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Chapter 11

11

“I might not have a mop,” I confess, moving to the kitchen to see if maybe my housesitter bought one and left it for me. I have a broom, and I have rags under the sink. “There’s not really any reason for a college student to have a mop—it’s not like I have time to mop. Maybe I should get one of those floor cleaner things… Nah, MawMaw wouldn’t go for that. She thinks chores build character. I bet I could convince her to get one for herself though; she has enough character for all of us.”

I search beside the fridge where I keep the broom, but alas, no mop. I look back at the mess on the front door and the one leaking into the carpet. A mop probably isn’t the right tool for this job, anyway.

Darcy peers at me, and I swear he looks baffled. I don’t know why he’s looking at m e like that; I’m not the one who murdered someone today. That I know of, anyway. “You’re just like him,” he wonders, shaking his head.

“Who? That Romily guy?”

He confirms my guess with a nod. “Yeah. Completely unbothered. How do you do that?”

I glance at the body on the floor. “Well, I am going to school to become a forensic criminologist. The only difference between this and my class on blood spatter is that this is in my apartment and not in pictures.”

Darcy’s eyes widen in surprise. “You said you were going to school to become a physical therapist.”

“Did I?” I pull the rags and bucket out from under my sink. “Don’t you have something to do?” I question as I start filling the bucket up with water.

“What would I be doing?” he demands in that full deep drawl. Not gonna lie, it’s hotter than I thought when I first heard it, and I might actually be developing another new kink for it.

I shudder, remembering how thick it gets when he’s fucking. I could listen to that all day, but now is not the time, and I really need to make sure I don’t end up in an interrogation room because there’s a body in my front room.

“Don’t you have other people to murder today? It’s going to take me all day to clean this mess up, and I still have to figure out how to get him to the harbor without anyone seeing he’s missing the back part of his head.” That’s going to be a challenge.

Darcy scoffs. “I’ll just call the gargoyles to come clean it up; that’s what they do.”

I wonder if he means the little gargoyles made of stone or the ones that he’s been chasing me around with. Speaking of, “Were you expecting to find my murdered body every time you showed up with those gargoyle people?”

Darcy’s eyebrows come together for a moment in confusion before he shakes it away in realization. “Not those gargoyles. The big ones are good at teleporting people in the same manner the flinks do it. The little ones are the clean up crew. They’re significantly smaller. You’ll see.”

Stone gargoyle clean up crew. Nice. “How much do you pay them for clean up like this?” It’d be good to have that in my back pocket in case I need it in the future. It’s surprising how often I have to clean up someone else’s murder.

Darcy stares at me for a moment, pressing his plush lips into a line. “The council arranges payment. I don’t think individuals can pay for their services. You know, this is strange. If I want someone killed, I have to pay for the contract. Why don’t I have to pay for the clean up?” Darcy struts over to the window, opens it, and chimes like a church bell. It’s sort of like how he can talk in chirps—impressive, really. I’ve never met anyone who can mimic a church bell (I’m sure there are some people—beatboxers exist).

A few moments later, the sound of church bells fills my apartment and a couple of stone gargoyles appear on my floor that are similar to the one that tripped me earlier today. Darcy tolls at them and they ring back, and it’s a whole conversation in a language I can’t understand and would never be able to recreate without a musical instrument. I played handbells for my church choir when I was in middle school, so I could probably learn if someone would teach me.

After a few moments, Darcy turns back to me with a low, orange fire burning in his eyes. “The gargoyles consider the bodies payment. They’re carnivorous scavengers and humans are tasty.”

“That’s a great way to dispose of corpses.” Too bad humans like to bury their dead. This would save space in places that are overcrowded with few and old cemeteries.

“Your responses will stop surprising me soon.”

I don’t know what Darcy’s talking about. “Surprise is the spice of life, isn’t it?”

“You’re certainly spicy,” he laughs.

He turns to the gargoyles and chimes at them, then they and the body disappear along with all the blood in the carpet and on the wall. Any evidence of the murder disappears, and that’s extremely convenient for a college student with no mop.

“I wonder if I should scrub the floor anyway since I filled the bucket.”

“I’m heading out now. Don’t answer the door while I’m gone,” Darcy warns, pointing at me emphatically.

“What if I DoorDash my lunch?” It’s not really reasonable to tell me not to open my door when someone knocks, and it’s kind of controlling, so setting the precedent of boundaries is important.

“Eat leftover curry,” he replies firmly. Like, he’s ordering me not to answer my door, which: fair—my neighbor did just threaten to shoot him and yesterday there was that whole thing with Stalker Steve. I can see how he might get concerned for my safety based on his experiences so far.

“I’m going to eat leftovers because I want to eat them.” Boundaries. He can tell me what to do in bed, but in my real life, I’m going to set boundaries and enforce them. “And please bring me a coffee when you return.”

Darcy narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. “I’m not bringing you coffee before dinner.”

He opens my front door and steps out, turning as he shuts the door. “And lock the fucking door, Peach. You better be whole when I get back or many people will die—though I guess that threat probably doesn’t do much for you.”

“You know, some people die because it’s just their time. I believe that. It was my poor neighbor’s time, and that’s alright. He wasn’t for this life any longer.”

Darcy scowls at me, and it’s probably bad that I think it’s adorable. “Don’t. Answer. The door.”

I roll my eyes, but he leaves, and I get to work scrubbing the floor, since I probably won’t have time to do it during the semester, and I’m already halfway there with a full mop bucket.

“Why do I have a bucket and no mop?”

No one can answer that but me, and I have no idea what inspired me to decide to mop on my hands and knees like Cinderfella. I don’t even like mopping—that might actually be the best explanation. I don’t like mopping so I didn’t get one. Instead I decided, “You know what? The guy with one leg is probably really good at getting up and down off the floor, so I’ll just get me some rags and a mop bucket and see where that takes me.”

Actually, I bet I was thinking I could use the practice of getting up and down off the floor, and, well, here I am, scrubbing the floor with a rag. Damn, sometimes I think I hate myself.

I don’t. I really actually love me, but that’s been a lot of work to get to that point. I mean, what teen doesn’t have a whole lot of angst while they’re figuring out who they are? I was an angsty teen, just like everyone else. Which was what finally made me realize that I’m ok even if I don’t have all my feet attached. Everyone else was just as angsty as I was, so that made me stupidly normal. It was a nice thought, and it helped me get over the worst of my teen years.

Once the floor is shiny (because it’s wet, not because I’m all that good at scrubbing), I give myself permission to play for a while and just dick around on my phone until my stomach rumbles. As I’m microwaving the red curry, someone knocks on my door, so I open it with my lovely new chain lock in place. (Did I lock that chain?) On the other side is one of my exes, Samantha Broughton, holding a bunch of flowers with a suspicious expression on her face.

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” I ask curiously.

“Darcy wanted me to check in on you.” She shakes the flowers and something falls to the floor. We both look down at the thump—it looks like a dead mouse.

“What the fuck?” she demands, scowling at the corpse.

I undo the chain and bend over, picking it up by the tail. “Dead mouse. Gross.” I take it straight to the trash can in my kitchen.

Sam follows me in and sets the bouquet on the table. “They were on the floor in front of your door when I got here. I just picked them up so I wouldn’t trample them,” she explains. “You got another stalker?”

I nod as the microwave dings. “Stalker Steve, but I don’t think he’ll be coming around anymore. You hungry? I got some curry. I can heat up some yellow or green for you, but the red is mine.”

“Green is fine,” she agrees, sitting at my table.

I pull out the green and get her lunch heating, then I turn to her with a spoon as I start eating directly from my container. “What’s going on, Sam? Haven’t seen you for a minute.”

It was her smile that made me ask her out our freshman year of college. She’s got this way with her lips that makes you think she can and will give you the best O of your life and then hack you to pieces, and I guess I hated myself back then enough that I wanted that. That was also before I realized I was gay as a unicorn fart—huh, I bet that’s disrespectful to unicorns. I’ll have to come up with a different way to say gay.

“Oh, I just saw that you got back from Italy—I follow you on the socials, you know—and thought I’d drop in, see how things are going for you. I saw Darcy on the street and he said you had a commotion?”

“How do you know Darcy?” That’s some weird kismet that they know each other.

A wicked smile splits her pretty face. “He was the first bounty hunter they sent after me.”

“Oh, yeah? Me too. But that was yesterday. Got kidnapped by a baby flink and taken all over the universe and other realms. When’d you learn about magic and stuff?” Because when I knew her, she definitely didn’t tell me about magic.

“Oh, I’ve known all my life. I’m not human.”

“Makes sense. What happened with your bounty? I just got the baby flink removed and then he brought me home. Had space Starbucks, though, so that was cool.”

She laughs with abandon, and I like that she’s still the bright spot of joy she’s been since I met her. It’s a dangerous sort of joy, but I’m not judging. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and she’s got things to do. “He caught me and immediately let me go. Cleared my bounties, too. Then just a few days ago, the new Avatar of Good also cleared my bounties—well, that was before he became the new Avatar. I’m a free girl right now.” She laughs again. “It won’t last long. I got work to do and being Robin Hood’s a good way to get contracts taken out on you, you know?”

“Well, maybe we can convince Darcy to put a ban on contracts for you now that he’s important. He’s the new Avatar of Neutrality, did you know?” The microwave dings again, and I pull out her curry. “You want rice?”

“Nah, I’m not for filler,” she says, taking the hot curry from me.

“Same. I’d rather be able to eat more of the good stuff,” I laugh.

She raises her container in a toast. “Here, here. I don’t think Darcy would put a moratorium on bounties for me, but it’s nice of you to think of that.”

“Can’t hurt to ask,” I shrug. “I’m seeing him tonight, so I’ll just mention it.”

She gives me a much softer smile than any I’ve seen on her lips. “Thanks, El. That’s really kind of you.”

I reach over and pat her hand. “So what’re you up to now?” I ask, curious what she’s been doing.

“Raising money for hospitals in underserved places. I’ve almost got a new one fully funded,” she replies with some malicious glee.

“Good for you!” That’s amazing, what she’s doing. “Tell me all about it.” Because that sounds more interesting than what I’m doing. Well… I actually like what I’m doing too, but still, raising money for hospitals—waaaay more humanitarian than my stuff. Not that what I’m doing won’t help humanity, but it’s not hospital level humanitarian aid.

Sam’s wicked grin gives me a warm sense of nostalgia. She looked just like this on our first date while we were pushing a body into the bay. Some guy had tried to mug her on the way to meet me. She is the definition of fuck around and find out, and even though we can’t be romantic, I will always love that about her.

“There’s this charity organization that’s building a hospital in Peru, so I adopted the project. I got fifteen million from a capitalist this last week and donated it straight away to the organization doing the work. That should fund them for a couple of years. I’m still deciding who my next target is, but I want that hospital fully funded for the next twenty years, and I’m not stopping until it is. People need fucking healthcare, and if I have to buy the mercs to defend the hospital myself, it’s going to happen.”

“You’re amazing. How’d you get that much money?” That’s probably something I should know since I think part of my future job will be writing grant applications.

“I stole it,” she laughs. “That capitalist was thinking with his dick and gave me everything I wanted in exchange for a few stupid Os. I mean, I like getting off, but he wasn’t anything to write home about. So I emptied a bank account and sent the money to the non-profit.”

“Robin-Hooding it up—good for you. You should be proud of yourself.”

She beams at me. “I am. So what’re you up to? Still going to be a weatherman?”

The front door opens with a bang, and Sam jumps up, spinning on the spot. The man standing in the doorway glares at me as he swings a bat from side to side. He’s wearing a sweater from my university, but it takes me a full three seconds to recognize him.

“Jimmy? What are you doing here?” (He’s thirty eight and doesn’t even go to my university. I went on one date with him just before I left for Italy, and he said he wasn’t at all interested in chatting over the summer, so I deleted his number.)

“You cheating little whore!” he yells, raising the bat above his head.

Sam rushes him, slamming her shoulder into his stomach and knocking him back. I have a feeling things are about to get bloody, so I put my food down and walk around them. (She’s gotten the bat out of his hands and uses it to knock his legs out from under him.) I shut the door and remember to lock it, then lean against it as Sam uses the bat to cave Jimmy’s skull in.

“That’s the second murder that’s happened in this apartment today. It is not a good day for my exes. You should be careful, Sam. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

She pauses beating Jimmy with the bat, shoving her hair out of her blood spattered face. “It’s not murder if it’s self-defense,” she replies between panting breaths, then returns to making minced meat of Jimmy’s face.

Actually, is it decapitation if she uses a bat to pulverize his head and there’s nothing left of it when she’s done? I think if I gave her a couple more minutes all that would be left is mashed skull, and I don’t think it would be considered attached to the neck. Hard way to decapitate a person though. “You should try axes. Easier to decapitate a body, and hey, then we could just chop it up at the joints and make it easier to transport.”

She stops swinging again, and looks at the mostly mush remains of Jimmy’s face. “Hard to explain carrying a hand ax to the human authorities,” she points out. “Plus, this is his bat anyway. I left mine in my shopping cart on the street.”

“It’s going to get stolen.” Don’t leave anything you want to come back to on the sidewalk in this city.

She giggles with wicked glee. “I’ll have fun getting it back.”

I laugh with her; she always sees the silver linings. “Do you know how to call for the gargoyles? If not, Darcy will be back later and he’ll do it for me.”

In reply, she goes to the window, opens it up, and hollers, “Any gargoyles want a snack?”

As soon as she pulls back inside two gargoyles appear for a brief moment, then they and the body and all the mess disappear.

I blow out a sigh of relief. “I just mopped in here and I didn’t want to have to do it again,” I explain, returning to the table to grab my container of curry again. It’s almost gone, but I’m not wasting the four bites left in there.

She rejoins me at the table and we spend the rest of the afternoon playing Skip Bo and catching up. I didn’t realize how much I missed her until now, and it’s nice that no one has to murder her for going crazy about the company I keep. Plus, she promises to bring me more plants next week.

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