Page 3

Chapter three

B artholomew had hoped for a boring day at Reapers. Unfortunately, it appeared the universe had other plans for him. Constantine had woken up in a rage. The self-professed king of the supernatural YouTube, the Feline extraordinaire as he also called himself, received an anonymous tip on Discord that his YouTube channel had been hacked. Who in their right mind would declare war on a feline with more money than God was a mystery Bartholomew was currently engaged in solving.

Constantine was pacing on the kitchen table at Reapers. Bartholomew knew the situation was serious. The cat was vindictive enough to send an aerial strike of drones to the fool and take out an entire neighborhood for this offense. But Bartholomew couldn’t help but smile. This madness, him sitting at his command post behind five monitors and three laptops and Constantine pacing, was home.

He never expected that Death’s new intern, a twenty something female with jet-black hair and a mocha complexion, would change his life. In those first five years since becoming Death’s Ward, he had seen at least fourteen interns across the world come and go. They didn’t last long. Their life expectancy was pretty short. Then they went to chill in the river Styx to wait for the apocalypse. Bartholomew had liked Isis from the beginning, and deep in his soul he had prayed she would last more than a few months.

Seven years later, Isis was now his big sister. They still lived at Reapers. Immortality was something he could truly come to terms with, knowing he would not be alone. It wouldn’t be just the cat and him following Death around. For the first time, he had a living family. Well, as alive as you could be after being made a Reaper after his death. Isis became a Reaper to save him. But that was a story he worked hard to put aside.

“What are siblings for?” she always reminded him.

“I’m going to make them famous, just so I can destroy them,” Constantine shouted from the table, bringing Bartholomew back to the present.

“Once again, you are not Eminem,” Bartholomew shouted back. “You can’t use that line. He did it first.”

“Fine!” Constantine stopped pacing. “We are going to find them and send them to hell.”

Bartholomew stopped typing and turned to face the deranged cat. “For real?”

“Why not?” Constantine replied, waving a paw in the air. “Jake owes me a favor. What is one more soul going to do to the devil?”

“One more soul probably nothing, but I’m sure they are not dead,” Bartholomew explained. “You do remember we are not in the killing business. And Jake does not take the living in hell.”

Constantine scratched his face in a too human type of gesture. “Fine! I got a better plan.”

“Every time you say ‘fine,’ the situation goes from bad to worse.” Bartholomew turned back to his monitors. “Why can’t we just hack their server and take them out? Send a couple of Trojan horses their way and empty their accounts. You know, typical online espionage.”

“How would they know it was me?”

Bartholomew dropped his head. “Why do they need to know?” he mumbled to himself.

“So they won’t do it again, duh.” Constantine resumed his march.

Bartholomew shook his head. The cat had totally lost perspective. The poor soul who had dared to cross paths with Constantine would truly wish he never saw a computer in his life.

“Yes, Godmother,” Isis’s voice filled the loft as she emerged from the back rooms. “I will make sure to bring a hood and long-sleeved clothes. Of course, I will make sure to not disrespect anyone there.”

Bartholomew glanced in her direction while his fingers flew over the keyboard. Constantine sat on the table, taking his favorite pose as a Sphinx.

“Where is she going?” Bartholomew mouthed to the cat.

“Hell, if she is meeting up with that crazy witch Virginia,” Constantine replied in a normal tone.

“Be nice.” Isis swatted Constantine on the side as she passed the table. She kissed Bartholomew on the forehead and dropped her suitcase next to him.

Isis was stunning. A fact Bartholomew could now appreciate. Her silver eyes, the same colors as his and those of every Reaper, added an extra layer of magnetism to her personality. When she first moved in, Isis was bigger than life to him, yet he never understood the attraction every guy felt towards her. After puberty and finally finding girls attractive, he got it. His sister was truly hot and had a great personality.

This realization made him a bit more protective of her. Isis, at times, was too nice and men were pigs. It was a blessing she was also one of the deadliest beings on the planet. Or Bartholomew would have a hard time sleeping.

On the other hand, he was sure Isis would never stop worrying about him. She felt the same way about the girls who were interested in him. While his body was that of a mid-twenties man, with an incredible muscular structure and a perfect tan, his sister still saw a twelve-year-old boy. He wanted to be mad but having a sister that spoiled him was something he would never turn down.

Isis snapped her fingers in front of his face. “What are you working on?”

“Sorry,” Bartholomew replied. “Looking for the delinquent who hacked Constantine’s account.”

Isis looked back and forth between Constantine and her brother. “Please, do not bomb that kid’s house.”

“How do you know it was a kid?” Constantine demanded.

“Only a kid would be stupid enough to start a war with a maniacal cat.” Isis tapped her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll be gone three days, please, I repeat. Do not burn down the town. I should be home by Halloween.”

“Where are you going?” Bartholomew interrupted her.

“Egypt.”

Bartholomew glanced discreetly at Constantine.

“Has your crazy godmother finally decided to mummify herself and rid the world of her presence?” Constantine asked, licking his fur.

“I swear the two of you really need to get over this weird love-hate relationship you both have,” Isis announced.

“What love?” questioned Constantine. “The only thing I have for her ass is disdain. Now, why are you going there?”

Isis waved her hands over her head, ignoring the comment. “The local convent has asked for help. It appears they found the tomb of Set. They think his tomb has been disturbed.”

“Is it safe for you to be there?” Bartholomew asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“As long as I don’t use my powers near it, I should be fine,” she replied. “I’m just curious who would be crazy enough to disturb an old god.”

“Good question,” said Constantine as Bartholomew turned to face his screen.

Bartholomew wasn’t good at lying to Isis. It was easier to avoid the entire conversation instead of trying to cover up any potential mission he and Bob might have done on a previous year.

“Anyway, I’m taking the jet,” she informed them. “Would you guys be okay without it for a few days?”

“We have no plans to leave Haven, at least until after All Souls’ Day.” Bartholomew was the one who answered. “Are you sure you will make it back for your birthday?”

“I will be here.” Isis smiled, making her eyes sparkle. “I would not miss the day of the dead in Haven. Got to go. Tell Eugene and Bob I’ll see them on Thursday for Halloween.”

She grabbed her carry-on and disappeared. One perk of being a Reaper was Death’s gift of teleportation. Isis had more of Death’s gifts, since she was technically Death’s intern at the time of her transformation. Superhuman strength, teleportation, and magical powers, like knocking people out, were some of the few that Bartholomew also inherited.

“If she finds out you were in Egypt and didn’t tell her, we are dead,” Constantine said as he stared at the space Isis vacated.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Bartholomew lied, not looking away from his computer.

“Smart boy,” Constantine approved, nodding his head. “Have you found the bastard yet?”

“Found three different IP addresses and have a feeling we might have multiple culprits.” Bartholomew was back to typing away.

The front door of the loft opened, and Bob peered inside cautiously. “Should I be afraid to come in?”

Bob lived on the first floor of Reapers Inc. The massive building was the original headquarters for the team, before operations moved to Union Station in downtown Texarkana. A small firing range, a gym, and the garage for the vehicles were still at Reapers, Inc. The building also housed all the living areas for Death’s intern and other visiting interns.

“Why would you be afraid? You live here,” Constantine answered, as he licked some very inappropriate body parts on the table.

“Because it’s seven in the morning on a Sunday and you are both wide awake,” Bob answered, making his way towards the kitchen.

Even after his promotion, Bob was still Reapers' official chef. The loft kitchen wasn’t as impressive as the one at the Station, but this one was all his. Bartholomew giggled as he watched the older man busy himself with pots and pans.

“You are also up early for a Sunday, not your normal schedule,” Bartholomew informed him.

“Long days,” answered Bob. “I want to go in and go over paperwork before tomorrow. I’m behind on reports, and court is going to take all day. So, what are you two doing?”

“Going to destroy the fools that hacked my YouTube account.”

Bob stopped, holding a pot in mid-air, and faced his two friends. Bartholomew nodded solemnly, and Bob visibly swallowed hard.

“Do Isis and Death know about this?” Bob asked, slowly putting down the pot to stare at the two culprits.

“Isis just left, heading to Egypt to check on that Set tomb,” Constantine said nonchalantly. Bob leaned against the fridge, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“She said not to burn down the neighborhood and took off,” Bartholomew added quickly, before Bob had a heart attack. “Constantine also may not send the fools to hell. I recommend a much calmer attack.”

“What’s your definition of calm?”

“I recommend we just wipe out their finances and crash all their servers,” Bartholomew informed him.

“I say we wipe out their houses and drop a flag on their asses claiming it property of yours truly,” Constantine rebutted.

“Is there an option C, like hacking their accounts and filling their feed with cute kitten videos?” Bob asked, regaining himself and searching for a mixing bowl to avoid eye contact.

“The kitten idea is a keeper, but we are still destroying them,” Constantine went back to war mode.

“I second Isis’s plea, don’t burn down the town,” Bob added softly.

“Isis doesn’t plead, she just demands,” Bartholomew corrected him.

“True.”

All three laughed, releasing the tension in the loft. Bob pulled out eggs, milk, and other food items from the fridge. Constantine continued his inappropriate cleaning, while Bartholomew went back to typing when his phone beeped. A quick glance made him stop.

“Uh oh,” he said.

“What?” asked Constantine with one leg in the air.

“Isis just texted,” Bartholomew announced. “A delegation of witches will be here this week to get ready for Halloween.”

“Why?” Constantine dropped his leg. “They have an entire city, hell, the whole state of Massachusetts. Why do they want Texas?”

“Seriously, boss?” Bob asked from the kitchen counter. “Are you comparing that tiny state with Texas?”

“Point taken.” Constantine pursed his lips. “Still, Salem is the certifiable Mecca for witches. They need to stay up north and leave the rest of us alone. Let’s be honest, Halloween is bad enough without witches running wild.”

“It doesn’t help we had a weird death last night.”

“Weird, how?” Bartholomew jumped in.

“Pull up my photos from the crime scene,” Bob offered. “I uploaded them to my drive last night.”

The blessing of Bartholomew being a computer genius, he had automated all the systems between Reapers and the Station. He had created share folders on their server for easy access across locations. Pulling Bob’s file was less than three clicks for him.

“Oh damn,” Bartholomew shouted. “Please tell me he died happy.”

“What?” Constantine joined in and quickly leaped from the table to Bartholomew’s command post. “Why is that boy holding on to his penis? Was it ripped off?”

“Did you have to go there?” Bartholomew asked.

“Don’t tell me he doesn’t look suspicious.”

“He is dead, boss,” Bob agreed with the cat.

“What did Death say?” Constantine asked, analyzing the photos with Bartholomew.

“She found him alone. Confused, but nothing out of the ordinary for the newly deceased.”

“So, what’s bothering you?” Constantine faced Bob.

“A young shifter in his early twenties doesn’t just end up dead in a park, regardless of his nakedness stage.” Bob dropped a few chopped onions into the bowl and scrambled the eggs.

“Let me know what you find,” Bartholomew said. “I’m definitely curious.”

“I’ll keep you posted, but what about these witches?”

“That’s all she texted,” Bartholomew replied. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll let you know. Now, what are you making?”

“Omelets.” Bob smiled for the first time all morning.

“Need help?” Bartholomew stood from the chair.

“Where are you going? We need to find the enemy and destroy them.” Constantine shouted.

“I’m all in, but first food. I was up for hours.”

“You are a Reaper. You don’t need food,” Constantine reminded him.

“Neither do you, but that hasn’t stopped you before.” Bartholomew rubbed the top of Constantine’s head, earning him a slap from the cat.

At least Constantine avoided having his claws out or shifting to something more dangerous to attack him.

“Fine, we can have a food break,” Constantine conceded. “Where is Eugene?”

“Asleep,” Bob announced. “Something the rest of us should do more often.”

“He doesn’t get a lot at the lab,” Bartholomew explained. “Even though he had that promotion from Pestilence, he is still the rookie. He still gets stuck doing all the rookie jobs.”

“Don’t feel bad for him. You know he loves his job,” Bob defended his friend.

“Gross!” Constantine hacked up an invisible hairball. “Nobody should be forced to work for that quack Pestilence.”

“Nobody forces her interns. They truly love her,” Bob continued.

Bartholomew and Constantine rolled their eyes. Pestilence was definitely one of their least favorite horsemen. While she had improved during the last few years, Bartholomew was sure she would be the bringer of the apocalypse, or maybe Famine. The jury was still out with those two.

“Do we wake him?” Bartholomew asked, looking at all the pots Bob was working with.

“No need,” Bob said. “Once this bacon cooks, he will find his way here.”

“Works for me,” said Bartholomew. “What do you need me to do?”

“Grab the juicer from the pantry and start with the oranges,” Bob instructed. “Going to be a long day. Let’s eat well.”

Bartholomew saluted and went to work. He really loved his home. Regardless of the madness, there was nothing like family.