woke again, unfolded from a damaged, crushed thing and tried to live. "You are unique. And I should have known better from the first time you tried to fulfill a task you weren't suited for you were meant for other things."

"Failed, you mean," I said, though without the disappointment that usually came with admitting defeat.

"No, not failure," he said, deep voice falling quiet and thoughtful. "Now that I'm ready to admit it. Something else." His lips pursed. "But I can no longer sit on my throne and accept my actions are damaging the calling of Death. I've been selfish toward you and my duties."

Maybe he could convince her. Mom hated to fail, Life needing to win. If he could show her the bigger picture was only perpetuating a dark mark against her reign we might end up convincing her after all. As for what I was, that remained to be seen.

"I don't know what else to call my failure," I said, "but what it is." I finally succumbed, at least a little, to feeling sorry for myself. "What kind of power do I possess that makes everything go so badly all the time?" Dad's sudden frown drove me onward into despair. "What tasks am I suited for that would require disaster over and over again?"

He didn't answer, not right away, but finally shook his head and sighed again, the chill of the grave in his breath. "I don't know, Eve," he said, sounding tired at last. "But you must have a purpose. Every being does. And I'm determined to help you find yours now that I've stopped being so bullheaded about it." Another smile, more kindness.

"What changed?" It occurred to me I should ask, maybe. That I should care why my father had a shift of heart.

Dad stroked a lock of hair out of my face, tucked it behind my ear. I'd have to redo my bun. It had to look even more a mess since my pathetic attempt to fix it earlier. "Nero," he said. "Your brother offered a compelling argument on this last task of your sixteenth cycle with me. The one I hadn't considered."

I'd hug my brother when I saw him again, regardless of what he thought about such a show of affection. "Thank you."

Dad laughed and hugged me to him, resting his cheek on my hair. "Death can be as stubborn as Life sometimes," he said, "but shouldn't be as foolish." He felt a bit guilty for saying so, that guilt touching my empathy.

"Nero used your position against you." I almost laughed, too.

"So he did." Dad released me and stood, offering his hand. "Now, off with you. I have work to do and you must report to your mother."

He had to remind me again. "Since we're standing up to her," I said.

"Eve." Dad shook his head. "One battle at a time.

Life. The Garden. My home for the next six months. I'd survive. I always did. And if Dad could actually convince Mom... well, maybe things would be better than I expected.

With a lighter heart than I'd had in a long time, I left him with his roses.

***

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