"I'm not kidding," I said. "There was a guy here. Who was he? He said he was the Devil's protege. What does that mean?"

Jarvis shook his head, frowning.

"I haven't the foggiest. There is no one here today but the immediate family and your father's lawyer, Father McGee. I'll have to look into this."

He pushed open the gilded door to my mother's bedroom and went inside. I stopped at the doorway, my mind reeling from what Jarvis had just told me.

"Callie?!" a tremulous voice called from inside the bedroom. I could smell Chanel No. 5, my mother's favorite perfume, leaking out of her boudoir and into the hallway.

Oh, G.o.d, I thought. I thought. This is This is not not gonna be pretty. gonna be pretty.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

my mother and father hadn't slept in the same bedroom since my sister Thalia was born. This did not mean my parents hated each other, or only tolerated tolerated each other's presence each other's presence for the children for the children. It was quite the opposite, actually. My parents not only tolerated each other's presence, but also were, in fact, madly, deeply, pa.s.sionately in love with one another.

The truth is that they would have have to be all gooey-eyed over each other for my father to pet.i.tion both G.o.d and the Devil to make my mother immortal, and my mother to renounce her mortality to stand by my father's side for eternity. If that sounds like pretty heavy stuff, believe me, it was. to be all gooey-eyed over each other for my father to pet.i.tion both G.o.d and the Devil to make my mother immortal, and my mother to renounce her mortality to stand by my father's side for eternity. If that sounds like pretty heavy stuff, believe me, it was.

Anyway, the reason they slept apart was entirely my father's doing, even though he didn't know why it was his fault until much much later. later.

After Thalia was born, my mother stopped sleeping. Everyone thought it was the stress of new motherhood, but after two months of insomnia, it was apparent the cause was more than just being overwhelmed by torrential floods of breast milk and dirty nappies.

If you look at pictures of my mother from that time, she's almost skeletal-her bones poke out at odd angles from strangely translucent skin, and dark smudges encircle her eyes like rain clouds.

She looks almost haunted.

My father was beside himself as he watched his new bride wither on the vine right in front of him. He brought specialists from all around the world to see her, but not one of them could figure out what was wrong.

Meanwhile, my mother continued to care for Thalia with a sleep-deprived, almost-obsessive attention to detail. My sister never went for more than ten seconds in dirty diapers or without being fed when she was hungry-I think that's the reason Thalia's the uptight, a.n.a.l retentive, paper-pushing neat freak that she is. She can't even pa.s.s a tie without wanting to straighten it, which, from experience, can be a really weird and annoying thing when you're riding on the subway with her.

So, my mother doted on her new baby, my father fretted over my mother's health-and also doted on the new baby, contributing to Thalia's already fast-growing sense of self-importance-and no one could figure out why my mother was turning into a ghost. Finally, in sheer desperation, my father called in an aura specialist, hoping someone from the spiritual community would be able to figure the mystery out.

Madame Papillon, a small woman with a pinhead and a large, protuberant nose that looked more like a muzzle than a human olfactory organ, took one look at my mother's aura, sighed heavily, and announced that my mother was dying. Then she added that she knew how to save her.

It seems that every immortal has one thing thing in existence that can destroy them-kinda like Superman and Kryptonite. Sadly, no immortal is born knowing what their weakness is, so they spend a lot of time worrying about it. But once their weakness has been made known-and they've survived the encounter-then it's a pretty easy task to avoid the offending thing. But it just sucks if it turns out that the very in existence that can destroy them-kinda like Superman and Kryptonite. Sadly, no immortal is born knowing what their weakness is, so they spend a lot of time worrying about it. But once their weakness has been made known-and they've survived the encounter-then it's a pretty easy task to avoid the offending thing. But it just sucks if it turns out that the very thing thing is intimately tied up with something you love. is intimately tied up with something you love.

Turns out my mother's weakness was . . .

Snoring.

Since my mother's immortality hadn't been granted until right after Thalia's birth, the whole time my parents had lived together-and slept together-she'd been mortal, and my father's snoring hadn't affected her one little bit. And since no one had suspected her weakness would be quite so . . . domestic . . . it took an out-of-town aura specialist to put the whole thing together.

In the end, my parents-regardless of their death-defying love-found themselves nocturnally separated for all of eternity.

I have only two words for that story.

Total b.u.mmer.

Anyway, because of her weakness weakness, my mother had her own set of rooms right down the hall from my father. As much as she might have wished to sleep beside her husband, I think she was grateful for her own s.p.a.ce. My father's personality could be a bit overwhelming overwhelming at times-I mean, he at times-I mean, he was was Death. Death.

As I stepped into her sitting room, I saw her-her usually placid face tense and streaked with tears-seated in one of the pair of delicate Gothic tracery-backed Chippendale chairs that had been in her rooms for as long as I had been alive. They reminded me of her, actually: neat and delicate, but strong enough to manage the heaviest of a.s.ses.

"Callie," my mother said again as she stood and closed the gap between us.

Chanel No. 5 pierced my nostrils, not unpleasantly, and I could feel her heart hammering in her chest like a tiny woodp.e.c.k.e.r. She seemed even smaller and more delicate than I remembered, or maybe it was just that it had been a long time and people always seem larger than life in our memories, their strengths somehow exaggerated in their absence.

She pulled back out of the hug and looked me over. I took the moment to do the same, noting the light pink silk kimono, which was obviously her dressing gown, and probably a gift from my father. It seemed like his taste. Her pale golden hair was held back out of her face with a mother-of-pearl clip, and she was wearing no makeup to speak of.

She didn't look a day over thirty.

She bit her lip, then took my hand, squeezing it hard.

"I'm so happy you came. I was afraid . . . afraid that . . ." she stammered, then forced a pinched smile. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

I swallowed, not sure how to respond. On one hand, I understood my mother's worry, but on the other . . . how could she think I wouldn't come? how could she think I wouldn't come? He was my He was my father father after all, wasn't he? after all, wasn't he?

"Of course I came. You're my family. It's like the law or something that we have to stick together in times of crisis, right?"

"I'm glad you see it that way," a voice called out from behind me.

I turned and saw an old man in a long cleric's robe closing the door that led into my mother's bathroom. I could hear the last flushing of the toilet as the door latch slid into place.

"Father McGee."

My father's human lawyer gave me a wink before grabbing me-one only hoped he had washed his hands-in a big bear hug and nearly lifting me off my feet. He had always been a small man, but since he did calisthenics every day of his life, he was a small, well-muscled well-muscled man. It made me happy somehow that I could still feel all those ropey muscles underneath the long black robes he wore. man. It made me happy somehow that I could still feel all those ropey muscles underneath the long black robes he wore.

He gave me another wink as he let me go, and I noticed immediately how much he had aged since I saw him last.

G.o.d, he has to be close to eighty-five by now, I thought, my heart going out to him. I thought, my heart going out to him. I wonder how he copes with being so old? I wonder how he copes with being so old?

As he crossed the soft cream carpet to sit in the Chippendale chair nearest my mother, I was happy to see there was still some some spryness in his step. spryness in his step.

After the distraction of his entrance had pa.s.sed, it took only a few moments for the weight of what he'd just said to register in my consciousness, and I found myself blurting out: "Wait a minute here, you guys. Don't get me wrong; it's great to have the whole family reunion thing and all, but what the h.e.l.l did you mean when you said you were glad that I see things that way glad that I see things that way?"

My mother and Father McGee exchanged glances, then Father McGee cleared his throat.

"Well, Callie, my dear. You see, we're in a bit of a bind here-"

I raised an eyebrow.

"A bit of a bind?"

My mother stood, wringing her hands as she began to pace.

"You see, sweetheart, it seems that-"

Father McGee cut her off.

"With your father missing, and no heirs at the age of consent to take his place, the Devil wants a recall."

My mother began to cry.

"They want to kick us out of Sea Verge, Callie. Strip us of our immortality, and let your father rot, or worse, in whatever cesspool his captors have thrown him into," she sobbed.

Father McGee patted her on the back. I didn't want to seem impertinent, but I had no idea how any of this "bind stuff" applied to yours truly. It seemed totally clear to me who my mother needed to call.

My older sister, Thalia, would probably wet herself to take over the top spot at Death, Inc. I knew for a fact that she totally resented being just just the Vice President in Charge of Pa.s.sage. I, personally, had no sympathy for her, since I was the Vice President in Charge of Pa.s.sage. I, personally, had no sympathy for her, since I was just just a lowly a.s.sistant at a home and garden supply company with no t.i.tle to speak of at all. a lowly a.s.sistant at a home and garden supply company with no t.i.tle to speak of at all.

"What about Thalia? She's way past the age of consent and I'm sure she's just salivating to take the reigns while they look for Father," I said with only the slightest trace of bitterness in my voice.

Strangely, my words only seemed to make my mother sob even harder.

"Your sister and all twelve of the company's key Executives were taken along with your father. The act was perpetrated right in the middle of the annual Solstice Meeting. As far as the Board is concerned, the company has been totally devastated."

"What?!" I almost shrieked. "Why didn't Jarvis say anything to me about Thalia before?!"

"I asked Jarvis not to tell you about your sister," my mother said, taking a silk handkerchief from her kimono sleeve and dabbing at her nose with it. "I didn't want to upset you any more than I had to."

"It's not an easy decision you must make, Callie. We know that . . ."

My mother nodded hopefully.

"But we know know you will make the you will make the right right decision . . ." Father McGee added soberly. decision . . ." Father McGee added soberly.

"The right decision . . . ?" I squeaked. I squeaked. Oh, s.h.i.t. He is so not pulling a guilt trip on me right now! Isn't there a commandment or something against priests manipulating members of their flock? Oh, s.h.i.t. He is so not pulling a guilt trip on me right now! Isn't there a commandment or something against priests manipulating members of their flock? I thought miserably to myself. I thought miserably to myself.

"Yes, Calliope. The right right decision," Father McGee chirped. "Only you have the power . . . decision," Father McGee chirped. "Only you have the power . . . to save your family from certain doom. to save your family from certain doom."

six.

"No."

Neither my mother nor Father McGee seemed to understand what I was saying, so I said it again with more emphasis.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, and no into infinity . . ."

"But Calliope-" my mother began, obviously sizing up the situation and recognizing immediately that a good defense meant having an even better offense.

Nipping her attack in the bud, I stuffed my fingers in my ears and began to hum the theme song to the Smurfs Smurfs cartoon like some pa.s.sive-aggressive two-year-old. I thought this tactic might be just shocking enough to shut her up, and I was right. She closed her mouth and stared at me with pursed lips, a very disapproving look on her beautiful face. cartoon like some pa.s.sive-aggressive two-year-old. I thought this tactic might be just shocking enough to shut her up, and I was right. She closed her mouth and stared at me with pursed lips, a very disapproving look on her beautiful face.

Oh, and when I say beautiful, I mean beautiful. beautiful.

My mother didn't entice the Grim Reaper into her bed for nothing. She was a direct descendant of Helen of Troy, and she lived up to the lineage. She had smooth porcelain skin and the kind of aristocratic nose that people pay good money for.

She was like Brigitte Bardot . . . ad infinitum ad infinitum.

Ignoring her disapproval, I said through clenched teeth, "What part of the word 'no' do you not understand?"

I couldn't believe we were dealing with all this business stuff when we should be formulating some kind of plan to get my father and sister back in one piece. So I said as much: "Besides, I want to know what the h.e.l.l is being done to get Father and Thalia back. I really think that should've been our first order of business-"

"We won't have any say in what attempts are made to rescue your sister and your father if we've been thrown out of the spiritual community, Calliope," my mother said testily. "I can't imagine the new Grim Reaper would deign to consult with his predecessor's family, can you? Especially if he has gotten his commission through chicanery."

I was starting to feel just a teensy teensy little bit overwhelmed by the whole situation, and my mind was quickly trolling for happy, calming memories to keep me from totally freaking out. I let the image of my messy but extremely little bit overwhelmed by the whole situation, and my mind was quickly trolling for happy, calming memories to keep me from totally freaking out. I let the image of my messy but extremely normal normal apartment in Battery Park City fill my head. If I could just get everyone to realize I was so apartment in Battery Park City fill my head. If I could just get everyone to realize I was so not not the person for the job, I'd be back there before I could say "enchanted cupcake." the person for the job, I'd be back there before I could say "enchanted cupcake."

Thus equipped, I continued: "I worked too hard for too many years to keep myself out of the family business, and I am not not gonna let you two guilt-trip me into it! There must be another way we can get them to let us stay here. Couldn't we just pet.i.tion G.o.d or something?" gonna let you two guilt-trip me into it! There must be another way we can get them to let us stay here. Couldn't we just pet.i.tion G.o.d or something?"

I could hear my voice rising, but I tried to stay as focused as I could on my old, normal life.

"Impossible," Father McGee said. "There is no other way. You're the only answer your mother and I could come up with. Believe me, if Clio was of age, I would have barred your mother from contacting you at all."

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed. "Not even contact contact me? About my own father and sister being kidnapped? What kind of priest are you?" me? About my own father and sister being kidnapped? What kind of priest are you?"

"You were the one who put a Forgetting Charm on yourself . . ." Father McGee began.

"Please, Calliope. It's just until we find your father . . ." my mother added, hoping to stave off a fight.

"Nothing's ever that simple," I said acidly. "It's nice to know, Mother, that the only reason you're dealing with me, period, is that you need need something from me." something from me."

Father McGee stood up, and I could see the vein that ran across his forehead pulsing furiously. I could tell that he was two seconds away from imploding, and if he hadn't been an old man who seemed to have a serious jonesin' for a stroke, I might have laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

Here I was, in my mother's palatial, coffee-and-cream-palette, wall-to-wall-Berber-carpeted rooms, having a screaming match with a half-dressed G.o.ddess runner-up and a priest.

And this this is exactly why I didn't want to go into the family business, is exactly why I didn't want to go into the family business, I thought angrily. I thought angrily.

I watched as my mother's face crumpled. She sat back down in the Chippendale chair and did not move. She seemed to be channeling all of her energy into not crying. I could see the effort on her face, the strain in her eyes, and I started to feel like a major-league jerk.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

I moved to her side, crouching so that we were level, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She let me squeeze, and I took that as a good sign. I looked over at Father McGee, who nodded, the anger seemingly having drained out of him when I started behaving like a good good daughter. daughter.

"I know this is hard on you, Mom," I began. "I really do understand. I'm sorry I was being such an a.s.s. You guys just . . . surprised surprised me with all this 'company man' stuff." me with all this 'company man' stuff."

My mother didn't reply, but I could feel some of the tension easing out of her.

"If this is really what you want me to do, Mom, then I guess I can . . . think about it think about it."

She glanced over at me hopefully, and the look on her face was so pathetic that I did a really, really, really really stupid thing . . . stupid thing . . .

I agreed to take the job.