No, a small voice inside my head said with gusto. a small voice inside my head said with gusto. I am gonna find my father and sister, and that is all there is to it. Devil's protege or no Devil's protege, this game is on! I am no quitter! I am gonna find my father and sister, and that is all there is to it. Devil's protege or no Devil's protege, this game is on! I am no quitter!

I closed my eyes, steeling myself for the pain I knew was gonna come slamming itself into my body when I finally got up off my b.u.t.t and got the party started.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself back up onto my knees, and then, with a loud, pained grunt, I hefted myself onto my feet. I opened my eyes and looked directly at the angry man standing before me. He was a few inches taller than me, but extremely skinny-the kind of skinny you get unmercifully teased for in elementary through high school. His well-oiled black hair was stuck to his head like a skullcap, making his long, pointed nose even more p.r.o.nounced than it already was, and the neon red satin suit he was wearing did nothing at all for his sallow complexion.

And can we talk about the tap shoes again?

"Look," I began. "I'm sorry to interrupt your dance number, sir, but we just want to talk to Indra and then we'll get out of your hair."

"You want to talk to want to talk to Indra Indra," one of the dancers said, haughtily tossing her long black hair over her shoulder and giving me a disdainful look. "The Gopi don't like no white b.i.t.c.h messin' with their man."

Hip-hop-speak from a girl in a neon orange sari? This is sweet.

"We're not here to 'mess with your man,' as you so succinctly put it," I said, looking back at Clio, who nodded furiously. "We just want to get some Sea Foam and then we're outta here-"

It took less than two seconds after the words had left my mouth for all h.e.l.l to break loose.

Suddenly, I found my eyes clouded by a swath of neon pink and orange and black, and I felt a sharp thunk thunk in my gut, followed by a wave of nausea so intense I thought I was going to throw up my pancreas. I keeled over onto my knees, my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach, a ward against another sharp jab to the abdomen from my very efficient Gopi attacker. in my gut, followed by a wave of nausea so intense I thought I was going to throw up my pancreas. I keeled over onto my knees, my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach, a ward against another sharp jab to the abdomen from my very efficient Gopi attacker.

A scrim of darkness descended around the edges of my peripheral vision, and I had trouble catching even one one breath-let alone returning myself to a safe and upright position. The pain in my belly was way worse than a thousand split lips, probably more on par with getting a tummy tuck without proper anesthetic. breath-let alone returning myself to a safe and upright position. The pain in my belly was way worse than a thousand split lips, probably more on par with getting a tummy tuck without proper anesthetic.

I looked up, my eyes locking with those of the Gopi standing above me, her face a dark grimace. Chest heaving unproductively, I could feel my body beginning to hyperventilate. My body, the traitor, was just giving up giving up, allowing itself to fall into unconsciousness as a cheap effort to stop the pain!

No way am I gonna let that happen on my watch, I thought, trying to think of what you did to stop someone from pa.s.sing out. The only thing I could come up with was putting my head between my legs, but somehow it just seemed like way too much of an invitation for a Gopi deathblow to the back of the neck. I thought, trying to think of what you did to stop someone from pa.s.sing out. The only thing I could come up with was putting my head between my legs, but somehow it just seemed like way too much of an invitation for a Gopi deathblow to the back of the neck.

The Gopi must've sensed what was happening to my body, too, because, without even blinking an eye, she was throwing herself at my back, her manicured fingers making a furious grab for my throat and her legs wrapping themselves around my middle, trying to squeeze the very breakfast-the only meal I'd had today, barring the Starbucks stop with Jarvis-right outta me.

Then, with a well-placed thumb, she found my jugular, and as my oxygen-starved brain began to recede into darkness, a beautiful memory swam to the forefront of my mind-one of my favorites actually-and I almost smiled.

Like the hallucinations of a man trapped in the desert for too long without food and water, I saw a Skysc.r.a.per Forest dancing before my mind's eye, beckoning me homeward. Like a lightning bolt to my brain, I suddenly remembered why why it was so imperative for me to get out of the Gopi's stranglehold. And believe me, it had nothing to do with Sea Foam, or taking over the Presidency of Death, Inc., . . . it was so imperative for me to get out of the Gopi's stranglehold. And believe me, it had nothing to do with Sea Foam, or taking over the Presidency of Death, Inc., . . . or even saving my family or even saving my family.

It was a far more simple-and selfish-thing that gave me the strength to finally defend myself against my Gopi attacker.

And it could be summed up in eight tiny little words: I have a life to get back to.

fifteen.

When I first moved to New York City, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was living in a Skysc.r.a.per Forest.

Roaming the environs of Midtown, sweat leaking from my body like corrosive battery fluid-it was the height of summer and the City was more humid than a Russian bath-I would spend hours getting lost in its heaving throngs, my eyes invariably straying like magnets to the magnificent chrome and gla.s.s buildings that lined the sidewalks.

I found that walking among them was like stepping into one of those New York-centric American Express commercials: Flight to JFK: $350.00; taxi fare to Midtown: $55.00; hot dog and soda at outdoor stand: $4.50 . . . the feeling of belonging somewhere for the first time in your life: priceless.

As I stood at their thick concrete bases, my eyes scanning their peaks, I imagined the skysc.r.a.pers were actually giant sentries, guarding the City and its inhabitants against, well, I didn't know what-an attack from G.o.dzilla and Mothra, or maybe just your standard pigeon uprising. For me, all that really mattered was that, somehow, simply living within their great shadow made me feel all warm and safe inside.

I had lived my entire life never feeling like I fit in anywhere. Sure, I had my family, but aside from Clio, I really didn't have much to say to any of them. And as far as school went, I had a few friends here and there, but only one real friend-my best friend, Noh-whom I would call if I was ever truly in a bind.

So, it was pretty cool to discover another boon companion during my daily-and nightly-explorations. The City itself took me under its wing, culling me from the rest of the ma.s.ses to give me a big, wet, sloppy Manhattan-style kiss. As far as I was concerned, no matter where I went from then on-whether it was as far flung as Timbuktu or just down the turnpike to New Jersey-I would always have a place to come home to.

How I felt about New York was one of the reasons I finally used the Forgetting Charm on myself.

I knew I wasn't the first person who had ever felt this way, nor did I think I would be the last. This was just the effect New York had on you.

It didn't matter who or what you were-because as far as I could see, no one no one was immune to her charm-you was immune to her charm-you would would eventually feel the thrum of the City sneaking into your bloodstream, becoming as thick as sludge in your veins, and then without even noticing the transformation, you had become a New Yorker. eventually feel the thrum of the City sneaking into your bloodstream, becoming as thick as sludge in your veins, and then without even noticing the transformation, you had become a New Yorker.

And as such, I felt it was my duty to maintain the honor of New Yorkers everywhere by not not allowing the neon orange and pink sari-wearing bimbo-yep, the selfsame b.i.t.c.h who sucker punched me in the gut and jumped on my back like some screeching banshee-to try to strangle me to death. allowing the neon orange and pink sari-wearing bimbo-yep, the selfsame b.i.t.c.h who sucker punched me in the gut and jumped on my back like some screeching banshee-to try to strangle me to death.

Besides, I had a life to get back to. And there was no way I was gonna let this Gopi mercenary take that away from me.

In the end, I did what any sensible New Yorker would do during a would-be attack-one that was completely completely unprovoked, mind you, unless the words "Sea" and "Foam" were some secret Gopi attack trigger that I'd stumbled on by accident- unprovoked, mind you, unless the words "Sea" and "Foam" were some secret Gopi attack trigger that I'd stumbled on by accident-I kicked the Gopi's a.s.s.

"Get off of her!" I heard Clio yelling behind me as I slammed my knuckles up into my attacker's nose, then waited for the very nice-smelling, but very unconscious, lady to slide off my shoulders and sink to the floor.

Almost immediately another of her compatriots, this one maybe a tad taller, but for all intents and purposes the exact same model, made a running leap for my chest. I hobbled backward, trying to get out of her way, and tripped, my b.u.t.t slamming into the concrete floor.

All I could think about as I cowered on the ground, my b.u.t.t throbbing painfully, was that my gluteus maximus was not not made for such rough-and-tumble play. Luckily, my fall kept me just low enough to the ground for the neon-garbed dancing girl to sail over my head and body slam another one of her dancing sisters. made for such rough-and-tumble play. Luckily, my fall kept me just low enough to the ground for the neon-garbed dancing girl to sail over my head and body slam another one of her dancing sisters.

"Go, Callie! Kick her a.s.s!" Clio screamed like a one-woman cheerleading squad. I looked back to see her jumping up and down excitedly, her hand gripping Runt's leash with an iron fist. None of the other dancers had attacked Clio and Runt, so I hoped I was the only one the Gopi felt was a threat. If any of them so much as touched touched a hair on their heads, I was a hair on their heads, I was so so not gonna be Miss Nice Death anymore. not gonna be Miss Nice Death anymore.

"Look, ladies," I said, out of breath, "I don't know what the h.e.l.l your problem is, but I really think this can be solved without without violence-" violence-"

The words were hardly out of my mouth when another another lemminglike dancer took aim, slamming her body into my own and knocking us both to the floor. We rolled, our bodies intertwined like the twin snakes on a caduceus, and at the end of the skirmish the Gopi was on top. She flipped me over with the ease of a five-year-old picking up an empty potato chip packet and slipped me into a headlock. lemminglike dancer took aim, slamming her body into my own and knocking us both to the floor. We rolled, our bodies intertwined like the twin snakes on a caduceus, and at the end of the skirmish the Gopi was on top. She flipped me over with the ease of a five-year-old picking up an empty potato chip packet and slipped me into a headlock.

"Uncle!" I yelped, my neck a twist-tie in the dancer's nimble arms. "I call uncle!"

I had no idea if these ladies had ever heard the term "uncle" before-other than in the familial capacity-but I was willing to give it a try.

"We have him!" my attacker said, her arms tight around my throat, choking the life out of me, her words neatly followed by a chorus from the peanut gallery: "We have captured Vritra for you!"

The Gopi began to ululate in triumph, their voices eerily blending into one as their jubilation echoed around the empty soundstage like buckshot. It was so spooky, and Stepford Wife-like, that I shivered.

"Leave my sister alone!" Clio said as she ran over to the dancer who had me in the chokehold, and started hammering on the girl's back with her fists, Runt barking up a storm in support. The dancer seemed impervious to Clio, weathering her blows without protest.

"My dears! My dears! Please, hold your tongues."

I looked up to see the smarmy guy in the tap shoes and red suit tip-tapping his way through the dancers toward me. His face was pale and the bushy mustache he wore on his upper lip seemed limp under the klieg lights.

He squatted down so that he was directly in front of me and stared deeply into my eyes. All I could do was gasp for breath, and try to glare back at him.

"Make them let her go!" Clio said, instantly ceasing her rain of blows on the Gopi's back and coming around to take her anger out on Mr. Tap Shoes. He ignored Clio, his eyes still searching my own; then his face broke into a crooked smile. He looked up at the Gopi, who instantly let go of my throat and crawled away. I could still feel her arm against my neck, smell the warm, spicy scent of her perfume, which only made me want to gag, but I stifled the bile in my throat and took the man's hand when he offered to help me up. I didn't want to be rude to my savior . . . at least not just yet.

"Who are you?" he asked me, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"She's Death, you jerk!" Clio yelled back at him. The smile dropped from his lips, but to his credit, he didn't run away screaming. Instead, he pulled a thin, silver flask from his inner coat pocket and took a long swallow-I'm not sure what was in the flask, but whatever it was, it sure made the little guy stand up straighter. His drink downed, he capped the silvery body of the flask and slipped it back into its hidden pocket without fanfare. He was so suave about the whole thing it was almost like I had imagined it.

His confidence now restored, Mr. Tap Shoes shook his head in what I took to be a very patronizing way.

"But that cannot be."

Clio came over and took my arm, letting me rest some of my weight against her skinny shoulder. She was a good kid.

"And why not?" Clio said sagely.

I raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word, my throat still hurting too much to talk.

"Because . . . it just cannot be so," he continued, but he seemed to lose some of the confidence he'd first had. "I have it on good authority that another another is next in line for the position . . ." is next in line for the position . . ."

He trailed off, his words even more uncertain than a few seconds before.

"She's Death, and this is one of Cerberus's pups to prove it," Clio said, looking over at Runt, who thumped her tail in agreement.

There was a collective "Oh" "Oh" from the Gopi, and then, with the precision of a drill team, they dropped back Texas Cheerleader-style to form a protective circle around Clio, Runt, Mr. Tap Shoes, and me. from the Gopi, and then, with the precision of a drill team, they dropped back Texas Cheerleader-style to form a protective circle around Clio, Runt, Mr. Tap Shoes, and me.

"I think we've explained enough about who we are," I said, my voice coming out like a croak. "Now who the h.e.l.l are you and where the h.e.l.l can we find this stupid Indra person?"

I was tired of being Miss Nice Death. I wanted the stupid Sea Foam . . . and I wanted it now and I wanted it now.

My words got the Gopi all atwitter, and they whispered quietly among themselves like schoolgirls. I couldn't tell if they were impressed by my rudeness, or if they were just planning another attack. I gave Mr. Tap Shoes a sharp look, and he sighed, looking from Clio to Runt and then back to me.

"You would like to speak to Indra, then," he said, resigned.

I nodded.

"So be it."

He snapped his fingers, the crisp sound hanging in the air until it began to quietly vibrate, metamorphosing into a low-register hum. Runt began to howl, her voice melding with the hum, strengthening it until it became a shrill whine. Meanwhile, the Gopi had moved their circle closer, forming a wall of protection around us that was palpable.

Clio leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Can you feel the kinetic energy in the air? It's incredible." Leave it to my little sister to quantify our little adventure in scientific terms.

There was a flash of bluish light, like lightning in an empty sky, and I had to shield my eyes. The air was instantly filled with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and a strange sizzling that charged the ether around us so that you could almost taste it with the tip of your tongue. I opened my eyes to find that Mr. Tap Shoes had disappeared. In his place stood a tall, sinewy Indian man with wild black hair, creme caramel skin, and eyes like melting milk chocolate Hershey Kisses. He looked so yummy that you were tempted to eat him, regardless of all the calories you knew he contained.

Hence the nickname: Mr. s.e.x on a Stick. Mr. s.e.x on a Stick.

You know how you meet some people and they just have this presence presence about them, this ephemeral thing you can't put a name to, but you can feel it emanating off them? The type who would be totally at home commanding an army, leading a violent religious revolt . . . about them, this ephemeral thing you can't put a name to, but you can feel it emanating off them? The type who would be totally at home commanding an army, leading a violent religious revolt . . . or spearheading a s.e.x cult, or spearheading a s.e.x cult, I thought naughtily. I thought naughtily.

Well, this was one of those people.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Indra said, his deep voice booming in the silence.

Clio gripped my arm. I really thought she was gonna faint . . . and I honestly couldn't blame her. The red suit that had looked so silly on Mr. Tap Shoes fit Indra's well-muscled body like it had been sewn on to him. The bushy mustache was gone, replaced with a devastatingly handsome, clean-shaven face. You could tell he expected us to swoon at his feet-I was sure every other female he encountered obliged him-so I determined neither of us was gonna give him the satisfaction, and I pinched Clio to keep her from pa.s.sing out.

"Yes, we wanted to speak to you," I began-having learned from my run-in with Cerberus that honesty was the best policy. "I was given three tasks to complete by the Board before I could take over the Presidency of Death, Inc. And one of those tasks just happens to be getting my hands on the Sea Foam you used to slay the demon Vritra. I know we haven't even been properly introduced, but I really, really, really need to borrow it."

Indra appeared to consider the idea, his dark brows knit together in thought.

"Pretty please with sugar on top, sir?" I said, hoping to sway his decision in my favor. He continued to think on the question, ignoring my blatant brownnosing.

The Gopi retinue-by now it was pretty obvious that they weren't just just Bollywood dancers-watched our exchange intently, their dark eyes boring holes into my back. Their odd behavior-the way they had instantly sought to protect Indra while he was in his Mr. Tap Shoes disguise and the way they were now scrutinizing Clio, Runt, and me-made me very curious as to what kind of attack Indra was trying to protect himself against. Bollywood dancers-watched our exchange intently, their dark eyes boring holes into my back. Their odd behavior-the way they had instantly sought to protect Indra while he was in his Mr. Tap Shoes disguise and the way they were now scrutinizing Clio, Runt, and me-made me very curious as to what kind of attack Indra was trying to protect himself against.

"I don't think letting you have the Sea Foam would be such a good idea," Indra finally said, his dark eyes serious. "Things are too . . . uncertain."

d.a.m.n it, I thought, I thought, why can't any of this ever be easy? why can't any of this ever be easy?

"Look, Indra, there's obviously something going on here. You're using a spell to hide your ident.i.ty, you have attack Gopi at your beck and call-"

"Borrowed 'em from Krishna, although they're a bit more intense than I'd expected," he said, grinning. "Not bad to look at, though, really."

"The girls are great," I agreed dryly, "but right now I really need you to focus. There's obviously some stuff happening around here that I'm not privy to, but as the next head of Death, Inc., maybe I could be of help to you."

As he considered my words, I felt a pinch on my upper arm. I turned to find Clio giving me an annoyed look. She blinked furiously in Indra's direction, indicating that she wanted to be introduced to Mr. s.e.x on a Stick. Out of the corner of my eye as I was turning back around, I caught Indra covertly sliding his silver flask back into his pocket. Weird. Weird.

"Oh, uhm, by the way, this is my sister Clio," I said, inclining my head in her direction. "She's the one who brought me here to your, uhm, closet . . . I mean I mean, soundstage soundstage ." ."

He smiled down at Clio-who was grinning like an idiot-his eyes drinking in her beautiful face and expectant gaze. Suddenly, he took her small hand in his and gave it a slow squeeze before lifting it to his lips and planting a lingering kiss on her knuckles, making her blush the color of a fire hydrant. With a quick wink, he dropped her hand and turned back to me, his face utterly composed.

"Do you like my temple, Madame Death?" he said as he used his arms to indicate the whole of the soundstage. It was obviously a rhetorical question because he didn't wait for me to answer.

"This was built to honor me. My talent, my fame . . . and now, today, I am working on the last scene of my Masterpiece. A film I conceived and am directing and starring in. It is a work of staggering genius the likes of which the world has never known."

I somehow couldn't imagine the man as the next Orson Welles, but who was I to judge?

"Sounds great," I said, but "sounds pretentious" was what I was really thinking.

"What's it about?" Clio asked eagerly, her voice about two octaves higher than it usually was. "Your movie, I mean."

I gave her a look, but she ignored me, her eyes fixed on Indra. Ugh, he is really starting to get on my last nerve. Ugh, he is really starting to get on my last nerve.

"It's a love story, my dear," he said, his eyes lingering on her face far longer than they should have. Clio turned bright red again and giggled like there wasn't a thought in her head.

Am I really really gonna have to tell the guy she's only seventeen, so he'll back off? gonna have to tell the guy she's only seventeen, so he'll back off?

I tuned back in to find Indra grinning down at me, his eyes literally trying to melt me where I stood.

"In fact, it is the greatest love story of all time . . ."

Jeez, the man has the attention span of a gnat. One minute he's trying to seduce Clio, the next me.

Well, I was having none of his machismo c.r.a.p.

Instead of falling under his spell, I just fixed him with a withering smile and waited for him to continue, to enlighten us about this work of staggering genius unlike any other.

His silence impressed upon me the fact that he was not not happy I was showing immunity to his charm. He spun away from me, a mischievous smile on his lips, like he was remembering some private joke that I was the b.u.t.t of. happy I was showing immunity to his charm. He spun away from me, a mischievous smile on his lips, like he was remembering some private joke that I was the b.u.t.t of.