Excerpt: Vermillion

Death sat on the curb across the street from Ike’s house, smoking a cigarette. Puffs of smoke rose from his lips to twist and writhe through the branches of the tree above him. The branches cast sharp, finger like shadows across his face from the light of the streetlamp. The Lukos had been in powwow for quite a bit longer than usual.
He took another drag at his cigarette.
“What are they doing?” A thin whispy shadow settled beside him, hovering by his ear. He waved a hand through it in irritation.
“I have no idea. Would you stop sticking your fingers under my skin, it tickles.”
“So sorry, so sorry, so sorry.” The banshee hissed sincere and frightened apologies and whisked away to rejoin her fellows in the rapidly darkening night air. Death heaved a sigh and leaned forward on his elbows, holding his cigarette between his teeth for a moment while he pulled the hood of his white hoodie up to protect his face from the wind.
They had been in there a long time, and that girl, who was she? He had resisted the urge to look her up for some time, playing that game with himself that he so often played. There was little to amuse one when he had to spend his time nudging people out of this world and into the next. Friends didn’t come easily to Death.
Usually. Death glanced up at the sound of footsteps approaching. Few dared to walk the streets after sundown since the influx of Banshees. Banshees who were eager for any death to mourn and would supply their own corpse if one didn’t come to them in the usual manner. This young fellow though…
“Jack.” Death nodded and patted the curb beside where he sat. “Pull up some concrete.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The young man sank down and flipped his long brown hair out of his eyes.
“Why don’t you tie that back?”
For answer, Jack pulled a broken hairtie from his pocket. “That was my last one.”
“Here.” Death drew a bit of string from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “Tie it up.”
“Demanding today, are we?” Eyebrows raised in surprise, Jack complied with his request. Comfortable and relaxed as their relationship was, Jack never argued with Death unless the issue was rather serious. Death almost wished he would. Didn’t ordinary friends squabble over insignificant details? He had a sneaking suspicion that they did. Oh well. He brushed the thought aside just as he had the pestering Banshee and took another drag at his cigarette.
“What’s going on?” Death asked.
“Not much.” Jack pulled his shoulder length hair back and tied it off with the bit of string. “I was going to try to avoid this house, but I don’t have anything to do tonight and, what do you know, my only friend is sitting right across the street from the group of people I want more than anyone else in the world to remain ignorant of my existence.”
“You could solve all their problems.”
“Exactly.” Jack snapped his fingers. “And I’m not interested.”
Death shrugged. “Did you watch them come in today?”
“I saw the last two, that guy brought a girl today. Do you know her?”
“I was hoping you would.”
Jack laughed. “You’re going to have to look her up, aren’t you?”
“I hate doing that.” Death groaned and began pulling his small book from his pocket. It was more like an ipod touch than anything else. A small sheet of black-framed glass that responded to contact with his skin. He held it casually in one hand, not looking through the entries yet.
“It makes no sense to me why this should bother you.” Jack snorted and raised one eyebrow at Death. “Most people are happy if they can remember a couple hundred names and faces, or maybe a thousand if they’re really smart and have a lot of friends. You want to remember every one who has ever lived. It’s outrageous.”
“I have the time to.” Death shrugged, smirking at Jack’s teasing.
A chill wind whipped up the street and Jack shoved his hands in the pocket of his olive green army issue jacket and dropped his chin down inside it. Now it was Death’s turn to laugh derisively.
“The cold doesn’t bother you any more than it does me, why do you shiver like that?”
“Gotta put on a good show.” He whispered, as if there were any people around who might overhear. “If anyone figures me out I’m screwed.”
“Not screwed. Not in the least.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot, you know everything.”
“Hey now.” Death shoved Jack so hard he nearly tumbled of the curb and took another draw at his cigarette, letting the smoke pour out around Jack’s ears. “I’m not God.”
“Thank God.” Jack quipped, regaining his seat and leaning forward on his elbows. He dropped his hands between his knees so his fingers hung toward the pavement and watched as frost spread across the leaves of the small oak tree that was trying desperately to grow through a crack in the asphalt. One by one the leaves were painted silver, catching the yellow glow of the streetlamp and throwing it up in Jack’s face.
“So not shivering when the wind blows will be conspicuous, but freezing plants will not be?” Death shook his head. “I will never understand Human Beings.”
“I know I did it, you know I did it, but who else is going to notice? People never expect the impossible to happen.”
“They seem to have accepted the Banshees pretty well.” Death leaned back to look back at the ever-growing crowd in the tree above him. A large percentage of the old crones followed him everywhere expecting, and rightly, that near him they were more likely to find a corpse to cry over than anywhere else.
“Those are the weirdest things, you know?” Jack followed his gaze with a bit more trepidation. He was not immune to death and he knew they would just as happily mourn his death as anyone else’s. “Their whole purpose is to cry when someone dies, but if no one’s dead they freak out like the world is ending. Death makes them grieve, but they’re never content unless they’re grieving.”
“”Death” doesn’t make them grieve.” Death corrected him, still studying their ragged, barely tangible forms. “Dead bodies do. Human bodies.”
“Right.” Jack leaned forward and plucked the struggling oak tree from the crack and blew on its frost coated leaves. Icicles grew downward, spreading and swelling until the tree was encased in a perfect cylinder of ice. “Beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favourite time of year.” Jack stood up and threw the block of ice with all of his might, hopping forward on one foot with the momentum of his throw. It flew through the air and crashed into the side of the house, shattering into a thousand tiny shards of frozen glass.
“What did you do that for?” Death stood abruptly, watching the front door for the first person to come out and find out what the source of the noise was.
“It’s just time.” Jack glanced back at his friend with an odd expression. With a sinking feeling, Death realized that Jack was giving up his freedom and the independence he loved so much. Something had sobered him to the realization that his stubborn refusal to join the Lukos was selfish or life threatening or morally wrong … or something.
“After you’re done in there, let me know why you changed your mind, k?”
“Sure, sure thing.” Jack gripped Death’s hand and pounded his shoulder in a rough hug. “See you around, Death.” With a wave over his shoulder, Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and bounced across the street in his loose limbed, rhythmic walk to meet the square of light stretching away from the now open front door. Death couldn’t hear what words were exchanged there on the porch, but Jack was allowed to enter the house.
He turned, dropped his cigarette on the pavement, and ground it out with the toe of one converse sneaker. As much as he’d miss Jack’s devil-may-care attitude about the whole situation – it had been refreshing to find someone not groaning with anguish over it all - Death was glad he’d finally made the decision to join the Lukos. There was something infinitely wrong about a girl who couldn’t die and Death himself grew more agitated with each day that passed since her DeathTime.