Caged by Damnation (14 page)

"Right." I tossed the flint towards him, watching him barely catch it, as he growled at me in irritation. I laughed, "See? I treat you like an equal and you're used to everyone standing at least three steps beneath you. Everyone looks up at you like you're God or the Devil, but I refuse do anything other than look straight into your eyes."

I leaned into his face to prove my point and he stared back at me. For a moment, I did nothing but stare deep into his black irises. As I lingered, the color changed from a deep black to a marble collage of silver, hazel, and blue. Hypnotized, I hadn't noticed my body leaning farther until he cleared his throat and I became aware of our noses touching. 

I moved away, placing much needed space between us, and avoided his gaze with an embarrassed wince. "Sorry."

He leaned into the bookcase, smirking at my uncomfortable stance, and whispered, "For nearly succumbing to my overwhelming sexuality or for calling me the Devil?"

"Ugh! You are impossible."

His smile disappeared. "I'm just teasing you. Ever think that part of your problem might be that you need to get a sense of humor?"

I stuck my tongue out at him and continued my exploration. "What's this?" I pointed to the center bookcase, devoid of shelves and housing a large rectangular box attached to a tube.

Death pushed away and walked closer, making me uncomfortable with his nearness. "That is a type of polar plant. It's meant to go without sunlight for long periods of time. During times of intense sunlight I take it out and it rejuvenates."

My eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's the point of owning a plant if you never get to look at it? And what is this tube thingy?"

Death made a sound that was halfway between a snort and laugh. "Nice use of vocabulary. Tube thingy?" he said sarcastically, as he lifted the top of the box, revealing the plant beneath. "I can look at it." He pointed at the tube. "That delivers a combination of oxygen and moisture. You never answered my question...."

My fingers traced the fern-like plant and the cascading pink buds. They were shaped like bells, but tapered out at the edges, as if they were a rug frayed at the seams. "Sorry for zoning out. This is gorgeous. What's it called?"

Before I knew it, Death had eliminated my touching of the plant and repositioned the lid. "It's technically extinct. At least … that's what the humans believe. She's the last of her kind and doesn't have a name. She lived long before humans existed."

Crossing my arms, I spoke, "Wait. Let me get this straight, you own a plant that doesn't exist and you haven't named her?"

He moved towards the center of the room and deftly changed the subject. "Weren't you theorizing about why we  don't get along?"

My head tilted to the right in thoughtfulness and I spoke in exasperation. "Nope, not gonna work. I can tell you the rest of my theory later. Why haven't you named her? Doesn't she deserve a name? I mean, you wouldn't have kept her unless she meant something to you, right?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously growing tired of my questions. "I keep things because they are my way of marking time." He sighed. "Think of them as my version of a scrapbook. I never saw the point of naming a plant that was meant for my eyes only."

"Oh. I still think she deserves to have a name. Everything has one, even inanimate objects." Biting my lip, I struggled to come up with something fitting to name such a unique plant. "How about calling her a Pitchrose Fern?"

Death sat on the chaise, leaned forward, and began to massage his temples. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Well, she looks like a fern, requires darkness, and she has pink-colored flowers." I smiled, pleased with the name. I took Death's silence as an agreement and forged ahead with our conversation. "Anyhow, my point in coming here was to discuss the destructive way we deal with one another. If you can learn to deal with me treating you the way I treat everyone else, I can learn to be patient with your caustic personality."

"Am I supposed to be excited by your solution to our problem?" Death paused. "I can try to refrain from being acerbic if you can start lightening up and stop holding everything over my head."

"What am I holding over your head?" My tone sounded defensive, even to my own ears.

"Our deal, your being here. Every time I have attempted to have a conversation, you blow up over something relating to that." He reached for a mug on the table beside the chaise and took a sip while I pondered his statement. I had to admit it was true.

"Okay." My voice startled me. "That wasn't right of me. I feel a little bitter about the situation and might take it out on you sometimes, but I'll try to do better." My hand shot out, waiting to shake on our new agreement.

It took a few breaths before Death reached out to grasp my hand. His hand was warm, a combination between smooth and hardened, and his grip was like steel.

I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Um, do I get ownership of my hand back?"

He released me quickly. If it hadn't been for the trail of warmth left behind, I would have wondered if we had really shaken hands. "Did you like your gift?" His eyes trailed to the necklace dangling around my neck and I subconsciously touched it.

Remembering the red liquid that I had spied inside, I asked, "It's beautiful, but what exactly is in it?"

"My blood."

"Huh? I don't think I heard you right. I thought you said blood." Laughing at myself, I thought he would join in. When he didn't, I realized that I had heard him correctly. "Why in the world would you think giving me a necklace with your blood in it is okay? I may have signed up to become a Hellhound, but I never vowed to wear a badge of ownership."

My thoughts trailed back to each Hellhound, remembering that all of them wore a necklace of some sort. I couldn't help thinking of them as dog collars. The thought sickened me.

Death moved closer. "You have an astounding gift for jumping to the worst conclusion." His fingers stopped a hairsbreadth away from my collarbone before grasping the pendant. "My blood ties me to you, not the other way around."

My breath caught as his thumb massaged the vial, occasionally colliding with my skin. "How?"

He glanced up, suddenly letting his gift fall back into place, and a nervous laugh escaped him. "There aren't many Hellhounds left and I need to protect my investments." His tone had gone cold and flat.

"See? That's exactly the kind of asinine thing that ticks me off! I am not an
investment,
and neither are they!"

I wanted to storm from his chambers, but something held me back. Blood rushed through me, pumping adrenaline through my veins, making me want to retaliate. Desperately, I fumbled in my mind for something to distract me from him being his typical self. I had just made a promise, and wasn't about to break it moments after I had spoken it aloud.

I swung my body away from his, angling towards any direction that meant I wouldn't need to see him, my gaze seeking any distraction, using the objects in the room as a means to an end.

A piano laid ownership to the far right corner, a boon for sleepless nights. It overlooked a window which showed nothing but darkness. It wasn't simply the absence of color, but barren of existence. I shuddered, looking upwards,  and I noticed a balcony that seemed out of place. A blanket hung over the edge, and a replication of the stars was etched into the ceiling above it.

I climbed the old-fashioned staircase, overlooking the inner workings of Death. I stood poised over the question all mortals asked:
What was the true meaning behind death?
I was here, facing a room that held all his secrets, and yet couldn't be further from understanding them.

Death followed me onto the balcony but I intercepted him. An instrumental version of
At Last
brushed aside my intent. At my feet lay an open box. I reached down and picked it up, wondering what it was. Death sidestepped me, grabbing the box from my hands, and I realized it was a music box. The object, like all the others, didn't fit his personality. It was the type of music box a woman would decorate her dresser with, or a young girl would place on her vanity.

While I understood that people sometimes gave gifts which were kept for sentimental reasons, Death's reaction
had been odd. The protective stance he’d taken as he’d moved to claim his box reminded me of someone from
The
Lord of the Rings
and his ‘precious’ ring.

Death's refusal to look me in the face brought me to examine the other items on his balcony. Most were ordinary, but the foot and a half high stack of papers caught my eye. I leaned down to brush my fingers against the pages, clasping one and turning it over. I found a novel, written in chaotic scrawl. Death was a writer?

Death seethed, "Why can't you leave things well enough alone? Did it ever occur to you that might be private?"

Leaving the words to their home, I stood with empty hands to face him. "Yes, but you can get into my room without even asking. As far as I'm concerned, everything in here is fair game."

Our silence was a war, which I felt was my position to issue a treaty on. I understood his anger and embarrassment with the situation. "We're equals, remember?" 

Death nodded, still holding his music box. "My writing is private. I don't share it with anyone and would – " he stopped short, his veins nearly bursting from his temples, and he calmed. "I would appreciate it if you could respect that privacy."

His eyes were changing rapidly. As soon as I had a fix on their appearance, they would transform and I would forget how they looked previously. "Okay. I can live with that." I smiled. "What's with the music box?"

Winds of fury burst forth from Death's lungs, but he fought the anger for which it was a portent. "It's a long story and I'm not sure I want to tell it."

"Does it have to do with what you write about?"

"Yes and no."

I frowned. "That's not much of an answer."

Death sneered. "Just be happy that I am giving one." He became serious. "Have you finished your rounds?" He eyed the diadem I now wore.

I shrugged. "Mostly, I still need to visit Kali." When he began to speak, I pointed for him to be silent. "You're not getting rid of me that easily,” I said. “If I were you, I wouldn't even try. Besides, it wouldn't look good for you to try that hard to make me leave."

Moving around him, I descended the stairs and took to the chaise.

Death reluctantly followed, ending with a confused stance just out of arm’s reach. He sighed, glancing up at the balcony. "I'm not trying to get rid of you, but you do need to stay on schedule."

"Do you really think of me as an investment?"

Death's face turned quickly. An astonished look spread across his features before settling into a consuming expression. "No, I could never think of you that way."

The room suddenly felt warm and I became aware that I was sitting on what he used for a bed. Why was he looking at me that way? I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. "It makes me uncomfortable when you do that."

He arched an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Stare at me. It's rude."

Death laughed, but looked away before settling his gaze upon me once more. "Can I ever do anything right with you?" He crossed to the chaise and knelt, leaving me more uncomfortable than his stare had. "I'm not trying to make this worse." His fingers trailed across my jawline and tilted my face to look at him. "Tell me what to do."

I couldn't breathe. I liked it better when I assumed he was a conceited jerk who cared about nothing but himself. Now, I could see the loneliness hidden behind his eyes, I could hear the sincerity of his tone, and feel his longing for someone to really see him. I had always been a sucker for wounded animals, and I had a feeling that Death was more
wounded than all the others I had saved. I just wasn't sure I could help him.

"What's your name?"

He seemed shocked by the question, dropped his hand, and regarded me with a smile. "That's what you want?"

I nodded.

"You're sure you don't want anything else?"

I couldn't answer. He cocked his head to the right, regarding me the way a bystander might examine an exotic creature at the zoo.

"What makes you think that my name isn't Death?"

Honestly, I wasn't sure, but I couldn't tell him that. I asked for his name to get him to refrain from touching me, so that I could fall away from his eyes. "It's what you are. That doesn't mean it's who you are."

Death stared me down. It was clear that he was proud of my intelligence, but struggling with the answer to my question. "I've never been asked for my name. Everyone assumes I am simply Death." Standing, he moved to the Pitchrose Fern, lifted the lid, and plucked a single pink flower.

I took the plant, as he offered it to me on his return. He sighed. "My true name is Kai. Though it lost meaning to me long ago. I thought it had faded like this plant, but here you are resurrecting it." He scrubbed his hair nervously. "Is it a bad name?"

I laughed. "You're worried you might have a bad name?"

His eyes were guarded. "No, I'm concerned that you might not approve. After all, you gave my plant such a fitting name. It would be a shame for you to hate mine."