Then she disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water emerged. When she returned, she was carrying a bucket filled almost to the top, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. “Okay. I’ll do that. Yes, I promise. I’ll call you right back.”
The seconds ticked by as Lilac performed a quick blessing of the water as, I could only assume, she’d been instructed by Tamara. When she’d finished, she looked up and screeched.
The body was emitting a red glow, something we’d missed, since Clarence had abandoned the body to watch the blessing. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the waves of heat pulsing off it.
“Help me,” Lilac called, lifting the bucket. “This is heavy, and we need the water in here evenly spread across his body.”
Clarence followed us but stopped a good ten feet from the body. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Lilac frowned. “Well, I hope this Tamara person knows what she’s doing.” She looked at me. “Ready?”
I nodded and lifted the bucket up and over the now-crackling body. She tipped and guided the bucket, while I slowly traced a path from head to feet.
“Wow! Would you look at that?” Clarence crept a few feet closer. “He’s turning black, just like that burned-to-a-crisp chicken you tried to bake the other day, Geoff. And he looks all crunchy and stiff.” Clarence let loose a whistle.
Then the creature’s eyes popped open.
17
Clarence and I screamed like little girls.
Lilac gaped. When the creature blinked, she let out a little “eep” and then said, “Quick, if you have questions, you have to ask now, while he’s vulnerable. Tamara said you might get a few answers from him.” She hustled in the direction of the bathroom, bucket in hand. She called over shoulder, “I have to make more blessed water.”
Death didn’t have a physical body. Not one that could be hurt. But as a retired death, I was human—just as susceptible to having my neck broken, my heart ripped out, or the breath squeezed from my lungs as the next guy.
And that was why it took several seconds to realize the creature hadn’t moved: because I was consumed by fear for my mortal body.
“Psst.” Clarence poked me with a claw. “You gonna say something?” He poked me again. “You know, boss, I think his crunchy exterior has him trapped.”
A whooshing breath left my chest. “Right.” I inched closer. “Ah, who sent you?”
Its lips moved, making them crack and sending charred bits flying. “My creator and master.”
“Who is your creator and master?” It seemed a simple enough question when I asked it, but the working of the creature’s stiff jaws with no resulting sound indicated otherwise.
Finally, it said, “My creator and master.”
“Simple, straightforward questions,” Lilac called. She was busily stirring sea salt into the bucket. “Sorry, I forgot that part.”
How much simpler did it get then the name of the guy he was working for? Simple . . . “What do you want?”
“The stone.”
I shared a glance with Clarence, but he shook his head.
“Okay, charcoal head,” Clarence said, still several feet away. “Let’s say we want to help you get the stone. What does it look like?”
With great effort and a lot of flying charred bits, the creature turned its head to look at Clarence. “You have the stone?”
The hopeful note in its voice reminded me of a needy puppy, desperate to please. I wasn’t about to lie, even if the thing wasn’t human and served an ill purpose. “No. We don’t have the stone. What is the stone?”
The caked material around its eyes—something I was now convinced was not actually skin—crumbled as he blinked. “The stone is.”
I waited for the punch line, and it never came.
Lilac approached with the bucket, once again full of water. “He asked me about the stone. When I told him I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about, that’s when his eyes glowed.”
“And then you bashed in his head,” Clarence said.
Lilac shot Clarence a censure-filled look. “No, then he tried to strangle me and then I bashed his head.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Look, I’m not sure he’ll be able to talk once I dump this bucket, so hurry up and ask your questions. I don’t want to wait and have something freaky happen. Like an explosion or him setting my couch on fire.”
A fire, especially of the magical variety, seemed like a bad idea in this cozy little shop, so I hunted for my next question. Why Lilac? That was the most pressing one, so I asked him.
“Li-lac. The girl has the stone?” Again with the puppydog hopefulness.
With sympathy, I replied, “No, the girl—Lilac—does not have the stone.” I was beginning to have an inkling what exactly this creature was. And if I was right, the kindest course of action was to complete the process of disassembling him. “Why are you here?” I modified my question, quickly realizing my error: “Why would the girl have the stone?”
“The girl has the stone. Or”—the creature paused and blinked—“the girl has knowledge of the stone.” He repeated the phrases as if they’d been memorized, each time pausing between the different options.
He’d been programmed to believe those statements were fact, and I suspected they were the basis of his goals.
“Your goal is to retrieve the stone. Or”—I paused, emulating him—“gain information about the stone.”
“Yes.” I’d swear the creature was pleased that I’d gotten it right.
Since he, or it, liked its archetypes, I tried one of my own. “Death protects the girl. The girl has no stone.” I looked at Lilac. “You don’t know anything about a stone, right?”
She looked around at the store. “Except for the crystals here in the shop, no. Certainly not one that would have some Neanderthal man threatening me. I buy
