Chapter 7 - Danse Macabre

 

 

Gabriel's face registered surprise at seeing his old friend on the other side of the door. Death was early, and the archangel wondered if something was up. He stepped aside to let the small, thin man into the hallway, his usual mirth subdued by his anxiety.

 

Death, as usual, was unreadable, his face a perfect mask of indifference. That was normal for him; while the actual act of death often was fraught with emotion, the Grim Reaper himself was indifferent; all would fall under his scythe, when their time came.

 

"You're early." Gabriel said softly, as not to wake Karena and Walter.

 

"Good morning to you, too, Archangel." Death replied, a small smirk crossing his face.

 

"Anything wrong?" Gabriel asked, a small frown creasing his normally open features.

 

"Cease-fire. Nothing for me to do at the moment, and it's nearly time. So if I'm a week early, it matters not." Death said. 

 

"Have you eaten? I've made coffee and picked up some pastries." Gabriel said as he gestured towards the kitchen.

 

"No, I have not. Thank you."

 

 

 

 

Death followed Gabriel into the kitchen, silently observing the changes to the house Karena had made for the upcoming holiday, the subtle colors and themes pleasing to his eye. He poured himself a cup of coffee after Gabriel had done the same, perused the choice of pastries, picked one, and sat down at the kitchen table catty-corner to the smirking archangel.

 

"I can tell you're just bursting to tell me news, Gabriel. So, I'll bite - how are things?" Death said over his cup of coffee.

 

A wide grin slowly spread across the archangel's face, and Death rolled his eyes at the implications of that toothy grin.

 

"Oh, good. Very good."

 

Death sighed into his coffee. That inflection could mean only one thing, he mused.

 

"I thought Balthasar told you not to interfere." 

 

 

 

Gabriel pulled back into his seat, with a mock hurt expression on his face.

 

I would NEVER. Let's just say this Summer was hard to beat. And speaking of my little bother, Balthy wants a November 11th appearance for the next batch. He said you'd know why."

It was Death's turn to smirk into his coffee. Oh, he knew. Balthasar had contacted him mid-August about it, in fact. 

 

"Thought it would be a perfect time for the appearance, given who they are."

 

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the small, sardonic man across the table from him. Death wasn't given to grand gestures on his own; and his brother had indeed been very secretive about the new resurrectees until about a week ago. He suspected Death had already knew. The archangel's face furrowed into a frown as he knew he'd been played by both Death and his younger Seraphim brother.

 

 

 

 

"You indulged my little brother's flair for the dramatic, didn't you? You two planned this, and left me out of it. Unfair." Gabriel hissed sotto voce.

 

Gabriel folded his arms across his chest, looked out the window and pouted while Death continued to quietly sip at his coffee, trying not to smirk at the seething archangel.

 

"Just because I told that  one  family at Gomorrah that shit was going to go down, now none of you will trust me with a secret any more.  Un, FAIR." Gabriel muttered.

 

Death paused for a minute, draining the last of his coffee.

 

"Gomorrah; I haven't thought about that place in centuries. Those were hard times.  

 

Don't be so sour, Gabriel. You were told, just - not at the beginning. We weren't certain we'd be able to bring over that many beings at once, so your brother had to do some fine-tuning." 

Gabriel sighed wistfully. "I hated the before-times; Dad was really at his worst back then, trying to control everything. I'm almost glad he's decided to play absentee landlord now. Refill?"

 

Death nodded and they both rose from the table to refill their cups.

 

"So," Death said as he eyed the pastry box one more time "When can we expect our hosts?"

 

"Oh, any time now. They do sleep late on weekends, for obvious reasons."

 

Death rolled his eyes again at the innuendo, snorting as he returned to the table, another pastry and a refilled cup in his hands. 

 

Gabriel snickered as he did the same; he had missed the grumpy old psychopomp and his apparent lack of a sense of humor, and the opportunity to tease him any chance he got.

 

 

The two supernatural beings settled back into their chairs and chatted for a while until they heard the faint sounds of movement upstairs. Turning their heads, they saw Karena slowly descending, her hair slightly mussed and a faint blush across her cheeks.

 

Walter's step was bouncy as he strode into the kitchen and took two mugs out of the kitchen cupboard, filling them both with coffee and cream before pouring an insane amount of sugar into one, stirring it with a spoon. He handed the unsweetened coffee to Karena, who had sat down at the breakfast bar, and reached for a pastry, leaning against the counter with his mug in his hand.

 

 

Death smiled as he looked at the couple, looking for all the world like they had just tumbled out of bed. Walter was still unshaven, his normally precise hairstyle sticking up everywhere, powdered sugar now lightly dusting the front of his robe. Karena leaned against the counter and drank her coffee, still trying to wake up.

 

"Well, good afternoon, you two." Death said, the smile creeping into his intonation.

 

Walter dipped his pastry into his coffee and bit into it before speaking.

 

"It's only 10 am, Grim."

 

Karena was glad to see Death, and it showed when she turned in her seat to speak to him, the warmth in her voice causing Death to give her one of his own rare smiles. Not many people were truly happy to see Death, and the novelty of this fact gave him a warmth he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"I didn't expect you to be here so early, Grim." Karena said.

 

Death nodded "I'm aware; things ended earlier than I anticipated. Nice decor, by the way. Very tasteful."

 

Karena was pleased that Death found her decorating efforts appropriate; too many people went for the gaudy these days when it came to Halloween decorations, and she preferred a more subdued palette. She knew it was close to Death's creation day, so she wanted to make sure his role in the end of the Summer and beginning of Winter was honored properly. 

 

Karena took a sip of her coffee before responding; she could not function without at least a half pot in her, especially now that things at her business were starting to pick up. 

"Thank you, it's my favorite holiday. I expect you're here to let us know when the new resurrectees are arriving?" 

 

Death stopped mid-sip of his coffee; he hadn't told anyone other than Gabriel or Balthasar of the impending arrivals, or had he? He paused for a moment and then set down his cup. Right, he had told her to expect them in the dark half of the year. She had a damn good memory, he thought.

 

"Yes.  But first, how's the business? Those books I had Gabriel give you any help?"

 

Karena tossed back the rest of her coffee and nodded at Walter, who took it and refilled it for her. He came around the counter and kissed her on the cheek before handing her the filled cup. 

 

Thank God for Walter, Karena mused as she leaned back against his solid warmth. Reading for her clients took up most of her time, and she had no time to do the financial and legal portions of the business. Fortunately, Walter, despite hating paperwork, had both the ability and the business-minded acumen to do so. She had showed her appreciation for his work in the office in ways that she knew would make both Gabriel and Death blush.

 

 

 

Walter ran his left hand up Karena's back before leaning on her, a smirk crossing his face. He, too, was thinking of the office work that didn't involve papers or numbers.

 

"The business is nuts, Grim - but that's to be expected, given the season, so Karena's told me. I am in that damn office from 9 to 6 every day."

 

Death noted the not-so-secret look between Karena and Walter. There was definitely more going on in the office than just paperwork, he thought. Their auras, hers a vermilion red and his a sage green, sparked pink as they brushed borders. Yes, definitely more than standard office work, Death confirmed. He harrumphed and reached for his coffee to cover his discomfort.

 

 Karena noted Death's discomfort and laughed softly to herself as she rose from her seat to make another pot of coffee; Walter having given her the last cup from the prior pot. She tapped the used grounds into the coffee can on the counter for the compost bin, and started filling up the carafe with water.

 

Death wondered if he'd even be able to reap her, when her time came, with the insane amount of caffeine she consumed. That thought made him actually chuckle a little bit.

 

Karena turned towards Death, her half-full cup in her hand.

 

"Yeah. Everyone has something important to say; my clients are all extra demanding, spectral AND human. I know it's been a long time since they've had a medium like me in this town, but I had to put my foot down. Sundays and Mondays are my off days - I needed a break from the reading, and Walter needs time to rest his brain and his eyes. There's no way I could have done this without the books you gave me, or his expertise, even if he hates doing the paperwork." she said, a wry grin on her face.

 

 

 

Walter came back around to wrap his arms around Karena, kissing her softly on the neck, his stubble making her shudder.

 

"Enh, schatz, it's just a role reversal from before. Now you're the boss instead of me." he chuckled.

 

Karena laughed sharply and reached around Walter, giving him a light slap on his buttocks. 

 

"Yeah, but it's still you pinning me to the desk. Some things NEVER change." she purred.

 

Gabe smirked at Death's discomfort at the interplay between Karena and Walter; little did he know Death knew more than him regarding the dynamic between the two, and the history. Death had read the dossiers thoroughly, while Gabriel had just skimmed through them.

 

Balthasar would have to bring Gabriel up to speed on the geis, and quickly, Death thought - before the new resurrectees arrived, if possible. There would definitely be a shake up with at least one of the new arrivals, and Death certainly did not want Gabe to interfere with the natural order that had been already planned, or the geis would not be fulfilled, and the entire world could be in peril.

 

 

Death cleared his throat in an attempt to get the group back on task.

 

"So, the date for the arrivals, it's...."

 

Karena leaned back against Walter, fixing Death with a knowing glance.

 

"..November 11th."

 

Death coughed around his sip of coffee, stunned. Now he knew he hadn't told anyone about this; it was a secret between Balthasar and him, and he had only told Gabriel this morning. He had told both Gabe and Karena back in May that it would be around All Soul's, but did not give a specific date. How could she have known?

 

Walter gave Karena a squeeze on her shoulder and turned to the sink, filling it up and washing the dishes, keeping an ear open. He was both apprehensive and excited for the new arrivals and the upcoming holiday. Doing something with his hands kept his anxiety at bay for the moment as Death replied to Karena, surprise evident in his tone.

 

 

"Y-Yes, there will be three animals and two people."

 

Walter paused in mid-rinse at Death's affirmation. Three animals, two people, he thought. Why animals? With the cat and the two horses requiring care, and the chickens, more animals would mean more work for both Karena and him on their days off. He hoped the two people would at least help with the daily chores. 

 

Walter tried to think of who he saw at the meeting in Balthasar's large conference room and found that that memory was fuzzier than he remembered, and it disturbed him. Was this part of the reincarnation, to forget what had happened before he apparated? He'd want to ask Death about that at some point in time.

 

He sighed and turned towards Karena again, the dishes finished. She didn't look concerned. Walter's thoughts turned towards the banquet he knew would be part of the event, and his stomach growled lightly.

 

 

 

"Just in time for the Banquet of the Honored Dead, then. I'll get the extra table leaf from the attic. I could use the exercise." he said, patting his stomach.

 

Death looked at the short, stocky man and the tiniest of smiles crossed his face.

 

"I see that, Walter. Getting a bit thicker in the middle there."

 

 Karena wrapped her arm around Walter's waist, grinning from ear to ear.

 

"I fully take the blame for that, at least until the business picked up this Fall. I finally had the chance to inflict my cooking on him."

 

And inflict it she did, Walter thought happily. He did remember discussing her cooking back when he was on the other side - it was something she was so proud of, and so hurt when Sean didn't seem to appreciate it. 

 

As a spirit, he was able to taste the essence of the items she had placed on the offering dish on her altar, but it didn't compare to being able to actually eat what she had cooked. He was eagerly anticipating the banquet as a living man now, and was planning on definitely devouring at least a dozen or more of the assorted baked goods she was known to make at Yule as well. So what if he had to loosen his belt a bit? Nothing a little jog in the mornings, or other, more enjoyable, exercise couldn't cure.

 

"Indeed. When the readings started becoming more frequent, we started ordering in. I spent so much time in the office, and with her not coming home until midnight sometimes from the shop, I was often raiding the fridge for leftovers to keep myself occupied. The income is good enough that we can afford the extra expense of dining out; however, with the new arrivals, that might change. I'll have to see what the budget says."

 

Karena smiled up at Walter, patting his hand.

 

"Helps to have an accountant's son on board for that sort of thing. I knew it wasn't his first choice, but I'm glad for the help. I couldn't do this alone." 

 

 

Death smiled again, quietly taking stock of how he seemed to be in a rare happy mood as of late. Only he and Balthasar knew who was coming. Even with the possible conflict that one of the new resurrectees might cause, he was fairly proud of his decision in righting this geis. 

 

Oddly enough, the town seemed to be unaware of the danger they were actually in, or the manipulation of the timeline they were doing, bringing back people long dead. Death didn't know if it was cultural, the evil in the bayou occupying a good portion of their thoughts, the lack of higher education in the townspeople, or some other higher machinations. He'd have to talk to Balthasar about it, perhaps. Talking to God was nigh impossible, as he had gone no-contact since at least the whole Cain and Abel affair. 

 

"I'm glad things are going well. These two should be able to bring in both a little extra income and some help around the house. There may be calls from both the Museum and the ROTC college for lectures from them, if this town realizes who they have." Death said.

 

Karena and Walter looked at each other, puzzled as to who these two could be. Museum? ROTC? Vogel had declined doing that sort of thing, given his past history - it was something Karena and he had discussed between the two of them and decided against.

 

Death saw the puzzled looks and smiled again. Oh, this was going to be fun. He thought back to the conversation Gabriel and he had had back in May.

 

"Now, my dear girl, about my cake....." Death said, raising a single finger.

 

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Meanwhile, at the Twinbrook County Jail, Bill Racket was making a social call. Mr. Dagon had been explicitly clear during their last transaction that this Miss Ducharme was a person he wanted to know more about. With a little visit with Judge Bassett and a rather significant donation of small-denomination, unmarked bills, Bill was able to procure the information he desired.

This Sean Doolittle was Miss Ducharme’s ex, and he’d probably have some dirt on her that no-one else would. The Judge had also handed over a copy of Doolittle’s prior record; Bill had read it with interest. Perhaps with a little extra persuasion, Doolittle could be even more of an asset to him, and get Mr. Dagon off his back about the Ducharme lady.

 

 

Bill swung out of his Cadillac and walked up the steps to the main entrance of the courthouse. He nodded to Security, went through the scanner, and entered into the waiting room of the jail. Thankfully, Dudley was out on patrol, so he didn’t have to deal with 20 questions from him regarding this venture. 

 

How his little brother ended up on the right side of the law while he and Dennis followed in his mother’s footsteps was anyone’s guess, he thought. It was a thorn in his side, and he hated being indebted to Mr. Dagon and his particular form of assistance to keep Dudley from figuring out what they were doing. 

 There was something about that man that scared him, deep down. Mr. Dagon’s pockets were deep, though, and Bill mused about ways to mine those pockets as he waited for Doolittle to show up.

 

 

When the corrections officer approached and told Sean he had a visitor, he was surprised . He didn’t think that Karena would want to talk to him, especially now that he saw she was advertising her services in the paper and had a small feature on the news. 

 

When he saw her on the TV, looking better than she had in a long time, he had thrown his meal tray across the room and needed to spend some time in the infirmary under sedation. 

 

Sean was convinced she had screwed him over in some way, in his twisted mind. He had bragged about his self-importance to anyone who would listen in the jail, and her little demonstration on TV had made him a laughing stock and dropped his status among the few inmates there. 

 

Sean was fully prepared to give her a piece of his mind, but in that subtle, underhanded, sneaky way he used to when they were together so as to not get in further hot water with the authorities. He was an expert at gaslighting and verbal abuse. He didn’t know who that slightly familiar-looking red-headed dude was behind her on the TV, but he would find out soon enough, he thought, as he was escorted to the visitation room.

 

 Sean was startled to see a rather portly man sitting at the table rather than Karena. His three piece suit and rather ostentatious display of gold rings gave the impression of someone who knew the power he wielded. The man reminded Sean of the old-type Mafioso boss, and when he spoke, his strong Roaring Heights accent completed the stereotype. The man motioned to the seat in front of him.

 

 

"Doolittle? You want out of here? I can get you a deal, if you listen." The man said.

 

Sean was curious. What did this man want from him? He'd listen, if only so he could get out of here, get his revenge and perhaps weasel his way into this guy's wallet, he thought.

 

"Who are you?" Sean asked, trying unsuccessfully to sound confident and strong.

 

"Mr. Racket, to you. I have a client who wants some information on a Miss Ducharme. I understand you and here were an item?" asked Bill.

Sean couldn't hold in his anger at the mention of her name. He jumped to this feet and slapped his hand on the table, making the Corrections Officer jump and reach for his taser. 

 

 

 

"That bitch? She's got you all hoodwinked! I've seen the papers, sayin' she can talk to the dead like some discount Miss Cleo. I saw the news, too. Bitch stole my business and is making a mint now! Twinbrook Paranormal was MY business, not hers! I was the boss, she was just the two-bit psychic." Sean sneered the last word with as much venom as possible.

 

Bill wasn't surprised at the anger expressed by the weaselly-looking guy; he had read his record, chock full of crimes done in the haze of rage. How this guy wasn't a permanent member of a State facility - either prison or the looney bin - was anyone's guess. Bill knew how to work with guys like this, though. They were easy to manipulate, once he had found out their weakness.

 

 

"So you can see ghosts too, hunh? You got special powers like hers?" 

 

 Sean began to laugh, a sick, twisted laugh that increased in volume until it was cut off by a wet-sounding cough. It took him a few minutes to recover enough to speak.

 

"No, I'm all scientific. There ain't no ghosts, only demons. I get the proof on tape and then I use the power of the Lord to send them away. I'm a certified demonologist, Vatican-approved and all. My kind of help don't come cheap, neither. I had a lot of nice equipment at the house;  she probably stole it all and is using it herself." 

 

 

 

Sean continued his diatribe, with Bill only occasionally nodding his head, to fake Doolittle into thinking he was actually listening. Once this boring twit was done flapping his gums, Bill thought he'd take a short trip to St. Patrick's to ask the bishop about this guy. He was certain Sean was lying out of what little teeth he had left.

 

Bill knew about the equipment Sean was raving about - it was sold at an estate auction a while back. His nephew, Vincent, had acquired quite a few items at a deep discount for the casino. 

 

 Bill turned his attention back to Sean, who seemed to be coming to a stopping point in his rantings about Miss Ducharme. Holy shit, he thought, Sean really had it in for this Ducharme woman. He'd let Mr. Dagon know about this, too, at the next delivery. What Mr. Dagon did with the girls he procured, he had no idea; but none of them were ever seen in town again. 

 

"Doolittle. Hey. She don't do no ghost-busting stuff. She just tells fortunes, talks to the dead and makes herb medicines. You sayin' all of that is fake?"

 

 

 

Sean made a derisive noise and rolled his eyes. Karena had really wormed her way into the town here. He'd have to make her look like the crazy bitch he knew she was, he mused. He chose his next words as carefully as he could, given his limited intelligence.

 

"I'm saying, Mister, I ain't never heard none of her 'spirit guides' on my tapes. She's probably conjuring up demons to do her bidding. The herb stuff? That's the only legit thing, but I bet there's demons involved there, too. It's all fake, I can prove it."

 

Bill knew that his niece had visited Miss Ducharme for a question about a boy from school, instead of coming to him about it, and that ruffed his feathers a bit. The way Doolittle was talking, however, made it seem that Miss Ducharme was as much of a con as he was, and there was only room in this town for one family like that. He didn't like that smarmy new lawyer who boarded with her either, Mr, Laufeyson. He didn't know much about Mr. Vogel other than he had a very strange accent, but he was sure there was something else there as well. 

 

Bill looked back at Sean, who was leaning forward, looking as earnest as he could, with his oddly flattened nose and broken, rotting, jack-o-lantern teeth. Bill sighed inwardly, and thought that if Doolittle's anger was his weakness, he definitely could be controlled.

 

"So, you say you can prove she's a fake?" Bill asked again.

 

 

 

Sean's beady little eyes darted back and forth before he whispered "Get me out of here, and I can PROVE it. Might cost ya, but I'll consider a discount if I can be out of here sooner than later."

 

Oh, that was awfully bold, and stupid, of him, Bill thought.  Fine. He'd splash a little green this guy's way - what was money other than a tool for getting what he wanted? Sure, this guy was dumber than Clark and possibly a bit of a loose cannon, but if it got Bill what he wanted with minimum effort on his part? It was a good deal. So what if Doolittle ended up in a State facility or a body bag after his usefulness was done? It was time to wrap up this shitshow, Bill thought.

 

 "You got a deal, Doolittle. Lemme talk with a few of my colleagues and we'll see what we can do. Sit tight, don't start no trouble. We'll be in touch."

 

Both men stood up, and Racket watched Doolittle be led away by the Corrections Officer. He'd have to grease that palm too, after his shift was over. He didn't want Dudley Do-Right getting a noseful of what was going on.

 

 

 

 Bill left the building and walked towards his car, the oppressive late summer humidity hitting him like a hammer. He got into his car and turned it over, the blissful icy coldness of the AC washing over him. Pausing a moment, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number, waiting for the other end to pick up.

 

 

 

"There had better be a reason for calling me before sundown, Bill." came the silky-sweet, oddly-accented voice on the line.

 

"Mr. Dagon, I apologize. I talked to him, as you requested. He knows her. Says he can prove she's a fake, too. He does that, we can run her and her friends out of town for good. Meet me in my office at the Casino at midnight, and I'll get you what you need."

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(I have no idea why the text is doing this, I apologize)